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essentially abused the privilege of free food, demanding elaborate meals on a daily basis from their constituents. Prap was apparently one of those, obsessed with the need to maximize the benefits and perks of his position.
    And if that weren’t reason enough to dislike him, the man’s table manners were atrocious. He wolfed down the stew like a pig at a trough, showing a complete disregard for the way some of it dribbled down his chin and onto his clothes. Errol wasn’t about to let someone like this freely insult the residents of his ward.
    “ If the food’s not to your satisfaction,” Errol said defensively, “ don’t eat it. To be frank, however, you don’t look very particular in terms of diet.”
    Bander and Till chuckled slightly at this. Prap slammed his palm on the table in anger, simultaneously rising to his feet with a growl. Errol smiled to himself; apparently Prap was somewhat sensitive about his weight – or, more likely, to the idea of being a laughingstock.
    Bander, seated next to Prap, grabbed his confederate by the shirt sleeve. “ Easy,” he said. “ We’re guests here.” He then turn to Errol.
    “ Our apologies,” Bander said. “ After being on the road for six months, eating rations most of the time, a hot, home-cooked meal is a pleasant treat. I think that what my colleague was trying to convey – and was doing so poorly – was a desire for more of the stew in general. Isn’t that correct, Prap?”
    Prap glanced at Bander, who gave him a stern look. “ Yes,” he said. “ I’m sorry if my enthusiasm for the meal was taken out of context. No offense was meant.”
    “ None taken,” Errol replied, marveling at the tactful way Bander had defused the situation.
    They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

 
    Chapter 5
     
    Errol was the first to finish eating dinner. This was actually by design rather than happenstance. He still had not made his log entries for the day, and he wanted to do so immediately. Thus, while his guests were filling their bowls with second (and in Prap’s case, third) helpings of stew, Errol retreated to the Warden’s office, where he retrieved his log. He then began recording the day’s events, which primarily consisted of his encounter with the bladebeak.
    He was almost done when Till entered the office unannounced. In one hand, the scribe held writing implements; in the other was a thick tome.
    “ I’m almost finished,” Errol said, barely glancing up.
    “ Take your time,” the scribe said. “ Just remember, the sooner you finish, the sooner I can start. And the sooner I start, the sooner I finish. ”
    And the sooner you finish , Errol thought, the sooner you think you can get out of this backwater burg and back to civilized life in the fancy city.
    In the back of his mind, Errol realized that he was probably judging Till a little too harshly. Until recently, Errol himself had dreamed of escaping from Stanchion and moving to one of the cities. For a moment, he reflected on how thoughts of leaving his ward seldom occurred to him now.
    Also, he could understand why Till might be anxious to wrap things up. Stanchion was the last stop on what had been a six-month road trip for the scribe.
    In essence, although the Wardens recorded their daily activities in a log as well as in reference manuals, the information was of limited value (or even useless) if not shared. Therefore, every six months, each Warden was visited by a scribe, who copied the last half-year of entries into a book he carried. That information would then go back to the repository at Wellkeep – the headquarters of the Wardens and the residence of the High Warden himself – where it would then be transcribed into another book as part of the permanent archives. In this way, no knowledge that the Wardens gained of any of the creatures in the Badlands would be lost.
    To protect the scribes on their lengthy journeys through areas so close to the Badlands, a Warden was usually assigned to