Taking only his candle, Pocket left his sanctuary, Napper following close behind. They climbed the stairs of the tower to the fifth landing, opening the heavy wooden door onto a dark hallway. Cradling the candle flame, Pocket shouldered the door closed behind them and set off down the passage, the light patter of four clawed feet sounding steadily behind him. The windows in the hall were little more than arrow slits, but they afforded enough view to assure Pocket he was not too late. Night, seemingly the longest in his life, still held dominion outside.

Luckily, the servants were all busy in the lower levels among the living areas of the castle and he met no one. It was not precisely forbidden to wander, but Pocket did not want to answer any questions about why he was awake and not working. The rare times anyone spoke to him it was always to accuse him of some mischief, real or imagined.

He was just beneath the North wall in a section of the Roost constructed solely for defense. Of course, the castle had not known a single siege in its long history and there had not been a standing garrison for over a century. Now, it was a headquarters for the Grand Master and the Knights Sergeant, a training ground for the squires and a rally point for the Knights Errant, who returned only once every two years, unless there was a matter of great importance—like the death of a former Grand Master. The knights had gathered four times in Pocket’s life, only the last two of which he actually remembered, but the event was sacred to him. Sir Corc would return with all the others with news of the world, tales of their deeds, fresh scars on armor and flesh. Pocket was saddened by the passing of Coalspur, but his excitement about seeing the knights so soon after their last reunion was undiminished.

Pocket had scouted his route days before and made for a window in an old turret that opened onto the roofs near the eastern gate. He scooped Napper from the ground, draping the cat over his shoulder and climbed out. The wind was too strong for his candle, snuffing it mercilessly the second he was outside, so he made his way in the dark, the silhouettes of the castle architecture black against the star filled sky.

The Roost was built atop a high, rocky crag. A slip in either direction would likely be fatal. The mere thought of the dizzying height past the outer wall was too much for Pocket, so he stayed to the side of the roof which sloped towards the interior of the castle. Thankfully, Napper did not grow restless or try to dislodge himself, trusting to be carried along.