Ryan placed the register onto the desk.
Morton reached out and flipped it open.
The rustle of paper was exceptionally clear in the quiet office.
One page.
Two pages.
Three pages.
Cold sweat slowly seeped from Ryan's back.
Finally, they reached the last page.
The air seemed to freeze instantly.
Supervisor Morton's movements stopped.
His cloudy eyes stared quietly at the large smear of pitch-black ink on the paper, remaining completely silent for several seconds.
Ryan felt his heart nearly stop.
“Explain this,” the supervisor finally spoke.
His voice betrayed no emotion.
Ryan could only lower his head. “When I was copying the last part last night, I accidentally knocked over the inkwell. I tried to salvage it, but the paper was too old. Any further scraping would have ruined it completely... so I could only bring it to you first.”
Silence fell over the office once more.
Morton did not lose his temper immediately. Instead, he stretched out a thick, fleshy finger and slowly stroked the dried ink.
The next second, the supervisor's movements paused ever so slightly.
Those dead-fish eyes narrowed slightly.
Then, the supervisor slowly closed the register.
“You may leave now.”
Ryan froze. “...Supervisor?”
“I said, leave.” Morton looked up, his tone remaining calm.
Ryan left the room and walked back to his corner workstation.
He had no idea what this meant. Either way, if he was fired now, he might as well die. He had no money left anyway. Still, he felt a twinge of guilt toward the supervisor. After all, he had spent all of the man's advance on his meal, and now he had no way to pay it back.
Time ticked away.
The light of the kerosene lamps shifted from a pale white to a faint yellow.
The air in the basement began to grow heavy.
By noon, the people in the office area began bringing out their dry rations to eat.
The sound of footsteps gradually grew sparse.
Ryan was still organizing documents. He had just finished archiving a lease file.
“Ryan.”
The voice came from behind him.
He turned around.
A man in a dark uniform stood at the top of the stairs.
His clothes were far neater than those of the temporary clerks, and his cuffs bore a standardized serial number.
He carried no document satchel.
He simply stood there, scanning the office area, before walking over.
The clerks around them noticeably paused.
Some looked up briefly before quickly lowering their heads again.
The man stopped in front of Ryan's desk.
“Are you Ryan?”
“Yes.”
The man nodded and pulled a folded transfer order from his pocket.
Without any preamble, he placed it directly on the desk.
“Sign the archive review record.”
Ryan was taken aback. “Now?”
The man's tone was flat. “Now.”
He added, “The St. Jude's Church files you handled have been officially archived.”
The man continued, “Starting today, you are transferred to the formal recording system to assist with the review work.”
A few people in the office area looked up.
Pete cast a glance from a distance, saying nothing.
After Ryan signed his name, the formal clerk took the transfer order back.
“Follow me.”
Having said that, he turned and walked toward the stairs without another word.
As Ryan stood up, many of those around him looked up at him.
The basement office wasn't large to begin with.
Whomever the supervisor called or whoever got transferred would be known throughout the entire basement in seconds.
Some continued copying with their heads down.
Others pretended not to see.
But the atmosphere had clearly shifted.
Two temporary clerks nearby had already begun whispering.
“Hasn't he only been here for two months?”
“Who knows. Maybe he just got lucky.”
The stairs were made of wood, creaking slightly underfoot.
Gas wall lamps were mounted along the walls, making it much brighter than the basement.
A dying potted plant sat in the corner of the stairwell, its pot coated in dust, clearly neglected for a long time.
Once they reached the first-floor office area, the very air felt different.
There was none of the damp, musty smell of the basement.
Instead, one could smell ink, paper, and hot tea.
Numbered signs hung on both sides of the corridor.
“Archiving Room A”
“Municipal Census Registry”
“Parish Document Review Room”
“Municipal Accounts Archive”
Occasionally, people carrying documents passed by.
They all wore formal uniforms.
They would glance at Ryan as they passed, but none of them stopped.
The formal clerk led him through the corridor.
Finally, he pushed open a door.
“This is the first-floor recording hall.”
Ryan stepped inside.
His first impression was silence.
The room was large.
It was at least three times larger than the basement office.
Inside, over a dozen long tables were laid out, each spaced well apart.
It wasn't cramped like the basement.
The documents on the tables were neatly arranged.
Everyone had their own numbered rack, inkwell, and pen box.
There was even a hot water kettle near the window.
No one here chatted while working.
At most, they exchanged a few whispered words.
Most of the time, the only sounds were the rustling of paper and the scratching of pens.
The formal clerk led Ryan deeper into the room.
As they passed, a few people looked up.
“Transferred from the basement?” someone asked in a low voice.
“Yes,” the formal clerk replied simply.
The man nodded and went back to his work.
Such occurrences weren't particularly rare here.
The two finally stopped in front of an empty desk near the back.
“You'll sit here from now on.”
The desk wasn't new, but it was well-maintained.
The surface had no cracks.
A box of new pen nibs sat on the left, and two unopened bottles of ink were on the right.
The drawer was empty as well.
It had clearly just been tidied up.
Ryan reached out and touched the desktop.
It was far smoother than his broken desk in the basement.
“Allow me to formally introduce myself.”
The man finally turned around.
“Alvin Gray.”
“First-Class Formal Clerk.”
“Ryan Harold.”
Alvin nodded.
“You'll be working under me for now.”
As he spoke, he handed over another document.
“This is your new work schedule.”
Ryan took it and glanced through.
The details were written out clearly:
【Position: Assistant Formal Clerk】
【Work Area: First-Floor Recording Hall】
【Working Hours: 9:00 AM to 6:00 PM】
【Salary: 5 pounds per month】
【Duties: Document review, original archive proofreading, assisting with record corrections】
Below were several regulations:
“Do not access sealed archives without authorization.”
“Do not remove documents from the recording hall.”
“Do not modify officially archived content without permission.”
“Special archives must be handled in the presence of a formal clerk.”
After reading through it, Ryan felt a slight sense of relief.
At the very least, the salary was indeed much higher.
A temporary clerk in the basement made only twelve shillings a week.
(1 pound = 20 shillings = 240 pence)
And even that was often docked.
A formal position was considered a stable job.
Alvin continued:
“You aren't a formal clerk just yet.”
“You've only entered the system.”
“The first three months will be a probation period.”
“Only if there are no issues will you receive an official serial number.”
Ryan nodded.
This was quite reasonable.
It was impossible to become a full formal clerk right after being transferred up.
Alvin added:
“But not everyone gets the chance.”
Just then, a voice suddenly came from behind a neighboring desk.
“So now even a consumptive can be transferred up?”
Ryan turned his head.
A young man of about twenty-six or twenty-seven was leaning back in his chair.
His hair was somewhat messy, and he was spinning a pen in his hand.
Several neat stacks of documents were piled on his desk.
Rate on N.U.
