At the candle-clock the Great Hall was full, which Pell had never once seen it be at a Turn. She stood at the Hands’ end of the bench in her Kitchen apron, with flour dried in the creases of her knuckles and a clean cloth over her shoulder. She had come up from the pots without taking the apron off, and had decided, halfway up the Watch stair, that she was not going to take it off now. The Hold had never asked a cook to a Turn before. She did not see why she should have to dress for it.
The Hands sat along the west bench in the order their seats were given. Harrow had his count-cord wound twice round one wrist. Tallow sat at the minutes’ chair with the Wage Line open under his right hand. Gaunt had come up from the Forge with soot on his forearms, Korrin had his fists tucked under his elbows, and Sella sat with the black book on her knee and a cup of hot wine she had not yet drunk. Velvet was at the Chamberlain’s end of the table in grey, with a faint frown that Pell suspected was her way of trying not to look pleased.
