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I put my head in my hands for a moment. When I looked up, my old mentor was still regarding me hopefully. Trusting me to see a solution that eluded him. I wanted to flee; I wanted never to have known any of this. I took a steadying breath. Then I ordered his mind as he had once disciplined mine. ‘I need information,’ I announced. ‘Don’t assume I know anything about the situation, because it is likely I don’t. I need to know, first of all, who gave him the cat. And how does that person feel about the Wit, and the Prince’s betrothal? Expand the circle from there. Who rivals the gift-giver, who allies with him? Who at court most strongly persecutes those with the Wit, who most directly opposes the Prince’s betrothal, who supports it? Which nobles have most recently been accused of having the Wit in their families? Who could have helped Dutiful run, if run he did? If he was taken, who had the opportunity? Who knew his midnight habits?’ Each question I formulated seemed to beget another, yet in the face of that volley, Chade seemed to grow steadier. These were questions he could answer, and his ability to answer them strengthened his belief that together we might prevail. I paused for breath.
‘And I still need to report to you the events of those days. However, you seem to be forgetting that the Skill might save us hours of talk. Let me show you the scrolls, and see if they make more sense to you than they do to me.’
I looked around me, but he shook his head. ‘I do not bring the Prince here. This part of the castle remains a secret from him. I keep the Skill-scrolls in Verity’s old tower, and it is there that the boy has his lessons. I keep the tower room well secured, and a trusted guard is always before the door.’
‘Then how am I to have access to them?’
He cocked his head at me. ‘There is a way to them, from here to Verity’s tower. It’s a winding and narrow way, with many steps, but you’re a young man. You can manage them. Finish eating. Then I will show you the way.’
TWELVE Charms (#ulink_480a6ec3-3b40-5d82-afca-d33ba6783d7f)
Kettricken of the Mountains was wed to King-in-Waiting Verity of the Six Duchies before she had reached her twentieth year. Their marriage was a political expedient, part of a larger negotiation to cement an alliance of trade and protection between the Six Duchies and the Mountain Kingdom. The death of her elder brother on the eve of her wedding bestowed an unexpected benefit to the Six Duchies: any heir she now bore would inherit the Mountain crown as well as that of the Six Duchies.
Her transition from Mountain princess to Six Duchies Queen was not an easy one, yet she faced it with the acceptance of duty that is the stamp of the Mountain rulers. She came to Buckkeep alone, without so much as a lady’s maid to sustain her. She brought to Buckkeep her personal standards that required her to be ever ready to sacrifice herself in any way that her new station might demand of her. For in the Mountains, that is the accepted role of the ruler: that the King is Sacrifice for his people.
Bedel’s Mountain Queen
Night was ebbing towards morning before I made my way down the hidden stairs to seek my own bed. My head was stuffed full of facts, few of which seemed useful to my puzzle. I’d go to sleep, I decided. Somehow, when I awoke, my mind would have sorted it all out.
I reached the panel that would lead back into my bedchamber and paused. Chade had already taught me all his cautions for using these passages. Breath pent, I peered through the tiny slit in the stone. It afforded me a very narrow view of the room. I could see a candle guttering on a small table set in the centre of the room. That was all. I listened, but heard nothing. Silently I eased a lever that set unseen counter-weights into motion. The door swung open and I slipped back into my room. A nudge from me sent the door back into place. I stared at the wall. The portal was as invisible as ever.
Lord Golden had thoughtfully provided a couple of scratchy wool blankets for the narrow cot in the stuffy little room. Tired as I was, it still looked remarkably uninviting. I could, I reminded myself, return to the tower room and sleep in Chade’s magnificent bed. He no longer used it. But that prospect was uninviting in a different way. Recently used or not, that bed was Chade’s bed. The tower room, the maps and the scroll racks, the arcane laboratory and the two hearths: all of that was Chade’s, and I had no desire to make it mine by using it. This was better. The hard bed and the stuffy room were comforting reminders that my stay here was to be very brief. After a single evening of secrets and machinations, I was already weary of Buckkeep politics.
My pack and Verity’s sword were on the bed. I threw the pack to the floor, leaned Verity’s sword in a corner, kicked my discarded clothing under the table, blew out the candle and groped my way to bed. I thrust Dutiful and the Wit and all the attendant threads resolutely aside. I expected to fall asleep immediately. Instead I stared open-eyed into the dark room.
