“You will not be telling me what to do in my own kitchens.” She smiled, her good eye winking. “And neither will they. Off with you, now.”

Pocket left the kitchens, chewing happily on the fresh bread, the jug of milk clutched beneath his elbow, cool and sloshing. He made his way back down the way he had come, but instead of ascending the stairs to the Under Hall, he passed them up, entering the long dark hallways that connected the lower reaches of the castle.

The Roost was old, over seven hundred years if the tapestry in the Great Hall was to be believed, but Pocket knew every turn. He often wished he would come across some forgotten vault or hidden passage, expanding his world, but after close on nine years, none such had been discovered.

He made his way assuredly, taking the time to produce a candle from his pocket, lighting it with what he knew to be the last burning torch in the passage. It was not long before he came to a sizable, round chamber, where a great construction of wooden stairs and platforms hugged the inner walls, spiraling upwards. When Pocket first discovered this place, some time ago, he was not entirely sure where he was, but quick exploration confirmed that he was inside one of the Roost’s many drum towers. The find had saved his life. Moragh had looked out for him as best she could, but the years passed and the older Pocket grew the more dangerous the servants’ quarters became, full of spiteful looks and vicious intent.

Pocket went around behind the first flight of stairs and crawled between the wooden support beams, working his way towards the stone of the tower wall. Now he was just beneath the first landing and could stand upright. Going over to the little curtain he had hung from the woodwork above, he pushed it aside, entering the nook he called home. He set the milk jug on one of the wooden beams he used for a shelf and plopped down on his little bed; a feed sack stuffed with feathers on the floor. With the help of his candle and clumps of old wool he kept in a box, he kindled some coal inside the bronze brazier, quickly warming the confined space. He sat for a moment, plucking his tiny wooden horse from the mattress and galloped it across his lap, clicking his tongue to the rhythm of its hooves.