‘Very well,’ he replied easily. An odd smile curved his mouth. ‘I thought only Chade called the Seawatch tower “Verity’s tower”. Interesting. You might have at least referred to my father as King Verity.’

‘Your pardon, my prince,’ was the best reply I could think of, and he merely snorted at it. Then he fixed me with a truly royal look and added, ‘And you will make every attempt to be at my ceremony tonight, Tom Badgerlock.’

Before I could reply, he set his heels to his grey and rode back to Buckkeep like a man pursued by demons. We had little choice but to follow. He did not slow until we reached the gate, where we paused to be formally recognized and admitted. From there we walked our horses, but Dutiful was silent and I could think of nothing to say. When we arrived at the tall doors of the main hall, courtiers were already gathered to meet him. A groom hurried up to take his horse’s head, and a stableboy took Malta’s reins. I was left to fend for myself, for which I was grateful. Lord Golden thanked the Prince formally for the extreme pleasure of his exclusive company and the

Prince courteously replied. We sat our mounts, watching Dutiful as he was engulfed by his nobles and carried off. I swung off Myblack and stood awaiting my master.

‘Well. A pleasant ride,’ Lord Golden observed, and dismounted. As his boot lightly touched the ground, his foot seemed to fly out from under him and he fell badly. I had never seen the Fool so ungraceful. He sat up, lips pinched tight, then with a groan leaned forward to clutch at his booted ankle.

‘Such a wrench!’ he cried, and then, imperiously, ‘No, no, stay back, see to my horse,’ as he waved the stableboy away. Then, quite sharply to me, ‘Well, don’t stand there, you dolt! Give the stableboy your horse and help me up. Or do you propose that I shall hop up to my chambers?’

The Prince had already been borne away on a wave of chattering ladies and lords. I doubted that he was aware of Lord Golden’s mishap. Some of the Prince’s attendants looked our way, but most were intent on Dutiful. So I crouched and as Lord Golden put his arm across my shoulders, I asked quietly, ‘How bad is it’’

‘Bad enough!’ he snapped sharply. ‘I shall not be dancing tonight, and my new dancing slippers were just delivered yesterday. Oh, this is intolerable! Help me to my rooms, man.’ At his irritated scolding, several lesser nobles hastened towards us. His manner changed instantly as he replied to their anxious queries with assurances that he was sure he would be fine, and that nothing could keep him from the betrothal festivities tonight. He leaned most of his weight on me, but one sympathetic young man took his arm, and a lady sent her maid scuttling off to order hot water and soaking herbs immediately taken to Lord Golden’s chambers, and to fetch a healer as well. No less than two young men and three very lovely young ladies trailed us as we made our way into Buckkeep.

By the time we had lurched and hobbled our way up the stairs and corridors to Golden’s chambers, he had sharply rebuked me for clumsiness a dozen times. We found the healer and the hot water awaiting us outside the door. The healer took Lord Golden out of my hands, and I was almost immediately sent off to fetch brandy to steady his shaken nerves and something from the kitchens to settle his stomach. As I left, I cringed in sympathy for his sharp cries of pain as the healer carefully freed his foot from his boot. By the time I returned with a tray of pastries and fruit from the kitchen, the healer had departed and Lord Golden was ensconced in his chair with his well-propped foot stretched out before him while his sympathizers filled the other chairs. I set out the food upon the table and carried brandy to him. Lady Calendula was sympathizing with him over the heartless and incompetent healer. What kind of a bumbler was he, to cause Lord Golden such pain and then declare that he could find very little indication of an injury? Young Lord Oaks told a long, detailed and plaintive story of how the healer at his father’s house had nearly let him die of a stomach ailment under similar circumstances. When he was finally finished with his tale, Lord Golden begged their understanding that he needed to rest after his disaster. I concealed my relief as I bowed them all out the door.

I waited until the door was well closed behind them and the sound of their chattering voices and tapping feet had died away before I approached the Fool. He leaned back in his chair, a rose scented kerchief draped over his eyes.

‘How bad is it?’ I asked in a low voice.

‘As bad as you wish it to be,’ he replied, not taking the fabric from his face.

‘What?’

He lifted the cloth and smiled up at me beatifically. ‘Such a display, and all for your benefit. You might at least show your gratitude.’

‘What are you talking about?’

He lowered his bound foot to the floor, stood up and strolled casually to the table where he picked through the leftover food there. He didn’t even limp. ‘Now Lord Golden has an excuse to have his man Tom Badgerlock at his side tonight. I shall lean on your arm when I walk, and you shall carry my little footstool and cushion about for me. And fetch for me and run my greetings and messages about the room for me. You’ll be there for Dutiful to see, and I don’t doubt that you’ll find it a better vantage point for your spying than sneaking about through the walls.’ He looked at me critically as I gaped. ‘Luckily for us both, the new clothing I ordered for you was delivered this morning. Come. Sit down and I’ll trim your hair now. You can’t go to the ball looking like that.’

‘I never imagined I would wear stripes,’ I muttered again.

‘Stop complaining,’ the Fool managed around the pins in his mouth. He removed them a pin at a time as he fastened the tiny pocket in place, and then swiftly began to make it permanent with his needle and thread. ‘I’ve told you. It looks astounding on you and complements my garb perfectly.’

‘I don’t want to look astounding. I want to be nondescript.’ I thrust a needle through the waistband of the trousers and into the meat of my thumb. That the Fool refrained from laughing as I cursed only made me more irritable.

He was already impeccably and extravagantly attired. He sat cross-legged in his chair, helping me hastily add assassin’s pockets to my new garb. He didn’t even look up at me as he assured me, ‘You will be nondescript. Folk will remember your clothing, not your face, if they remark you at all. You will be in close attendance upon me for most of the evening, and your clothing will obviously mark you as my serving man. It will conceal you, just as a servant’s livery can make a lovely miss simply another lady’s maid. Here. Try this now.’

I set down the trousers and put on the shirt. Three tiny vials from Chade’s supply, fashioned from bird’s bones, fitted neatly into the new pocket. Fastened, the cuff betrayed nothing. The other cuff already held several pellets of a powerful soporific. If afforded the chance, I would see that young Lord Bresinga slept well tonight while I had an opportunity to look through his chamber. I had already ascertained that he had not brought his hunting cat with him; or rather, I told myself, I had ascertained that it was not in his rooms or stabled with the other coursing beasts. It could very well be prowling the wooded lands that bordered Buckkeep. Lady Bresinga, Lord Golden had learned through court gossip, was not in attendance at Buckkeep Castle for the betrothal ceremony. She pleaded a painful spine following a bad fall from her horse during a hunting accident. If it was a sham, I wondered why she had chosen to stay home at Galekeep while she sent her son to represent her name. Did she think she had sent him out of danger? Or into it, to save herself?