More personal worries found me and chewed on me. My boy and my wolf would be on the road to Buckkeep tonight. It was unsettling to realize I was now counting on Hap to care for the old wolf that had always been his protector. He had his bow, and he was good with it. They’d be fine. Unless they were set on by highwaymen. Even then, Hap would probably eliminate one or two before they were captured. Which would probably anger the rest of them. Nighteyes would fight to the death before he’d let Hap be taken. Which left me with the pleasant image of my wolf dead in the road and my son captured by angered highwaymen. And I’d be too far away to do anything for them.
Wool blankets itch even more when you sweat. I rolled over to stare at a different patch of darkness. I wouldn’t think about Hap just now. There was no point to worrying about disasters that hadn’t happened yet. Unwillingly, I let my mind wander back to Chade’s Skill-scrolls and the present crisis. I had expected three or four scrolls. What he had shown me were several chests of scrolls, in various degrees of preservation. Even he had not been through all of them, though he thought he had them somewhat sorted into topics and levels of difficulty. He had presented me with a large table with three scrolls unrolled on it. My heart sank. The lettering on two of the scrolls was so archaic I could barely decipher it. The other seemed more recent, but almost immediately I encountered words and phrases that made no sense to me. It recommended an ‘anticula trance’ and suggested a helpful infusion made from an herb called Shepherd’s Wort. I’d never heard of it. The scroll further cautioned me to beware of ‘dividing my partner’s self-barrier’ as I might then ‘diffuse his anma’. I looked up at Chade in bewilderment. He divined my problem instantly.
‘I thought you would know what it meant,’ he said defeatedly.
I shook my head. ‘If Galen ever knew what these words and terms mean, he never divulged them to me.’
Chade gave a snort of contempt. ‘I doubt our “Skillmaster” could even read these characters.’ He sighed. ‘Half of any trade is understanding the vocabulary and idiom that the practitioners use. With time, we might piece it together with clues from the other scrolls. But we have precious little time. With every passing moment, the Prince may be carried farther from Buckkeep.’
‘Or he may never even have left the town. Chade, you have cautioned me many times not to take action simply for the sake of taking action. If we rush forth, we may be rushing in the wrong direction. First think, then act.’
It had felt so strange to remind my master of his own wisdom. I had watched him grudgingly nod to it. While he pored over the archaic lettering, muttering as his pen flowed a clear translation onto paper, I had carefully read the more accessible scroll. Then I had read it again, hoping it would make more sense. On my third attempt, I found myself nodding off over the old, blurred lettering. Chade had leaned across the table to clasp my wrist gently. ‘Go to bed, boy,’ he ordered me gruffly. ‘Lack of sleep makes a man stupid, and this will demand your best wits.’ I had conceded and left him there, still hunched over his pen and paper.
I shifted onto my back. I ached from all the stairs I had climbed today. Well, as long as I could not sleep, I might as well see what good I could do. I closed my eyes to the pressing darkness and composed myself. I emptied my mind of my concerns, and tried only to recall the last dream I had had of the boy and the cat. I conjured up their exhilaration at the night and the hunt. I summoned my recollection of the scents that had flavoured the air, and reached for the indefinable aura of a dream not my own. Almost I could enter that dream, but that was not what I sought. I tried to recall a tenuous Skill-link I had not been aware of at the time I experienced it.
Prince Dutiful. The son of my body. These titles in my mind had no impressions attached to them, yet oddly they interfered with what I was trying to do. My preconceived notions of Dutiful, my possessive idealizations of what my natural son would be like, stood between me and the frail threads of the Skill-link I sought to untangle. From somewhere in the keep, the stone bones of the castle carried a stray bit of music to my ears. It distracted me. I blinked at the dark before me. I had lost all sense of time; night stretched eternally around me. I hated this windowless room, shut off from the natural world. I hated the confinement I had to endure. I had lived with the wolf too long to find it tolerable.
