The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Strictly speaking, neither of them were supposed to leave the room for any other reason than to pass on news of their charge, not even for calls of nature. But both of them decided early on in their relationship that there were some rules which just had to be broken, if they were going to work in the same room, year after year.

He sprinted down to spiral stairs, and nodded to the guards as they let him through the door at the bottom. "Evening," he said, leaving it until he got around the corner to lean against the wall and catch his breath. Two years working in a room barely big enough for the bed, desk and armchair it contained, had done nothing for his endurance.

He coughed, pulling his shirt away from his back and flapping it a bit so that the papers crumpled against his chest ruffled. That was better.

He half-walked, half-trotted across the citadel, nodding to any servants he met in the corridor, until he reached the Chancellor's rooms. As he raised his hand to knock, he began to regret volunteering himself for this task. His last encounter with the great man had been terrifying enough. The gods only knew why he wanted to repeat it. Then he remembered his good friend the master, and it all became clear. He knocked.

"Bugger," he said, realising he was still holding the chamber pot. He looked around, and seeing a side topped by a vase of roses. He picked up the vase, put down the chamberpot, and replaced the vase inside the pot.

Then he pulled the papers from his shirt and smoothed down his hair.

No one answered the door. He tried again, louder this time. Perhaps the Chancellor wasn't in.

That led to the rather alarming question of where the Chancellor might be if he wasn't in his rooms. He looked up and down the corridor, thinking that was probably the best place to start. And then he tried the rest of the wing.

The only person he found was a rather cross looking chambermaid.

"Umm?" he said as he passed her in the corridor. He wasn't much good at talking to women. The only woman he spent much time with didn't seem to even acknowledge his presence. He was just an ear to talk to. Perhaps not even that.

"What is it?" said the chambermaid, sweeping a lock of sweaty hair away from her forehead.

"Oh, err..."

She rolled her eyes. "Spit it out! I've got another twenty rooms to do before I get my dinner. Unless you want to help me turn down a bunch of beds that aren't even going to get slept in tonight, and tend fires for rooms that aren't being used, I suggest you get a hurry on."

"Right. Sorry. I was looking for the Lord Chancellor."

"Council Chamber. Anything else?"

"No?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes?"

She shook her head and strode off, muttering under her breath. "Why thank you, Blue. So kind of you to take time out of your busy day to help me with my silly questions."

The clerk blushed and opened his mouth to apologise, but only a strangled squawk made it out of his lips. The maid stopped, and turned, but the clerk wasn't hanging around. He spun around and pelted in the other direction.

That was a first. He'd always found the maids to be highly respectful, stepping aside and lowering their eyes as he passed by. That one seemed to be of an entirely different breed. And much to his confusion, he was quite sure that he didn't like it. He considered going after her, to apologise, he told himself, but the papers in his hand gave him an excuse to let the moment go, and he was grateful for that.