Laurel wore a long dark cloak over her nightgown. Her hair was loose and spilling down her back. Lord Golden wore an embroidered dressing gown over his nightshirt. The light from the tiny fire in the hearth glinted off the burnished thread of the birds embroidered on the back and sleeves of his dressing gown, and picked up the lighter streaks in Laurel's flowing hair. He wore lacy gloves on his hands. They stood very close together by the fire, their heads bent together. I stood silent as a shocked child, wondering if I had interrupted an embrace. Lord Golden glanced over Laurel's shoulder at me, and then made a small motion for me to come in and shut the door. As Laurel turned to see me, her eyes seemed very large.
“I thought you were asleep in your chamber,” she said quietly. Was she disappointed?
“I was down in the kitchen, eating,” I explained to her. I expected her to reply to my words, but she merely looked at me. I felt a sudden desire to be elsewhere. “But I am extremely tired. I think I shall be going to bed immediately. Good night.” I turned toward my servant's room, but Lord Golden's voice halted me.
“Tom. Did you learn anything?”
I shrugged. “Small details of the servants' lives. Nothing that seems useful.” I was still not certain of how freely I should speak before Laurel.
“Well. Laurel seems to have done better.” He turned to her, inviting her to speak. Any woman would have been flattered by his golden focus.
“Prince Dutiful has been here,” Laurel announced in a breathless whisper. “Before I retired to sleep, I asked Avoin to show me the stables and the cattery. I wanted to see how the animals were housed.”
“His mistcat was there?” I guessed incredulously.
“No. Nothing that obvious. But the Prince has always insisted on tending to the cat's needs himself. Dutiful has certain odd little habits, ways of folding things or hanging tack. He is very fussy about such things. There was an empty enclosure in the cattery. On the shelf by it were brushes and such, arranged just so. It was the Prince's doing. I know it.”
I recalled the Prince's chamber at Buckkeep, and suspected she was right. And yet “Do you think the Prince would have let his precious cat be housed down there? In Buckkeep, the creature sleeps in his rooms.”
“There is everything for a cat's comfort there: things to claw, the herbs they fancy, fresh greens growing in a tub, toys for exercise, even live prey for their meals. The Bresingas keep hutch upon hutch of rabbits, so that their cats need never eat cold meat. The cats are truly pampered royalty.”
It seemed to me that my next question followed logically. “Might the Prince have stayed down in the stables to be closer to his cat?” Perhaps the basket had not had too long a journey to make.
Laurel raised one brow at me. “The Prince stay in the cattery?”
“He seemed to be very fond of the animal. I thought he might do that rather than be parted from it.” I had nearly betrayed my conclusion: that the Prince was Witted and would not be parted from his bondanimal. There was a -sv, small silence. Lord Golden broke it. His mellow voice car' ried no farther than the two of us. “Well, at least we have discovered that the Prince was here, even if he is not here now. And tomorrow may yield us more information. The Bresingas play cat and mouse with us. They know the Prince has left the Court with his cat. They may suspect that we have come seeking him. But we shall stay in our roles, and graciously dance after whatever they dangle for us. We must not betray what we know.”
“I hate this sort of thing,” Laurel declared flatly. “I hate the deceit, and the polite faces we must wear. I wish I could simply go and shake that woman awake and demand to know where Dutiful is. When I think of the anguish that she has caused our Queen ... I wish I had asked to see the cattery before dinner. I would have asked different questions, I assure you. But I brought you the news as soon as I could. The Bresingas had furnished me with a maid who insisted on helping me prepare for bed, and then I did not dare slip from my room until I was sure most of the keep was asleep.”
“Asking blunt questions will not serve us, nor shaking the truth out of noble ladies. The Queen wants Dutiful returned quietly. We must all keep that in mind.” Lord Golden included me in his instruction.
“I will try,” Laurel replied with quiet resignation.
“Good. And now we must all try to get what rest we can before tomorrow's hunt. Good night, Tom.”
“Good night, Lord Golden, Huntswoman Laurel.”
After a moment or two of silence, I realized something. I had been expecting Laurel to leave so that I could secure the door behind her. I had wanted to tell the Fool about the basket and the dead rabbit. But Laurel and Lord Golden were waiting for me to leave. She was studying a tapestry on a wall with an intensity it did not merit, while Lord Golden contentedly contemplated the gleaming fall of Laurel's hair.