In frustration, I abandoned the Skill and reached out with the Wit for my companion. He still had up the guard he had so often employed of late. I could sense him sleeping, and as I leaned against his walls, I felt the dull thunder of pain in his hips and back. I withdrew quickly when I sensed that my focusing on his pain was bringing it to the forefront of his mind. I had sensed no fear or foreboding in him, only weariness and aching joints. I wrapped him in my thoughts, drawing gratefully on his senses.
I’m sleeping, he grumpily informed me. Then, You’re worried about something?
It’s nothing. I just wanted to know you were fine.
Oh, yes, we’re fine. We’ve had a lovely day of walking down a dry, dusty road. Now we’re sleeping at the edge of it. Then, more kindly, he added, Don’t worry about things you can’t change. I’ll be with you soon.
Watch Hap for me.
Of course. Go to sleep.
I could smell damp grass and the trickling smoke of the campfire, and even Hap’s salty sweat as he lay nearby. It reassured me. All was well in my world then. I let go of all save those simple sensations and finally spiralled down into sleep.
‘Might I remind you that you are to serve as my valet, not the reverse?’
The words that jolted me from sleep were spoken in Lord Golden’s arrogant sneer, but the smile on the Fool’s face was entirely his own. A set of clothing hung over his arm, and I could smell warm, scented water. He was already faultlessly dressed in garb that was even more elegantly understated than what he had worn yesterday. His colours today were cream and forest green, with a thin edging of gilt at his cuffs and collar. He wore a new earring, a filigreed golden orb. I knew what was inside it. He looked fresh and alert. I sat up and then cradled my aching head in my hands.
‘Skill-headache?’ he asked sympathetically.
I shook my head and the pain rattled inside it. ‘I only wish it were,’ I muttered. I glanced up at him. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘I thought perhaps you would sleep in the tower.’
‘It didn’t feel right.’ I rose and tried to stretch but my back kinked in protest. The Fool set the clothing across the foot of the bed, and then sat down on my rumpled blankets. ‘So. Any thoughts on where our prince might be?’
‘Too many. Anywhere in Buck Duchy, or even beyond the borders by now. There are too many nobles who might want to take him. If he ran on his own, that only increases the number of places he might have gone.’ The washwater was still steaming. A few leaves of lemon balm floated fragrantly on the surface of the plain pottery bowl. I plunged my face into it gratefully and came up rubbing my hands over my face. I felt more awake and aware of the world. ‘I need a bath. Are the steam baths behind the guard barracks still there?’
‘Yes, but servants don’t use them. You’ll have to be wary of falling back into old habits. Personal servants, generally speaking, get the second use of their master’s or mistress’s bathwater. Or they haul their own from the kitchens.’
I gave him a look. ‘I’ll haul my own tonight.’ I proceeded to make the best use I could of the handbasin while he sat and silently watched me. While I was shaving, he observed quietly, ‘You’ll have to get up earlier tomorrow. All the kitchen staff know that I’m an early riser.’
I looked at him in consternation. ‘And?’
‘And they’ll be expecting my servant to come down for my breakfast tray.’
The sense sank in slowly. He was right. I needed to do a better job of stepping into my role if I was to find out anything useful. ‘I’ll go now,’ I offered.
He shook his head. ‘Not looking like that. Lord Golden is a proud and temperamental man. He would not keep such a rough-thatched servant as you show yourself now. We must make you look your part. Come here and sit down.’
I followed him out into the light and air of the master chamber. He had set out comb, brush and shears on his table, and propped a large mirror on it. I steeled myself to endure this. I crossed to the door to be sure it was securely bolted against untimely intrusion. Then I sat in a chair and waited for him to lop my hair into a servant’s short cut. I freed my hair from its tail as Lord Golden took up the shears. When I looked into his ornately-framed mirror, I saw a man I scarcely recognized. There is something about a large glass and seeing oneself all at once. Starling was right, I decided. I did look much older than my years. When I leaned back from the mirror and regarded my face, I was surprised to see how my scar had faded. It was still there as a seam, but it was not as remarkable as it had been on a young man’s unlined face. The Fool let me look at myself for a time in silence. Then he gathered my hair into his hands. I glanced up at his face in the mirror. His lower lip was caught in his teeth in an agony of indecision. Abruptly he clacked the shears back onto the table. ‘No,’ he said emphatically. ‘I can’t bring myself to do it, and I don’t think we need to.’ He took a breath, then rapidly curried my hair back into its warrior tail. ‘Try the clothing,’ he urged me. ‘I had to guess at size, but no one expects a servant’s clothing to be well tailored.’
