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The castle stands on the precipice of a steep hill so that any visit to it must be considered carefully. For those who have ox-drawn wagons, like the reeve, the matter is not so grave, but for you and Gordon, who must make the trip on foot--while bearing the heavy basket of fruit--it is utterly exhausting. It is worse for Gordon, who insists he carry the basket the whole way--a kind of penance to gain back favor in your eyes--and being a big man he does not go up hills so easily to begin with.
When he finally passes through the castle gates he simply collapses and begs you to go on without him. No amount of coaxing or scolding will make him budge, so, reluctantly, you pick up the basket on your own shoulders and carry it to the main hall.
You've always found the castle walls to be somewhat confining, and mingling the smell of mud, horses, forge smoke, bread and a thousand other things, has always disoriented you to such an extent that you generally try to avoid such visits. The smell is better in the hall, thank God, but the confinement is greater by the narrow pathways, the thick stone walls, and the number of servants that are in constant traffic between them.
You meet first with one of the lord's stewards, a man with enormous bushy whiskers, who immediately directs you, with great annoyance, to the castle cellarer. When you shyly ask where the cellarer might be found, he gives you the look that God must have given the city of Sodom. Before he can pronounce some fatal punishment, a passing servant girl, having mercy on you, grabs your arm and quickly leads you away.
She explains the danger you were in: "a look like that from the old badger, means the stocks". You stammer out a word of gratitude as she takes you by the arm through a maze of corridors and down some narrow steps till you are in a cool, damp, tunnel. She points you toward the door at the further end of the tunnel, only faintly visible by a torch resting on a sconce beside it. Then, before you can even ask her her name, she is gone, her rope of hair swinging gently behind her as she mounts the stairs.
The cellarer is a old, monkish looking man, as one might expect (for such a valued position is usually only given to the most experienced and trusted of men). He does not seem to be of the inquisitive kind, and you are certain he would have taken the fruit without any questions and the settled the whole matter there and then, if not for the presence of Delaney the Reeve, who is apparently here "on some other business" but who is all to eager to repay the favor you dealt him this morning.
Faced with his probing questions you decide to:
>Come clean and tell the truth
>Maintain the story of providing a service
>Take whatever blame onto yourself
>Write-in
