"Let's rest here until one o'clock in the afternoon. I will find your service weapon paperwork," Garrick said, sifting through a pile of papers on the desk. The clerk's office was modest in size.
Two facing desks were joined together, with benches placed in front of each and a window adorned with curtains on the opposite wall. A narrow, standalone wardrobe stood by the door, and across from it, a long wooden bench and a coffee table were placed.
"Here it is. This afternoon, take this to the basement to claim your service weapon, holster, and fifty rounds of ammunition. Today's armory duty officer should be Constable Combs. Have him teach you how to shoot."
Garrick handed over a document stamped with the Gonia Police Department seal.
Descending stone steps to the basement, a metal door barred the way. Illuminated by the gas lamps' yellow glow, Elyon knocked on the cold iron door.
"Who is it?" a deep bass voice inquired.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Combs. I'm the new clerk Elyon. Garrick sent me down for my service weapon and some shooting practice."
A clanking sound followed, and a small grilled window opened on the door, revealing a somewhat haggard middle-aged man.
"I heard there was a new clerk. Show me your firearm issue orders and your credentials. We have weapons and ammunition in here. Please, proceed with caution and bear with me."
"Of course, sir." Elyon handed over his documents, and after a thorough check, the sound of gears turning signaled the door's unlocking.
Stepping inside, Elyon entered what felt like a small armory. A glass cabinet displayed four or five revolvers alongside boxes of ammunition filled with gleaming bullets.
Two wooden shelves stood behind the counter—one bearing five long single-shot rifles next to four shorter double-barreled shotguns; the other was laden with black wooden batons.
"Here's a double-action revolver and fifty rounds. Have you used firearms before?" Combs asked, closing the door behind him.
"I've seen my father use them for hunting. He's a retired officer, and we're legally entitled to own weapons. But I've never fired a gun myself."
"All right, then I'll give you a quick rundown before you shoot at the range. Let me get your piece."
Combs unlocked the display case and retrieved a silver steel revolver with a wooden brown grip. After handing Elyon a box of bullets, he counted out fifty and put them into a small paper bag, then rummaged in a drawer for a yellow leather holster.
"Thread the holster onto your belt and secure it at your waist," Combs instructed, passing the holster to Elyon who strapped it to his right side.
"Place the revolver in the holster to check the fit, then run and jump a bit."
Elyon unbuckled the metal clasp of the holster, placed the service revolver inside, secured it, and then jogged and jumped several times without feeling any unsettling movement from the firearm.
"It seems fine. Later, consider getting a fabric pouch for the bullets—you can make one out of canvas or burlap. If you're not handy with a needle, perhaps a female family member can help. My wife made mine." Combs set down the newspaper he was reading.
It looked like Elyon would have to enlist Nyara's help because he doubted Seraphina could thread a needle.
After practicing shooting and saying goodbye to Combs, Elyon returned to the ground floor office to continue learning clerical work.
By five o'clock, Captain Green knocked on the door, accompanied by two middle-aged men—one strikingly robust, the other nonchalantly cool—both in dark blue uniforms with two and three V-shaped epaulettes on their shoulders, respectively.
"Let's go. Today we're welcoming you, and it's also a farewell for Garrick. These two are our regular officers, William and Cook. Brownie and another patrol officer Lum you met this morning are outside, and we'll head to dinner once Mrs. Michel from accounting is done. Lum, go get Combs. You'll meet the night shift and others on leave later."
Mrs. Michel, the accountant with long black hair, wearing a sharp business skirt and green eyes that smiled, stood by as they prepared to leave.
Dinner was at a restaurant named "The Cod and Sherry," a place the group seemed well-acquainted with. The owner greeted the party of eight—four officers, two patrolmen, an accountant, and a cook, filling a round table nicely.
"What would you like? It's on the captain, so don't be shy," Garrick said, handing Elyon the menu.
"Sure." Elyon gave the menu a cursory glance and, feeling out of his depth with the seafood options, pushed it to the center of the table. "Grilled lamb chops for me, please. You choose the rest."
The captain rattled off the order without consulting the menu: "Garlic cod filet, steamed snow crab, white wine clam sauce, a cream clam chowder for soup, local champagne for drinks, and chocolate mousse cake for dessert."
The food arrived quickly, and the table buzzed with convivial conversation. The tender lamb chops, the sweet snow crab, and the refreshing champagne tantalized Elyon's palate.