I went back to the small chamber and looked at the garments draped across the foot of my cot. They were cut from the familiar blue homespun that servants at Buckkeep had always worn. It was not all that different from the clothing I had worn as a child. But as I put it on, it felt different. I was donning the garments that marked me to all eyes as a serving-man. A disguise, I told myself. I was not truly anyone’s servant. But with a sudden pang, I wondered how Molly had felt the first time she had donned the blue dress of a serving-girl. Bastard or not, I was the son of a prince. I had never expected to wear the garments of a servant. In place of my Farseer charging buck, there was an embroidery of Lord Golden’s golden cock-pheasant. Yet the garments fitted me well, and, ‘Actually, these are the best quality clothes I’ve worn in years,’ I admitted ruefully. The Fool leaned round the door to look at me, and for a second I thought I saw anxiety in his eyes. But at the sight of me he grinned, then made a show of walking a slow circle of inspection around me.
‘You’ll do, Tom Badgerlock. There are boots by the door, made a good three finger-widths longer than my foot, and wider, too. Best you put your things away in the chest, so that if anyone does become curious to look about our rooms, there will be nothing to arouse suspicion.’
This I did hastily while the Fool quickly tidied his own chamber. Verity’s sword went under the clothing in my chest. There were scarcely enough garments to cover it. The boots fitted as well as new boots usually did. Time would make them comfortable.
‘I’m sure you remember the way to the kitchens. I always eat my breakfast on a tray in my room; the kitchen boys will be glad to see you’re taking on the task of bringing it to me. It may give you an opening for gossip.’ He paused. ‘Tell them I ate little last night and hence am ravenous this morning. Then bring up enough for both of us.’
It was strange to have him direct me so minutely, but, I reminded myself, I had best get used to it. So I bobbed a bow at him and essayed a, ‘Yes, sir,’ before I went out of the door of the chamber. He started to smile, caught himself, and inclined a slow nod to me.
Outside the chamber, the castle was well awake. Other servants were busy, replenishing candles and sweeping soiled rushes away or scurrying about with fresh linens or buckets of washwater. Perhaps it was my new perspective, but it seemed to me that there were far more servants in Buckkeep than I recalled. It was not the only aspect that had changed. Queen Kettricken’s Mountain ways were in more evidence than ever. In her years of residence, the inside of the castle had been raised to a new standard of cleanliness. A sparse simplicity characterized the rooms I passed, replacing decades of ornate clutter that had once filled them. The tapestries and banners that remained were clean and free of cobwebs.
But in the kitchens, Cook Sara still reigned. I stepped into the steam and smells and it was like stepping through a doorway back into my boyhood. As Chade had told me, the old cook was ensconced on a chair rather than bustling from hearth to table to hearth, but clearly food was cooked in Buckkeep kitchens as it had always been cooked. I wrenched my eyes from Sara’s ample form, lest she catch my gaze and somehow know me. I tugged humbly at the sleeve of a serving-boy to make Lord Golden’s breakfast wishes known to him. The boy pointed out the trays, dishes and cutlery and then gestured wide at the cooking hearths. ‘Ye’re his servant, not me,’ he pointed out snippily, and went back to chopping turnips. I scowled at him, but was inwardly grateful. I had soon served up enough for two very ample breakfasts onto the tray. I whisked it and myself out of the kitchen.
I was halfway up the stair when I heard a familiar voice in conversation. I halted and then leaned on the balustrade to look down. Unbidden, a smile came to my face. Queen Kettricken strode through the hall below, half a dozen ladies struggling valiantly to keep pace with her. I knew none of her ladies; they were all young, none much past twenty. They had been children when last I was at Buckkeep. One looked vaguely familiar, but perhaps I had known her mother. My gaze fixed on the Queen.
