Chapter 106: The Watcher
There was no ceremony.
Encrid was grateful for that.
Ulrich Vance simply looked toward the door and said, "Bring him a chair."
Someone went and found one.
It was brought in from somewhere along the corridor and placed beside the Council table. It was similar enough to the other chairs to pass at a glance, though the wood was a different shade and one of the legs had clearly been repaired more than once.
It did not match the other fifteen.
Encrid suspected it never would.
"Sit down."
Encrid sat.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Vance rested both hands on the table.
"Understand what you have been given. The rest of this table needs to hear this as much as you do."
He paused for a few seconds and raised one finger.
"You have no vote."
Encrid nodded.
"You will never have a vote. That is not a temporary arrangement, nor a compromise made to secure enough support for the motion. It is part of the office itself. Even if you prove right about every warning you bring before us, that will not change."
A second finger.
"You command no one."
Vance glanced toward him.
"You may choose up to thirty people to work under your office, but they will not become your soldiers. They will not become your servants. They will be assigned to assist you with whatever work the Council permits, and they remain answerable to their existing commanders and officers."
Encrid considered that.
Thirty was more than enough for what he had in mind.
Vance raised a third finger.
"You control no resources."
His hand lowered toward the table.
"No stores. No gates. No section of the Wall. No territory. You cannot move supplies, redirect a watch, or take control of anything simply because you believe it is necessary."
He paused.
"An office will be allocated to you. The Council will also determine a budget for it. Those funds are yours to use within the purpose of the office, but the amount will be decided here, not by you."
Encrid nodded again.
"So I have people, an office, and a budget."
"You have access to them," Vance corrected. "Do not mistake access for authority."
"I won’t."
Vance leaned back.
"What you formally possess is the right to speak in this room."
His gaze moved around the table.
"And when you speak, this Council is obligated to hear you."
Encrid looked at the fifteen people sitting around him.
He thought about it. For others it may seem like nothing, but Encrid understood better.
’Because I would be a man with no vote - I will have the authority to oppose any one of their claims freely.’
Several eyes shifted toward him.
’Nobody here needs to be afraid of what I want, because I cannot take anything from them. I cannot order their soldiers. I cannot move their supplies. I cannot decide where their people go.’
’And because I have no stake in the decisions themselves, a warning from me has less reason to be political. If I tell someone they are wrong, I am not trying to take their position.’
He looked down the table.
’I suppose that makes the warning more valuable and increases the chance of others listening to me.’
Serapha Lund, sitting several places away, slowly lowered the hand she had been resting against her mouth. Her expression had changed slightly.
Lord Commander continued.
"There is one more thing. If you turn out to be useless, I can be removed immediately by unanimous votes at any time."
Encrid blinked once.
That means his position is never safe and the commanders don’t need to fear anything.
It gave Lund what she needed - A definition for this seat. The Strategist of the Wall exists only to raise issues, questions, and influence the decisions that are taken by the council. But never directly involved in the decision whether they are implemented.
It also reassured Ryn. Even if Encrid is seated on the council, he holds no power and is not comparable to any of them.
The Lord Commander was a smart man - with few words, he had satisfied all the watch commanders.
"That is reasonable."
A faint smile touched Vance’s mouth.
"The office has been created. The Council now has sixteen seats."
And that was it.
The Council stood.
No applause followed.
No speech was given.
No one placed a ceremonial cloak over Encrid’s shoulders or handed him some engraved token of office.
A chair had been found.
A title had been given.
The sixteenth seat had been created.
As far as the Wall was concerned, that was ceremony enough.
✧ ✧ ✧
Encrid discovered something else when he left the chamber.
He came down two flights of stairs and turned into the central corridor.
There were people waiting.
Quite a lot of them.
Perhaps forty in total had gathered there, despite the fact that none of them had any official reason to be standing outside the Council chamber. Clerks had abandoned their desks. Runners had stopped carrying messages. Two of Vess’s boys were leaning against the wall. A Works ganger still had mud halfway up his boots.
Gus was there.
Fennick.
Volk.
Merta stood at the front with a slate tucked beneath one arm.
The moment Encrid appeared, the corridor went quiet.
Merta looked at him.
"Well?"
Encrid stopped.
"Eleven to ten."
For half a second, nobody moved.
Then Merta’s face split into a grin.
"Ha!"
She turned around and shouted it down the corridor.
"He won!"
The corridor erupted.
It was not quite a cheer. People did not cheer inside the central bastion. But it was close enough that a nearby officer immediately pushed his head out of a doorway to see whether something had gone wrong.
Gus was smiling.
Fennick slapped Volk on the shoulder, which made the previous bandit leader stare hard at him.
Someone further back started repeating the numbers.
"Eleven to ten."
"Eleven to ten?"
"He got eleven."
"I told you he would."
Encrid waited for the noise to settle.
Merta pushed through the people toward him.
"What did they call you?"
"Strategist of the Wall."
Merta stared at him. Then she made a face.
"That is terrible."
Encrid considered the title.
"I think it’s very good."
"Yeah, yeah. So, what exactly do you do now?"
"I have a seat."
Merta nodded approvingly.
"But I have no vote."
Her expression became less approving.
"No command, either."
Her expression turned worse.
"Then what exactly do you do?"
Encrid looked toward the Council chamber above them.
"I speak."
Merta waited. She stared at him for another moment and realized that was all he had to say.
Then she shrugged.
"So you sit at the table, watch everyone else make decisions, and tell them what you saw."
Encrid opened his mouth, but he closed it again, having nothing to say.
"That’s about right."
Merta pointed at him with her slate.
"Then you are no strategist, you’re a watcher."
There was a brief silence. Someone nearby laughed.
Merta looked pleased with herself.
"That is much better than Strategist of the Wall."
Encrid shook his head.
"It isn’t."
Merta, however, was not listening to him and had already turned toward the others.
"The Watcher has won!"
The name travelled faster than Encrid did.
By the time he reached the next corridor, someone had already used it.
By the evening, the Works had heard it.
The Quartermastery had heard it.
The runners had heard it.
Within a few days, the formal title had become something used mostly on official documents.
People on the Wall called him the Watcher.
Encrid did not know when it stopped being a joke.
He only knew that it had.
The Council had given him the title Strategist of the Wall.
The Wall had given him another.
And somehow, the second one fit better.
✦ ✦ ✦