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. ‘Yer 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.