Kettricken’s shining hair, still gloriously golden, was looped and pinned about her head in a crown of braids. She wore a simple circlet of silver upon her head. She was dressed in russet brown with an embroidered yellow kirtle, and her skirts rustled as she walked. Her ladies emulated her simple style without being able to capture it for it was Kettricken’s innate grace that lent elegance to her unpretentious garb. Despite the years that had passed, her posture and stride were still upright and unfettered. She walked with purpose, but I saw a stillness captured in her face. Some part of her was constantly aware of her missing son, and yet she still moved through the court as a queen. My heart stood still at the sight of her. I thought how proud Verity would be of this woman and, ‘Oh, my queen,’ I breathed to myself.
She halted in midstride and I almost heard the intake of her breath. She glanced about and then up, her eyes meeting mine across the distance. In the shadow of the Great Hall, I could not see her blue gaze, but somehow I felt it. For an instant our eyes locked, but her face held puzzlement, not recognition.
I felt the sudden thwack of fingers against the side of my head. I turned to my attacker, too amazed to be angry. A gentleman of the court, taller than I, looked down on me in sharp disapproval. His words were clipped. ‘You are obviously new to Buckkeep, oaf. Here, the servants are not permitted to stare so brazenly at the Queen. Be about your business. After this, remember your place, or soon you will have no place to remember.’
I looked down at the tray of food I gripped, struggling to control my face. Anger drenched me. I knew that my face had darkened with blood. It took every bit of my will to avert my eyes and bob my head. ‘Your pardon, sir. I will remember.’ I hoped he took my strangled voice for crushed humiliation rather than rage. Gripping the sides of the tray tightly, I continued my journey up the stairs as he went down and did not allow myself to glance over the balustrade to see if my queen watched me go.
A servant. A servant. I am a loyal, well-trained manservant. I am newly come from the country, but well recommended, so I am a mannered servant, accustomed to discipline. Accustomed to humiliation. Or was I? When I had followed Lord Golden into Buckkeep, Verity’s blade in its plain scabbard had hung at my side. Surely, some would have marked that. My complexion and the scars on my hands marked me as a man who lived more out of doors than in. If I was to play this role, then it must be believable. It must be a role I could endure, as well as one I could act convincingly.
At Lord Golden’s door, I knocked, paused discreetly to allow my master to expect me, then entered. The Fool was at the casement looking out. I closed the door carefully behind me, latched it and then set down the tray on the table. As I began to lay out the meal, I spoke to his back. ‘I am Tom Badgerlock, your servant. I was recommended to you as a fellow who was educated above his station by an indulgent master, but kept more for his blade than his manners. You chose me because you wanted a manservant capable of being your bodyguard as well as your valet. You have heard that I am moody and occasionally quick-tempered, but you are willing to try me to see if I will serve your purpose. I am … forty-two years old. The scars I bear I took defending my last master from an attack by three – no, six – highwaymen. I killed them all. I am not a man to be provoked lightly. When my last master died, he left me a small bequest that enabled me to live simply. But now my son has come of age, and I wished to apprentice him in Buckkeep Town. You persuaded me to return to service as a way to defray my expenses.’
Lord Golden had turned from the window. His aristocratic hands clasped one another as he listened to my soliloquy. When I had finished, he nodded. ‘I like it, Tom Badgerlock. Such a coup for Lord Golden, to have a manservant who is just a tiny bit dangerous to keep about. Such an air shall I put on over having hired such a man! You will do, Tom. You will do well.’
He advanced to the table, and I drew his chair out for him. He seated himself, and looked over the setting and dishes I had prepared for him. ‘Excellent. This is exactly to my liking. Tom, keep this up, and I shall have to raise your wages.’ He lifted his gaze to meet mine. ‘Sit down and eat with me,’ the Fool suggested.
I shook my head. ‘Best I practise my manners, sir. Tea?’
For an instant the Fool looked horrified. Then Lord Golden lifted a napkin and patted at his lips. ‘Please.’
I poured for him.
‘This son of yours, Tom. I have not met him. He’s in Buckkeep Town, is he?’
‘I told him to follow me here, sir.’ I suddenly realized I had told Hap little more than that. He would arrive with a weary old pony pulling a rickety cart with an ageing wolf in it. I had not gone to Jinna’s niece, to ask her to expect him. What if she took affront at my assumption that my boy could come there? Like a wave breaking over me, my other life caught up with me. I’d made no provisions for him. He knew no one else in Buckkeep Town, save Starling, and I did not even know if she was currently in residence here. Besides, with relations strained between us, Hap was unlikely to turn to her for aid.
