He gave me a look from under lowered brows. Then he got up and with ponderously slow steps he walked to his scroll rack “I suppose that, eventually, all of my secrets must pass on to you,” he observed reluctantly. Then, by a means I did not discern, he did something to release a catch. The decorative crown piece atop the scroll rack folded down. He reached inside, and after a moment he drew out three scrolls. They were all small and rolled tightly into cylinders that could be concealed in a man’s closed fist. I stood, but he shut the rack front before I could see what else might be concealed there.
“How did you open that?” I demanded.
His smile was very small. “I said ‘eventually,’ Fitz. Not ‘today.’ ” His tone was that of my erstwhile mentor. He seemed to have set aside his earlier annoyance with me. He came back to me and offered me the three rolled scrolls on his outstretched palms. “Kettricken and I had our reasons. I hope you will think them good enough.”
I took the scrolls, but before I could open even one, the scroll rack swung to one side again and Thick entered. I flipped all three scrolls up my sleeve with a move so practiced it was almost instinctive. “And now I must be going, FitzChivalry.” He turned from me to Thick. “Thick. You were to meet with Tom earlier. Now that you are both here, I want you to spend some time together. I want you to be friends.” The old assassin gave me a final withering look. “I’m sure that you’ll have a pleasant chat now. Good night to both of you.”
And with that he left us. Did he sound relieved to leave? He hastened out before the rack could even close behind Thick. The dim-witted serving man carried a double load of wood in a canvas sling over one shoulder. He looked around, perhaps surprised to see Chade leave so swiftly. “Wood,” he told me. He dumped his burden to the floor, straightened up, and turned to go.
“Thick.” My voice stopped him. Chade was right. I should at least teach the man to obey me. “You know that is not what you are supposed to do. Stack the wood in the holder by the hearth.”
He glared at me, flexing his shoulders and rubbing his stubby hands together. Then he seized one end of the sling and dragged the wood toward the hearth, spilling logs, bits of bark, and dirt as he went. I said nothing. He crouched down beside it, and with a great deal more vehemence and noise than was required, he began to stack the wood. He looked over his shoulder at me frequently as he worked, but I could not decipher if his squint was antagonism or fear. I poured myself a glass of wine and tried to ignore him. There had to be a way out of dealing with Thick each day. I did not want him around me, let alone to teach him. In truth, I found his malformed body and dim ways somewhat revolting.