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Cook looked at Lithmire a little perplexed. Sometimes he just seemed to drift off, lost in some old memories or thoughts. He’d missed her question, which had nothing to do with the music from the common room. Rather she’d wanted to know if he’d like to have tea and some of her plum tarts now or a little later. But since he’d given her opportunity, she ran with it.
‘Yes,’ she answered him, nodding her head enthusiastically. ‘Gil and his band have set up and are playing. And there are some Players who’ve brought their puppets and things and might be persuaded to give us a little show later.’
Not waiting for him to decline the invitation to go out to the Common Room, she got up from her chair and bustled over to the counter where the tarts lay ready to be served. She piled a number of them on a small plate and poured a fresh pot of tea for the both of them. Motioning for him to bring the cups along, she led the way to the outer room and found them and out of the way table with a good view of the little stage area.
‘There we go!’ she declared setting the tarts and the teapot between them. ‘Now we’ll hear us some good Shire tunes. And look there! It’s Master Hearpwine just finishing up a song. He’s from Rohan, you know. Just like our Aman. The Innkeeper. Though I swear the girl’s got a better head on her shoulders than he does. It must be all that being a bard for the King and all there. Makes him a bit featherheaded and loud. Got a good heart, though, helping with the little ones in the school and all . . .’
She kept up her patter, commenting on this one and that until she saw him relax and settle into his chair. ‘Always looks like some little hare . . . eyes darting all about and ready to run at the slightest hint of danger,’ she thought to herself as she poured him a mug of steaming sweetspice tea and edged the plate of tarts near his hand.
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