‘You take your place like a figure stepping into a carefully-composed portrait,’ I observed quietly.
He smiled, his obvious pleasure in the compliment a confirmation of my words. Then he came to his feet as effortlessly as a cat. His arm and hand twined through a motion to point at each door off the room. ‘My bedchamber. The privy room. My private room.’ This door was closed, as was the last one. ‘And your chamber, Tom Badgerlock.’
I did not ask him about his private room. I knew his need for solitude of old. I crossed the room and tugged open the door to my quarters. I peered inside the small, dark room. It had no window. As my eye adjusted, I could make out a narrow cot in the corner, a washstand and a small chest. There was a single candle in a holder on the washstand. That was all. I turned back to the Fool with a quizzical look.
‘Lord Golden,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘is a shallow, venal fellow. He is witty and quick-tongued, and very charming to his fellows, and completely unaware of those of lesser stations. So. Your chamber reflects that.’
‘No window? No fireplace?’
‘No different from most of the servants’ chambers on this floor. It has, however, one singularly remarkable advantage that most of the others lack.’
I glanced back into the room. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t see it.’
‘And that is exactly what is intended. Come.’
Taking my arm, he accompanied me into the dark little room. He shut the door firmly behind us. We were instantly plunged into complete darkness. Speaking quietly next to me, he observed, ‘Always remember that the door must be shut for this to work. Over here. Give me your hand.’
I complied, and he guided my hand over the rough stone of the outer wall adjacent to the door. ‘Why must we do this in the dark?’ I demanded.
‘It was faster than kindling candles. Besides, what I am showing you cannot be seen, only felt. There. Feel that?’
‘I think so.’ It was a very slight unevenness in the stone.
‘Measure it off with your hand, or whatever you want to do to learn where it is.’
I obliged him, discovering that it was about six of my handspans from the corner of the room, and at the height of my chin. ‘Now what?’
‘Push. Gently. It does not take much.’
I obeyed and felt the stone shift very slightly beneath my hand. A small click sounded, but not from the wall before me. Instead, it came from behind me.
‘This way,’ the Fool told me, and in the darkness led me to the opposite wall of the small chamber. Again, he set my hand to the wall and told me to push. The darkness gave way on oiled hinges, the seeming stone no more than a façade that swung away at my touch. ‘Very quiet,’ the Fool observed approvingly. ‘He must have greased it.’
I blinked as my eyes adjusted to a subtle light leaking down from high above. In a moment I could see a very narrow staircase leading up. It paralleled the wall of the room. A corridor, equally narrow, snaked away into darkness, following the wall. ‘I believe you are expected,’ the Fool told me in his aristocratic sneer. ‘As is Lord Golden, but in far different company. I will excuse you from your duties as my valet, at least for tonight. You are dismissed, Tom Badgerlock.’
‘Thank you, master,’ I replied snidely. I craned my neck to peer up the stairs. They were stone, obviously built into the wall when the castle was first constructed. The grey quality of the light that seeped down suggested daylight rather than lamplight.
The Fool’s hand settled briefly on my shoulder, delaying me. In a far different voice he said, ‘I’ll leave a candle burning in the room for you.’ The hand squeezed affectionately. ‘And welcome home, FitzChivalry Farseer.’
I turned to look back at him. ‘Thank you, Fool.’ We nodded to one another, an oddly formal farewell, and I began to climb the stair. On the third stair, I heard a snick behind me, and looked back. The door had closed.
I climbed for quite a distance. Then the staircase turned, and I perceived the source of the light. Narrow openings, not even as wide as arrowslits, permitted the setting sun to finger in. The light was growing dimmer, and I suddenly perceived that when the sun set, I would be plunged into absolute darkness. I came to a junction in the corridor at that time. Truly, Chade’s rat-warren of tunnels, stairs and corridors within Buckkeep Castle were far more extensive than I had ever imagined. I closed my eyes for a moment and imagined the layout of the castle. After a brief hesitation, I chose a path and went on. As I travelled, from time to time I became aware of voices. Tiny peepholes gave me access to bedchambers and parlours as well as providing slivers of light in long dark stretches of corridor. A wooden stool, dusty with disuse, sat in one alcove. I sat down on it and peered through a slit into a private audience chamber that I recognized from my service with King Shrewd. Evidently the magnificent woodwork that framed the hearth furnished this spy post. Having taken my bearings from this, I hastened on.
At last, I saw a yellowish glow in the secret passageway far ahead of me. Hurrying towards it, I found a bend in the corridor, and a fat candle burning in a glass. Far down another stretch, I glimpsed a second candle. From that point on, the tiny lights led me on, until I climbed a very steep stair and suddenly found myself standing in a small stone room with a narrow door. The door swung open at my touch, and I found myself stepping out from behind the wine rack into Chade’s tower room.
I looked about the chamber with new eyes. It was uninhabited at the moment, but a small fire crackling on the hearth and a laden table told me I was, indeed, expected. The great bedstead was overladen with comforters, cushions and furs as it had always been, yet an elaborate spiderweb constructed amidst the dusty hangings spoke of disuse. Chade used this room still, but he no longer slept here.
I ventured down to the workroom end of the chamber, past the scroll-laden racks and the shelves of arcane equipment. Sometimes, when one goes back to the scene of one’s childhood, things seem smaller. What was mysterious and the sole province of adults suddenly seems commonplace and mundane when viewed with mature eyes.
Such was not the case with Chade’s workroom. The little pots carefully labelled in his decisive hand, the blackened kettles and stained pestles, the spilled herbs and the lingering odours still worked their spell on me. The Wit and the Skill were mine, but the strange chemistries that Chade practised here were a magic I had never mastered. Here I was still an apprentice, knowing only the basics of my master’s sophisticated lore.
My travels had taught me a bit. A shallow gleaming bowl, draped with a cloth, was a scrying basin. I’d seen them used by fortune-tellers in Chalcedean towns. I thought of the night that Chade had wakened me from a drunken stupor to tell me that Neat Bay was under attack from Red Ship Raiders. There had been no time, that night, to demand how he knew. I had always assumed it had been a messenger bird. Now I wondered.
The work hearth was cold, but tidier than I recalled. I wondered who his new apprentice was, and if I would meet the lad. Then my musings were cut short by the sound of a door closing softly. I turned to see Chade Fallstar standing near a scroll rack. For the first time, I realized that there were no obvious doors in the chamber. Even here, all was still deception. He greeted me with a warm if weary smile. ‘And here you are at last. When I saw Lord Golden enter the Great Hall smiling, I knew you would be awaiting me. Oh, Fitz, you have no idea how relieved I am to see you.’
I grinned at him. ‘In all our years together, I can’t recall a more ominous greeting from you.’
‘It’s an ominous time, my boy. Come, sit down, eat. We’ve always reasoned