‘She is the Queen’s own Huntswoman, and in her confidence in many things. Her mother’s family lives less than a day’s ride from Galeton. She claims to know the area well from childhood times spent there, so that may be a help to you. Besides. Kettricken is determined you will take her. Well do I know the futility of arguing with the Queen when she has made up her mind to something.’
‘I recall something of that myself,’ Lord Golden replied, but there was much of the Fool in that rueful voice. I felt a smile crook the corner of my own mouth. I, too, knew what it was to quail before the blue determination of my queen’s gaze. I wondered who this Laurel was, and what she had done to win the Queen’s confidence. Did I feel a prick of envy that someone had taken my place as Kettricken’s confidante at court? Well, it had been fifteen years since I had filled that role. Had I expected her to take no one in my place?
Lord Golden’s displeased resignation broke into my thoughts. ‘Well, so be it, then, if it must. She can come, but I’ll not wait upon her. Tom, are not you packed yet?’
‘Close enough,’ I rejoined and recalled myself enough to add, ‘My lord. I shall be but a moment. I’ve little enough to pack.’
‘Excellent. See that you bring Scrandon’s wares, for I will have you dressed appropriately to serve me in Galekeep.’
‘As you will, sir,’ I replied, and left them to step into my chamber. I put the bundle of new garments into the new saddle pack I found there. It was marked with Lord Golden’s cock pheasant. I added a few of my old garments for the night work I expected to be doing in Galeton, and then looked about the room. I already wore my serviceable sword. There was nothing else to add to the pack. No poisons, no cunningly made small weapons to smuggle along. I felt strangely naked despite having gone without them for years.
As I emerged with my packed bags slung over my shoulder, Chade stopped me with a lifted hand. ‘One more small item,’ he offered sheepishly, and held out a leather roll without meeting my eyes. As I took it into my hands, I knew the contents without having to check it. Picks for locks, and other subtle tools of the assassin’s trade. Lord Golden looked aside as I slipped the roll inside my pack. Of old, my clothing had featured hidden pockets for such things. Well, I hoped I would not have to be at this long enough to make such concerns necessary again.
Our farewells were hurried and odd. Lord Golden bid Chade a formal farewell, as if there were an entire audience of strangers watching them. Thinking I should emulate their example, I offered Chade a servant’s bow, but he seized me by the arms and embraced me hastily. ‘Thank you, my boy,’ he muttered by my ear. ‘Go in haste and bring Dutiful back to us. And go easy on the boy. This is as much my fault as his.’
Emboldened, I replied, ‘Watch over my boy for me, then. And Nighteyes. I hadn’t thought I’d be burdening Jinna with him, let alone a pony and cart.’
‘I’ll see they come to no harm,’ he offered, and I know he saw the gratitude in my eyes. Then I hastened to unlatch the door for Lord Golden, and followed at his heels carrying our bags as he strode through Buckkeep. Many called out farewells to him, and he acknowledged them warmly but briefly.
If Lord Golden had sincerely hoped to leave Laurel behind, she disappointed him. She was standing at the stable door, holding all our horses and waiting for us with every evidence of impatience. I placed her in her middle to late twenties. She was strongly built, not unlike Kettricken herself, long-boned and muscled, yet still womanly in form. She was not from Buck, for our women tend to be small and dark, and Laurel was neither. She was not fair like Kettricken, but her eyes were blue. Her brown hair was sun-streaked with blonde, and bleached near white at her temples. Sun had browned her face and hands. She had a narrow straight nose above a strong mouth and determined chin. She wore the leathers of a hunter, and her horse was one of those small, wiry ones that leaps like a terrier over any barrier and can race like a weasel through the most tangling brush. He was a homely little gelding, and his eyes shone with his spirit. Her small baggage roll was secured behind her saddle. As we approached, Malta lifted her head and whickered eagerly to her master. My black stood by uninterestedly. It was oddly humiliating.
‘Huntswoman Laurel. Ready to go, I see,’ Lord Golden greeted her.
‘Yes, my lord. Waiting only for you to be ready.’
At this, they both glanced at me. Recalling abruptly that I was Lord Golden’s servant, I took Malta’s reins from Laurel and held her while Lord Golden mounted. I fastened both our saddle-packs onto my black, a process she did not much approve of. As I took my reins from Laurel, she smiled at me and proffered a hand. ‘Laurel of the Downs family near Pitbank. I am her majesty’s Huntswoman.’
‘Tom Badgerlock. Lord Golden’s man,’ I replied as I bowed over her hand.
Lord Golden had already set his horse in motion with a noble disregard for the doings of servants. We both mounted hastily and set off after him. ‘And where is your family from, Tom?’ Laurel asked.
‘Um. Near Forge. On Bramble Creek.’ Bramble Creek was what Hap and I called it. If the creek near our cottage had any other name, I had never heard it. But the impromptu pedigree seemed to satisfy Laurel. The black was annoying me by tugging at her bit and trying to move up. Evidently she was not used to following another horse. Her stride was longer than Malta’s as well. I held her in place, but it was a near constant battle of wills.
Laurel gave me a sympathetic look. ‘New mount?’
‘I’ve had her less than the day. Discovering her temperament on a journey may not be the best way to get to know her.’
She grinned at me. ‘No, but it may be the quickest. Besides, what choice do you have?’
We left the castle by the west gate. In my boyhood at Buckkeep, this gate had been kept secured at most times, and the road that led from it had been little more than a goat-path. Now it stood open, with a small manned guardhouse next to it. We were passed out with scarcely a pause, and found ourselves on a well-travelled road that traversed the hills behind Buck Castle before winding down to the riverside. The steepest bits of the old path had been rerouted, and the whole way widened. Tracks told me that carts used this meandering path, and as it carried us on our wandering way down to the river, I caught glimpses of wharves below, and the roofs of warehouses. I was still shocked when I began to catch glimpses of cottages back beneath the trees.
‘Folk did not use to live there,’ I said. I bit my tongue before I added that Prince Verity had loved to hunt these hills. I doubted they offered much game any more. Trees had been cleared to allow small gardens to be cultivated. Donkeys and ponies grazed in brushy pastures.