I returned to the Keep and sought the solitude of my own room. If only for a moment, I had to be where I could close the door behind me and be alone. Physically, anyway. As if to fuel my quest for quiet, the halls and stairways were full of hurrying folk. Servants were cleaning away old rushes and spreading new ones, fresh candles were being placed in holders, and boughs of evergreen were hung in festoons and swags everywhere. Winterfest. I didn’t much feel like it.
I finally reached my own door and slipped inside. I shut it firmly behind me.
“Back so soon?” The Fool looked up from the hearth, where he crouched in a semicircle of scrolls. He seemed to be sorting them into groups.
I stared at him with unconcealed dismay. In an instant it flashed into anger. “Why didn’t you tell me of the King’s condition?”
He considered another scroll, after a moment set it in the pile to his right. “But I did. A question in exchange for yours: why didn’t you already know of it?”
That set me back. “I admit I’ve been lax in calling upon him. But-”
“None of my words could have had the impact of seeing for yourself. Nor do you pause to think what it would have been like had I not been there every single day, emptying chamber pots, sweeping, dusting, carrying out dishes, combing his hair and his beard ….”
Again he had shocked me into silence. I crossed the room, sat down heavily atop my clothing chest. “He’s not the King I remember,” I said bluntly. “It frightens me that he could sink so far, so fast.”
“Frightens you? Appalls me. At least you’ve another King when this one’s been played.” The Fool flipped another scroll onto the pile.