Of course. Go to sleep.
I could smell damp grass and the waning smoke of the campfire, and even Hap's salty sweat as he lay nearby. It reassured me. All was well in my world, then. I let go of all save those simple sensations and finally spiraled down into sleep J!?-
“Might I remind you that you are to serve as my valet, not the reverse?”
The words that jolted me from sleep were spoken with Lord Golden's arrogant sneer, but the smile on the Fool's face was entirely his own. A set of clothing hung over his arm, and I could smell warm, scented water. He was already faultlessly dressed in garb that was even more elegantly understated than what he had worn yesterday. His colors today were cream and forest green, with a thin edging of gilt at his - ÊrÊ
cuffs and collar. He wore a new earring, a filigreed golden orb. I knew what was inside it. He looked fresh and alert. I sat up and then cradled my aching head in my hands.
“Skillheadache?” he asked sympathetically.
I shook my head and the pain rattled inside it. “I only wish it were,” I muttered. I glanced up at him. “I'm justtired.”
“I thought perhaps you would sleep in the tower.” “It didn't feel right.” I rose and tried to stretch but my back kinked in protest. The Fool set the clothing across the foot of the bed, and then sat down on my rumpled blankets. “So. Any thoughts on where our Prince might be?”
“Too many. Anywhere in Buck Duchy, or even beyond the borders by now. There are too many nobles who might want to take him. If he ran on his own, that only increases the number of places he might have gone.” The wash water was still steaming. A few leaves of lemon balm floated fragrantly on the surface of the plain pottery bowl. I plunged my face into it gratefully and came up rubbing my hands over my face. I felt more awake and aware of the world. “I need a bath. Are the steam baths behind the guard barracks still there?”
“Yes, but servants don't use them. You'll have to be wary of falling back into old habits. Personal servants, generally speaking, get the second use of their master's or mistress's bathwater. Or they haul their own from the kitchens.”
I gave him a look. “I'll haul my own tonight.” I proceeded to make the best use I could of the handbasin while he sat and silently watched me. While I was shaving, he observed quietly, “You'll have to get up earlier tomorrow. All the kitchen staff know that I'm an early riser.”
I looked at him in consternation. “And?”
“And they'll be expecting my servant to come down for my breakfast tray.”
The sense sank in slowly. He was right. I needed to do a better job of stepping into my role if I was to find out anything useful. “I'll go now,” I offered.
He shook his head. “Not looking like that. Lord Golden is a proud and temperamental man. He would not keep such a roughthatched servant as you show yourself now. We must make you look your part. Come here and sit down,”
I followed him out into the light and air of the masterchamber. He had set out comb, brush, and shears on histable, and propped a large mirror on it. I steeled myself toendure this. I crossed to the door to be sure it was securelybolted against untimely intrusion. Then I sat in a chair andwaited for him to lop my hair into a servant's short cut.
freed my hair from its tail as Lord Golden took up theshears. When I looked into his ornately framed mirror, Isaw a man I scarcely recognized. There is something about alarge glass and seeing oneself all at once. Starling was right, I decided. I did look much older than my years. When leaned back from the mirror and regarded my face, I wassurprised to see how my scar had faded. It was still there as aseam, but it was not as remarkable as it had been on a youngman's unlined face. The Fool let me look at myself for atime in silence. Then he gathered my hair into his hands. Iglanced up at his face in the mirror. His lower lip wascaught in his teeth in an agony of indecision. Abruptly heclacked the shears back onto the table. “No,” he said emphatically. “I can't bring myself to do it, and I don't thinkwe need to.” He took a breath, then rapidly curried my hairback into its warrior tail. “Try the clothing,” he urged me. "
had to guess at size, but no one expects a servant's clothingto be well tailored."
I went back to the small chamber and looked at the garments draped across the foot of my cot. They were cut from the familiar blue homespun that servants at Buckkeep had always worn. It was not all that different from the clothing I had worn as a child. But as I put it on, it felt different. I was donning the garments that marked me to all eyes as a servingman. A disguise, I told myself. I was not truly anyone's servant. But with a sudden pang, I wondered how Molly had felt the first time she had donned the blue dress of a servinggirl. Bastard or not, I was the son of a prince. I had never expected to wear the garments of a servant. In place of my Farseer charging buck, there was an embroidery of Lord Golden's golden cock pheasant. Yet the garments fit me well, and, “Actually, these are the best quality clothes I've worn in years,” I ruefully admitted. The Fool leaned round the door to look at me, and for a second I thought I saw anxiety in his eyes. But at the sight of me, he grinned, then made a show of walking a slow circle of inspection around me.