I cautioned him repeatedly that he must not try to use the Skill without me, that all his experiments with it must be made in my company. I suppose I lectured overlong on this point, for he finally told me, almost angrily, that he too had been there and knew he was lucky to have returned in one piece.

I told him I was glad he realized that, and on that note we parted. Yet at the door, he lingered, turning back to look at me.

“What is it?” I asked him when his silence had grown too long.

He suddenly looked very awkward. “I want to ask you something.”

I waited, but had to finally say, “And what did you want to ask me?”

He bit his lower lip and turned his gaze to the tower window. “About you and Lord Golden,” he said at last. And halted again.

“What about us?” I asked impatiently. The morning was wearing on, and I had things to do. Such as somehow dampening the headache that now assailed me full force.

“Do you . . . do you like working for him?”

I instantly knew that was not the question he wanted to ask. I wondered what was troubling him. Was he jealous of my friendship with the Fool? Did he feel excluded somehow? I made my voice gentle. “He has been my friend for a long time. I told you that before, in the inn on our way home. The roles we play now, master and man, are only for convenience. They afford me an excuse to attend occasions where a man such as myself would not be expected. That’s all.”

“Then you don’t truly . . . serve him.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Only when it fits my role, or when it pleases me to do a favor for him. We’ve been friends a long time, Dutiful. There is very little I wouldn’t do for him, or he for me.”

The look on his face told me I had not lain to rest whatever was troubling him but I was willing at that point to let it go. I could wait until he found words for whatever it was. He seemed also willing to let it rest, for he turned away from me to the door. But with his hand on the handle, he spoke again, suddenly. His voice was harsh, the words wrung from him against his will. “Civil says that Lord Golden likes boys.” When I said nothing, he added painfully, “For bedding.” He kept staring at the door. The back of his neck grew scarlet.

I suddenly felt very tired. “Dutiful. Look at me, please.”

“I’m sorry,” he said as he turned, but he couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

I wished he hadn’t. I wished I hadn’t discovered that the gossip was widespread enough to have reached his ears. Time to lay it to rest. “Dutiful. Lord Golden and I do not bed together. In truth, I have never known the man to bed anyone. His actions toward Civil were a ploy, to provoke Lady Bresinga into asking us to leave her hospitality. That was all. But you cannot, of course, let Civil know that. It remains between you and me.”

He drew a deep breath and sighed it out. “I did not want to think it of you. But you seem so close. And Lord Golden is, of course, a Jamaillian, and all know that they care little about such things.”

I debated for an instant about telling him the truth of that. I decided there was such a thing as burdening him with too much knowledge. “It would probably be for the best if you didn’t discuss Lord Golden with Civil. If the topic comes up, turn the conversation. Can you do that?”

He gave me a crooked smile. “I too have been Chade’s student,” he pointed out.

“I had noticed that you had become cooler toward Lord Golden of late. If that was the reason behind it, well, you create a loss for yourself in not getting to know him better. Once he is your friend, no man can ask for a truer one.”

He nodded, but said nothing. I suspected I had not dispelled all his doubts, but I had done the best I could.

He left the tower by the door, and I heard him turn the key in the lock before he descended the long spiraling stair. If asked, he would tell folk that he had chosen the tower as his new place for dawn meditation.

I glanced about the room again, and resolved to stock it against dangers such as we had had this morning. A bottle of brandy, in case Dutiful needed restoration. And we’d need a supply of wood for the hearth as winter gained more bite. I did not hold with Galen’s austere teaching that students must be uncomfortable in order to learn well. I’d talk to Chade about it.

I yawned hugely, wishing I could go back to bed. I had only arrived back at Buckkeep the previous evening. A hot bath and a long report to Chade had taken up hours when I would rather have been sleeping. He had taken custody of the scrolls and writings I’d brought back. I was not enthusiastic about that, but there was little in any of them that he would not already have known or guessed. After my bath to take the chill from my bones, I had sat before Chade’s hearth and talked long with him.