Suddenly I knew I had to seek out the hedge-witch and be sure my boy would be accepted there. I’d leave a message for Hap with her. And I had to approach Chade immediately about making provisions for him. Given what I knew now, it seemed a cold bargain and my heart shrank within me at the thought of it. I could always borrow the money from the Fool. I winced at the thought. Just what are my wages? I prompted myself to ask. But the words could not find their way to my tongue.
Lord Golden pushed back from his table. ‘You are quiet, Tom Badgerlock. When your son does arrive, I expect you to present him to me. For now, I think I shall let you have this first morning to yourself. Tidy up here, get to know the castle and the grounds.’ He looked me over critically. ‘Fetch me paper, quill and ink. I will write you a letter of credit to Scrandon the tailor. I expect you will find his shop easily enough. You knew it of old. You need to be measured for more clothing, some for everyday, and some for when I want you to show well. If you are bodyguard as well as valet, then I think it fitting that you stand behind my chair at formal dinners and accompany me when I ride. And go also to Croys. He has a weapons stall down near the smithy’s lane. Look through his used swords and find yourself a serviceable blade.’
I nodded to each of his orders. I went to a small desk in the corner to set out pen and ink for my master. Behind me, the Fool spoke quietly. ‘Both Hod’s work and Verity’s blade are likely to be too well remembered here at Buckkeep Castle. I’d advise you to keep that blade in Chade’s old tower room.’
I did not look at him as I replied. ‘I shall. And I shall also be speaking to the Weaponsmaster, to ask him to provide me a practice partner. I shall tell him my skills are a bit rusty and you want me to sharpen them. Who was Prince Dutiful’s drill partner?’
The Fool knew. He always knew things like that. He spoke as he took his seat at the writing desk. ‘Cresswell was his instructor, but he paired him most often with a young woman named Delleree. But you can’t very well ask for her by name … hmm. Tell him you’d like to work with someone who fights with two swords, to sharpen your defence skills. I believe that is her speciality.’
‘I shall. Thank you.’
A few moments passed as his pen scratched busily across the paper. Once or twice he looked up, regarding me with a speculative look that made me uneasy. I wandered over to his window and looked out of it. It was a lovely day. I wished it belonged solely to me. I smelled melting wax and turned around to see Lord Golden applying his seal to his missives. He let the wax cool a bit, then held them out to me.
‘Off you go, to tailor and weapons-dealer. As for me, I think I shall stroll for a bit in the gardens, and then I have been invited to the Queen’s parlour for –’
‘I saw her. Kettricken.’ I choked on a bitter laugh. ‘It seems so long ago: us waking the stone-dragons, and all. And then something will happen and it seems like yesterday. The last time I saw Kettricken, she sat astride Verity-as-Dragon and bade us all farewell. Now, today, I saw her and it suddenly all came real for me. She has reigned here as Queen for well over a decade.
‘I stepped aside from all this to heal, and because I thought I could no longer be a part of it. Now, I’ve returned and I look around me and think, “I’ve missed my life.” While I was off and alone, it went on here, without me, and I’m forever doomed to be a stranger in my own home.’
‘Regrets are useless,’ the Fool replied. ‘All you can do is start from where you are. And who knows? Perhaps what you bring back from your self-imposed exile may prove to be just what is needed.’
‘And time flies by us, even as we speak.’
‘Quite so,’ Lord Golden replied. He gestured at his wardrobe. ‘My coat, Badgerlock. The green one.’
I opened the wardrobe doors and extracted the required garment from its many brethren, then closed the panels as best I could upon the bulging excess. I held his coat for him as so often I had seen Charim hold a coat for Verity, and assisted him into it. He held out his wrists to me, and I adjusted the cuffs and tugged the skirts of it straight. A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes. ‘Very good, Badgerlock,’ he murmured. He preceded me to the door and then waited while I opened it for him.
Once he was gone, I latched it, and quickly finished the rest of the cooling breakfast. I stacked the dishes back on the tray. I looked at the entry to the Fool’s private room. Then I kindled a candle, entered my small chamber and shut the door firmly behind me. But for the candle, the darkness would have been absolute. It took me a few moments to find the trigger that released the catch, and then two tries before I pressed the right spot on the wall. Despite the protest in my aching legs, I carried Verity’s sword up the multitude of stairs to Chade’s tower and leaned it in the corner by the mantle.
