My gut clenches at his shout and my instinct is to run. Or pee. Or, actually, both. Another peace guard hidden behind the exit door leans in to see what's going on. He is already too alert for me to slip by.
Being grabbed by a peace guard never ends painlessly. Or pee-lessly.
The elderly churchman is now coughing wildly and everyone in the reception area has begun staring at us.
I have to figure a way out. My brain enters high speed. Can I weave through the queue to confuse the guards? I look at a distant table of food and see low, open windows.
I know this church: the drop behind the windows is quite high. That means the landing is going to hurt. But, I've done it before. I tense my legs and ready the relatively sharp melon nut in my hand.
"Calm yourself, Father Lonas" chuckles the giant churchman with the dangling box as he clamps his remarkably large hand onto my shoulder. "You'll frighten the boy."
Utterly shocked by the power of his monster grip, I instinctively freeze. His hand then effortlessly rotates me to face him as he squats down to grin at me.
The huge man has a trim beard, rugged, wrinkled eyes and no neck. His grip makes me feel more than a little caught.
"Congratulations, boy," he booms, "You've won!"
The children in front of me all groan.
"Come along, now, children, the sweetwater still waits for you!" the giant laughs at them.
Hand still on my shoulder he guides me through the glum reception towards a small room flanked by two more guards. Just how many peace guards are here today?
As the door closes behind me I see the bald churchman with the book helping his elderly friend back onto his chair.
Now it's just me and the giant churchman in a sparsely-furnished office. On the floor I see the mottled morning light cast down from a long wall slot. My heart is still pounding and my nerves are tightening. The man gestures that I sit at one of the two wooden chairs.
He sits down too, unhooks the box then places the rod and chain on a side table. The sight of the detached rod and chain makes me suddenly wonder if I'll ever get to go fishing again.
"Now, I don't believe we have met," he says rubbing his beard. Does that mean that he knows that I am uninvited? He's too important-looking to be regular clergy here.
"Let me introduce myself," he continues. "I am Lieutenant-Deacon Goran, staff assistant, Wand Division. May I have your name, young man?"
I automatically put on my innocent face, despite being acutely aware that he just observed my eyes darting about the room and probably saw my left hand conceal a sharp-edged melon seed.
I haven't met many churchmen this big before, so my senses are stuck on high alert.
"Jak," I offer briefly with my brightest and sweetest smile.
"Jak?"
"I'm an orphan, father. My name is simply Jak."
"I see. Well, I shall get straight to the point, 'simply Jak'." He leans forward and his eyes become intense.
"The Holy Army needs your help. Enlist, and help defend this city." He leans back, looking confident.
What? Is this just a recruitment drive? But I have another year before I can even think about enlisting or (more likely) be forcibly conscripted into the infamous front lines. Also, surely the kids outside are too young to be recruited? Is this a trick? Did I get my age wrong?
"You get your own bed, three rations a day, education, self-defence training and of course, regular pay." He continues earnestly, commending even more army perks and mixing it up with some cliches about an honourable career.
While he talks, I am able to collect my thoughts.
He really is a recruiter. I mean, free food, bed and coin sounds great, but I have spent too much time around returned churchmen living rough in the central city parklands. Those ex-soldiers, broken by war, are unable to hold down a job or relationship. They much prefer the quiet of the park, but they don't mind visitors. One of the more sane veterans taught me how to salute and even drilled me on the war church's ranks. A churchman's rank is indicated by the sash colour just visible inside their robe.
"All we ask in return,", Goran with his yellow-orange sash was reaching his crescendo, "is that you help defend the good people of Opak against the low evil trying to destroy us!"
I am reluctant to admit it but his words have had an effect. The Gli attacks on Opak City were pretty bad last summer. I saw my fellow truants killed when part of a defence wall exploded onto them. The slums were set on fire as colourfuly loinclothed Gli rushed in to loot and cause chaos before the duty churchmen could converge. I spent a long time wondering if I should have run back to save them. That, and what happened to my sister so many years ago...
Generally speaking, I feel that this city is my home. And I care about my friends, itinerant as they may be, in the park or the streets. If I could help stop the Gli attacks...
I quietly ask recruiter Goran "What would I do?", and glance at the box.
Goran leans back. "Good, you seem interested. I can't say much more here, and I shall not ask you to commit yourself right away. Instead, let me introduce you to my commander. She can explain better what it is that we do, and what this" (he picks up the box) "is. It will probably become yours anyway, or so I am told."