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M.
"Excuse me, sir, may I have a word?"
Three weeks after Constable Turnbull's surprising return, they'd finally managed to wrestle the daily operation of the Consulate into a routine that could be completed by three Mounties working a standard shift. Special events and unusual or exceptional circumstances required overtime but Fraser's nightmares no longer featured drowning in a sea of pulp and ink.
He had Turnbull to thank for that. Although the Constable's cheerful optimism sometimes incited one Ray or the other to threaten violence, Fraser was grateful for the man's uncomplaining and determined efforts, prodigious store of patience, and seemingly endless supply of chicken salad sandwiches. That Turnbull's unapologetic hero-worship was welcome balm to Fraser's battered confidence didn't hurt, either.
"Certainly, Turnbull. Please come in." Fraser looked up and wondered without anxiety what had motivated this unusual interruption.
"Well, sir, I was wondering about guard duty, sir."
"Guard duty, Turnbull? Has Constable Sargent done something he oughtn't?"
"Oh, no, sir! It's just that we've pretty much caught up with things, haven't we, sir, and now that there's a few minutes to breathe I thought perhaps you'd considered the matter of guard duty."
"No, I hadn't. Guard duty isn't a requirement. And I'm quite satisfied with the teamwork and accomplishments of these last weeks, there's no need to assign guard duty, is there?"
"No, sir." Turnbull was clearly disappointed.
"Dismissed, Constable."
The past year had been personally and professionally traumatic. The whispers and slanders had grown bolder. The very last person Fraser expected as champion was Renfield Turnbull, the meek and mild. Someone Fraser had often considered the most vacuously agreeable and easily led man ever to wear red serge.
CRASH! Fraser opened the office door before he realized he'd moved away from the desk. Turnbull was sprawled in the hallway, plaster sprinkled like snow over his prone form, the chandelier in pieces on and around him.
"Turnbull! What happened? Are you injured?"
Turnbull swallowed a groan. "I don't think so, sir. I was taking the opportunity to do a little cleaning; the lights don't always get enough attention. In any case, I lost my balance and must have grabbed the ceiling fixture. It didn't hold, sir."
Drily, Fraser replied, "I can see that, Constable. Here, now, let's get you up and assess the damage."
"I'm terribly sorry, sir."
"It was an accident, Turnbull. It could happen to anyone." Privately, Fraser wondered about that until he remembered a similar but somewhat less destructive encounter with the very same illuminator.
Constable Sargent popped out of Fraser's old back office and just as quickly scurried for a broom and dustpan. The mess was tidied and Fraser left Turnbull to Sargent's capable ministrations. He looked up electricians and plasterers in the phone directory, left the numbers with a still-flustered Turnbull, and quietly suggested that Sargent shut down the breaker for the damaged circuit.
Fraser returned to the monthly personnel evaluation he was composing. Reviewed what he'd already put down, and the words "deft", "efficient", "tactful", "industrious", and "exemplary" leaped out. He shook his head, smiling. Two years ago, he'd never have recognized this description as Turnbull.
CRASH! This time the noise boomed from the back office. Sargent was already clearing away plastic shards and glass fragments by the time Fraser arrived to hear Turnbull's apology and a somewhat garbled explanation about computer monitors, filing drawers, and the rearrangement of the room's geography due to the swept-up chandelier.
Fraser gently patted Turnbull on the shoulder. "No real harm done. Order a new monitor, and be a bit more careful next time."
Odd. In three weeks of long hours and multiple opportunities, Turnbull hadn't so much as broken a teacup. Now he'd bumbled into two accidents the same day. Carelessness, or something else?
Fraser considered the matter thoroughly, and started by comparing Turnbull's previous accident-prone behavior with the flawless and agile performance of more recent days. The difference, he decided, was that the competent Turnbull was a relaxed, unselfconscious, confident Turnbull. Obviously, something had rattled the man.
CRASH! For the third time in as many hours, Fraser wondered bleakly which piece of expensive or irreplaceable government property Constable Turnbull had decimated. He realized he didn't care. What was important was stopping Turnbull's rampage by addressing the source. Whatever that might be.
"A moment, please, Turnbull?"
Red-faced, Turnbull stood at careful attention.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, sir. The rug can be cleaned and the coffee urn is dented but still functional. The cord got wrapped around my boot. Sorry, sir."
"It's alright, Turnbull. You've been very busy." The fair-faced man blushed deeper. "That's not criticism. Your industry is commendable, and I do appreciate it. But there's no need to do everything today. Pace yourself, we're making steady progress."
"But everything needs to be perfect for the inspection." Turnbull slapped both hands over his mouth and his terrified eyes peered at Fraser over the twin barriers.
Fraser sighed and hitched one hip against the desk. This was going to take awhile. "Sit down, Turnbull." The sandy-haired man was shaking as he complied. "This was, I presume, supposed to be a surprise inspection?" His hands still covering his mouth, Turnbull nodded yes. "Please put your hands in your lap, Turnbull. Now, who told you about a surprise inspection?"
"Inspector Coldwell, sir, when he called yesterday."
"I wasn't aware that Inspector Coldwell had phoned."
"He called me, sir. To be helpful, he said. Because he's a friend of my father's and he knows how nervous inspections make me. He said a little advance warning might help me feel better prepared, sir," Turnbull added. "I'm afraid it didn't work."
"Indeed." Interesting. Fraser thought quickly, then asked, "Turnbull, do you think I'm doing a good job here?"
The change in subject threw his subordinate off-balance, but he gamely replied, "Yes, sir. That's why I wanted everything to be perfect. I don't want you to be replaced. The Inspector told me he's bringing a full team down to take over as soon as the evaluation is completed." Turnbull paused for a moment. "It really didn't sound like he expected us to pass muster, sir."
"Has the backlog of paperwork and maintenance been completed?"
"Yes, sir."
"We're running as smoothly and effectively as possible?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Tell me, Constable, is it possible that Inspector Coldwell wanted you to be concerned about this upcoming inspection?" Turnbull's normally open and unguarded expression turned inward. Mental gears clashed and groaned. Fraser waited.
"Yes, sir," Turnbull finally admitted. "He's known me all my life. He knows how clumsy I am when I'm nervous. Look at today, three catastrophes already and it isn't even noon yet."
"Were you told to keep the Inspector's call confidential?"
Worried again, Turnbull nodded. "Yes, sir."
The calculated cruelty of it infuriated Fraser. Turnbull had proven his worth a hundred ways and deserved better than to have his insecurities abused and exploited, family friend or no. But not a hint of turmoil ruffled Fraser's expression.
Fraser leaned forward. "This, then, is what I propose. First, the purpose of a surprise inspection is not the element of surprise itself. The purpose of a surprise inspection is so the evaluators can observe the actual day-to-day operation of the post. If we continue doing our duties exactly as we would any other time, the results would be the same as obtained from an unscheduled inspection. Correct?" He watched as Turnbull processed this argument and fractionally relaxed.
"Good. Under other circumstances, or with less capable subordinates, I might be more concerned. As it is, I have every confidence in you and Constable Sargent. You've never let me down, and I don't expect that to change."
Turnbull glowed, mishaps forgotten. Fraser debated one last point.
"One more thing. Guard duty. I remember it being quite restful in many respects. The occasional and judicious use of guard duty might be an opportunity to reflect and contemplate. To gather one's thoughts."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Two-hour shifts, starting on the hour."
"Yes, sir," Turnbull murmured softly, and stood to leave.
"And Turnbull?"
"Sir?"
"I'll take the first watch."