Once I was back in the Fool’s room, I cleared the table. When I glanced into the looking-glass, the breakfast things in my hands, I saw a Buckkeep serving-man. I gave a short sigh, reminded myself to keep my eyes lowered, and left the room.
Had I feared that on my return to Buckkeep Castle, all would instantly recognize me? The reality was that no one even saw me. A glance at my servant’s clothing and lowered eyes and I was dismissed from the mind. I did receive sidelong looks from my fellow servants, but for the most part they were occupied with their own tasks. A few offered hasty greetings, and I accepted their welcome amiably. I would cultivate the servants, for little happens in any great house that the servants do not know about. I returned the dishes to the kitchen and left the castle. The guards passed me through with scarcely a word. I soon found myself on the steep roads that led down to the town. It was a fine day and the road was well travelled. Summer seemed determined to linger a time yet. I fell in behind a group of ladies’-maids going down to the town with baskets on their arms. They glanced warily back at me twice, and then ignored me. The rest of the way down the hill, I listened hungrily to their gossip, but found no hints there. They were speaking of the festivities that would accompany the Prince’s betrothal, and what their mistresses would wear. Somehow the Queen and Chade had been able to disguise the Prince’s absence.
In the town, I went quickly about Lord Golden’s errands but kept my ears pricked for any word that might pertain to Dutiful. I found the tailor’s shop with no difficulty. As the Fool had told me, I knew it of old, when it was Molly’s chandlery. It was strange to enter that place. The tailor took my letter of credit with no hesitation, but clucked over Golden’s command for haste in their sewing. ‘Still, he has paid me well enough to make it worth my sleep tonight. Your clothes will be ready by tomorrow.’ I gathered from his other comments that Lord Golden had patronized him before. I stood silently on a low stool and was measured. No questions were asked of me, for Lord Golden had specified in his note how he wished his servant dressed. I was free to stand silent and wonder if I could still catch the scents of beeswax and aromatic herbs, or if I deceived myself. Before I departed, I asked the man if he knew of any hedge-witches in Buckkeep. I wanted to ask one if my new position boded well for me. He shook his head at my low-born superstition, but told me to ask about near the smithy’s lane.
This suited me well, for my next errand took me to Croy’s. I wondered that the Fool knew this man’s shop at all, for it was a jackdaw’s nest of battered weapons and armour. But again the proprietor took Lord Golden’s note without question. I took my time finding a blade I could live with. I wanted a simple, well-made weapon, but of course that is what any true man-at-arms chooses, so that was what Croy had least of. After trying to interest me in several remarkable swords that had elaborate guards and nondescript blades, he gave up on me and left me to sort through his collection. I did so, but kept up a constant stream of observations at how Buckkeep had changed since I was last there. It was not hard to get him gossiping, and then to turn his tongue to omens and portents and those who dealt in them. I did not have to mention Jinna by name to hear of her. At length I selected a blade truly worthy of my rusty skills. Croy tutted over it. ‘Your master has gold and to spare, good man. Choose yourself something with a bit of a sparkle on it, or some style to the basket.’
I shook my head. ‘No, no, I want nothing that will catch in a man’s clothes when the fighting is close and hot. This is the one I’ll have. But I’ll take a knife to go with it.’
This was soon found and I left his shop. I walked through the loud clanging and gusting heat that marked the smithy’s lane. The hammers of competing smithies were a stunning counterpoint to the sun’s beat. I had forgotten how constant the noise of a city was. I searched my memory as I walked, trying to recall if anything I had said to Jinna would conflict with my newly-modified life-history. At length, I decided it would have to do. If something did not make sense to her, well, she would just have to believe me a liar. I frowned at how much that disturbed me.
Croy had described a dark green sign with a white hand painted on it. The lines on the hand were all done in red, quite skilfully. From the low eaves of her roof several of her charms tinkled and turned in the sunlight. Luckily for me, none seemed to be against predators. It took me but a moment’s pause to guess at their purpose. Welcome. They attracted me to the house and the door. It took a time for anyone to reply to my knock, but then the top half of the door opened and Jinna herself greeted me.
