Newt Wizki: A Roseman Tale

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Watchman Newton Wizakowski was known to his fellow officers as Newt Wizki, a pun based on the Eastern Province’s signature drink Witzkey.  This distilled time bomb was crystal clear, except for the small lizard at the bottom of the bottle.  Witzkey, it should be noted, delivered a 90% alcohol punch.  Newton’s eastern accent, and unfortunate given name made the nickname just too hard for the other Rosemen to pass up.

He was a well-built man of medium height, with broad shoulders and sturdy legs.  He had thick black hair and sported the walrus-like mustache popular in the East.  He also had a punch nearly as powerful as that of his namesake.

Wizakowski was a transfer from 7th precinct, where he had worked for four years in Nordland border region.  There, he had dealt with minor smuggling, and some cross-border sheep rustling, but “hard crime” was largely absent.

His family ironically were brewers and distillers, though not of the lethal Witzkey.  He grew up among the large copper stills and he had played hide-and-seek among the endless rows of aging casks.  This upbringing had given him a firm understanding of mechanical mechanisms, and an uncanny ability to always finding criminals’ hiding places.

Being a younger son, he couldn’t look forward to any important role in the family enterprise, so at eighteen he applied to become a Watchman.  He was accepted on his first try, and proved a quick study.  It was only with some reluctance that his supervisor, Inspector Imachuck signed his transfer to the capital.

On arriving in the city he was given a choice of duty stations, and he thought that a place called “The Back Lane,” sounded rather out of the way and peaceful.  It was a matter of surprise when he arrived in front of Inspector Cruikshank’s desk as an “actual volunteer.”

“Wizakowski, is it?” Cruikshank questioned looking at the paperwork.

“Yes Sir,” the officer responded.

“From the Seventh near North Town?” Cruikshank continued.

“Yes, Sir.”

“What in the hells made you volunteer for ‘The Lasts’?”

“Lasts, Sir?” Wizki questioned confusedly.

“The Lasts.  The Ninth.  Us.”

“I had come to the big city, and I wanted to get a quiet start,” the younger officer explained.

“Quiet?” Cruikshank asked.

“Yes, Back Lane sounds remote and peaceful.” Newton observed.

Shaking his head, Inspector Cruikshank handed Wizki his new warrant card and said, “Welcome to the ‘quiet’.”

Padre

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