Scratched in the Mortar

A prisoner's tally scratched into the undercroft mortar: the garrison's watch-changes counted day by day, so that anyone honest who ever came down the stair would know when the hall above was thin.

Scratched low on the cell wall, in a hand that pressed hard to be sure it would keep:

"Watches. Marked so someone can use them. Dawn change — six go up, four come down. The four sleep hard; they drink the toll they take. Noon — the clerk is brought to the counting-room under one guard. He does not run. He has nowhere. Dusk — the chain is doubled. Coldhand walks the hall himself, once, and speaks to no one. Dark — two on the gate, the rest at the fire in the mess. They are loudest then.

If you are reading this and you are not one of his, count with me. The gate is a chain and a lock, not a wall. The keep was never strong. It was only bought."

Beneath, a separate, later scratch: "They took me to make my uncle bid. I will not be bought back. Cut, not coin. — E.V."