I lifted a tapestry and slipped into the labyrinth of secret corridors that wormed its way behind the walls of Buckkeep Castle. Once I had known the spy-ways as well as I knew the path to the stables. Despite the passing years, the narrow corridors that crept through interior walls or snaked along the outer walls of the castle had not changed.
But I had. I was no longer a skinny boy or even a youth. I was a man of sixty, and though I flattered myself that I was fit enough still to do a hard day’s work, I was no longer limber and lithe. The narrow corners that I had once ferreted past without a thought now required a bit of negotiating. I reached the old pantry entrance and hunched by the concealed door, ear pressed to the wall, waiting for a quiet moment before I emerged behind a meat rack full of dangling sausages.
I was saved only by the benign chaos of Winterfest. When I stepped out of the pantry into the corridor, a large woman in a flour-dusted apron demanded to know what was taking me so long. “Did you find the goose-grease for me or not?”
“I, I didn’t see it there,” I replied and she responded tartly, “That’s because you went into the wrong pantry! Go along two more doors, down a flight of steps, take the second door to the cold room, and look for it there, in a big brown crock on a shelf. Hurry up!”
She spun around and left me standing. As she walked away, she muttered loudly about hiring new help right before a feast-day. I blew out a nervous breath and turned to find a fellow of about my height and build laboring up the corridor with a heavy brown crock in his arms. I followed him and as he went into the kitchens, I stepped past the kitchen door and its exhaled aroma of fresh bread, steaming soups, and roasting meats and hurried outside.
In the teeming courtyard of Buckkeep Castle on a wintry day, I was just one more man rushing on an urgent errand. I looked up at the sky in surprise. Past noon. I had slept far longer than I’d intended. A brief break in the storms had bared the midday sun, but more snow was surely coming our way. Now I regretted how impulsively I had discarded my cloak the day before. I’d be lucky to regain the keep before the snow came down.
I went first to the infirmary, hoping to apologize to Riddle privately. But it was busier than usual, for apparently some of our guardsmen had gotten into a bit of a brawl last night. No great damage to any of them, save for one fellow who had been bitten on the cheek. The ugliness of that was enough to make anyone wince. Again, the noise and disorder were my allies as I swiftly discovered that Riddle was no longer there. I left, hoping that he was well recovered by now but surmising that he was actually recuperating someplace more conducive to rest. I stood outside the infirmary deciding what I should do next.
I hefted my purse. The coins I had hoped to spend to delight my little daughter still weighted it heavily—now supplemented by what Chade had left me. I had loaded my purse well at Withywoods in the belief that I would indulge her in every possible way on that market day in Oaksbywater. Had it been only yesterday? Bleakness washed over me. What I had intended as a day of pleasure and indulgence had ended in violence and bloodshed. To save the Fool’s life, I had sent her home without me, in the dubious guardianship of Scribe FitzVigilant and Lady Shun. Little Bee, only nine and looking more like a six-year-old. I wondered what sort of day she was having. Nettle had promised to send a bird to let her know I had arrived safely at Buckkeep, and I knew that my elder daughter would never fail me at such a task. So, later today, I would write letters, to FitzVigilant and Revel, but most especially to Bee. A top-notch messenger on a good horse could have them there in three days. Four if more snow fell … For now the bird message would have to suffice. And while I had this time, I would take myself to Buckkeep Town, not just to buy myself a fresh set of garb with Chade’s coin but also to buy more gifts for Bee. Winterfest gifts, I decided, to show her I had thought of her even if I could not be with her. I’d indulge myself by indulging her! Even if my gifts would reach her days late.