‘Badgerlock!’ she exclaimed, peering at me, and it was pleasant that neither my warrior’s tail nor my new clothes had kept her from knowing me. She swung the lower door open instantly. ‘Come in! Welcome to Buckkeep Town. Will you let me repay the debt of hospitality I owe you? Do come in.’
There is little in life so reassuring as a genuine welcome. She took my hand and drew me into the cool dimness of her home as if I were an expected guest. The ceiling was low and the furnishings modest. There was a round table with several chairs set about it. Nearby shelves held the tools of her trade, including an assortment of draped charms. Dishes and food were on the table; I had interrupted her meal. I halted, feeling awkward. ‘I did not mean to intrude.’
‘Not at all. Sit down and share.’ She took a seat at the table as she spoke and I could scarcely do otherwise. ‘Now. Tell me what brings you to Buckkeep.’ She pushed the platter towards me. It held several jam tarts and smoked fish and cheese. I took a tart to give myself time to think. She must have noticed that I wore servant’s garb, but left it to me to tell her what it meant. I liked that.
‘I’ve taken a position at Buckkeep as a manservant to Lord Golden.’ Even knowing it was false, it was still hard to say those words. I had never realized what a proud fellow I was until I had to masquerade as the Fool’s servant. ‘When I left home, I told Hap to join me when he could. At that time, I was not sure of my plans. I think that when he gets to Buckkeep Town, he may seek you out. May I leave word for him with you, so you can send him on to me?’
I braced myself for all the inevitable questions. Why had I suddenly taken this employment, why hadn’t I simply brought Hap with me, how did I know Lord Golden? Instead, her eyes brightened and she exclaimed, ‘With great pleasure! But what I propose is simpler. When Hap arrives, I’ll keep him here and send word up to the keep. There’s a little room in the back he can use; it was my nephew’s before he grew up and married away. Let the boy have a day or so in Buckkeep Town; he seemed to enjoy it so at Springfest, and your new duties will probably not allow you time to show him about yourself.’
‘I know he would love that,’ I found myself saying. It would be far easier for me to maintain my role as Lord Golden’s servant if I did not have Hap in the midst of it. ‘My hope is that here in Buckkeep I’ll be able to earn the coin to purchase him a good apprenticeship.’
Coming up. A large ginger cat announced this to me at the same moment that he effortlessly elevated onto my lap. I stared at him in surprise. Never had an animal spoken so clearly to me via the Wit save for my own bond-animals. Nor had I ever been so completely ignored by an animal that had just spoken mind to mind with me. The cat stood, hind legs on my lap, front paws on the table, and surveyed the food. A plumey tail waved before my face.
‘Fennel! Shame on you, stop that. Come here.’ Jinna leaned across the table to scoop the cat from my lap. She picked up the conversation as she did so. ‘Yes, Hap’s told me of his ambitions, and it’s a fine thing to see a young man with dreams and hopes.’
‘He’s a good boy,’ I agreed with her fervently. ‘And he deserves a good chance at making something of himself. I’d do anything for him.’
Fennel now stood on Jinna’s lap and stared at me across the table. She likes me better than you. He stole a piece of fish from the edge of her plate.
Do all cats speak so rudely to strangers? I rebuked him.
He leaned back to bump his head possessively against Jinna’s chest. His yellow-eyed stare was daunting. All cats talk however they want. To whomever they want. But only a rude human speaks out of turn. Be quiet. I told you. She likes me better than you. He twisted his head to look up at Jinna’s face. More fish?
‘That’s plain,’ she agreed. I tried to remember what I had said to her as I watched her give the cat a bit of fish at the edge of the table. I knew Jinna was not Witted. I wondered if the cat was lying to me about all cats talking. I knew little of cats. Burrich had never kept them in the stables. We’d had rat-dogs to keep the vermin down.
Jinna misinterpreted my preoccupation. A touch of sympathy came into her eyes as she added, ‘Still, it must be hard to leave your own home and being your own master to come to town and serve, no matter how fine a man Lord Golden may be. I hope he’s as open-handed at paying you as he is when he comes down to Buckkeep Town to trade.’
