Читать книгу The Tawny Man Series Books 2 and 3: The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate - Робин Хобб - Страница 17

As a Skill-user advances in strength and sophistication, so also increases the lure of the Skill for him. A good instructor will be wary with his Skill-candidates, strict with his trainees, and relentless with his journeymen. Far too many promising Skill-users have been lost to the Skill itself. The warning signs that a Skill-student is being tempted by the Skill include distraction and irritability when he is about his normal daily tasks. When he Skills, he will exert more strength than is necessary for the task, for the pleasure of the power running through him, and spend more time in a Skilling state than is required for him to accomplish his business. The instructor should be aware of such students, and be quick to chastise them for such behaviour. Better to be cruel early, than to vainly wish one could call back a student who sits drooling and mumbling until his body perishes of hunger and thirst.

Treeknee’s translation, Duties of a Skill Instructor

The days of winter came and went as relentlessly as the tides that rose and fell on the beaches of Buckkeep Town, and as monotonously. Winterfest approached, that celebration which heralds both the longest night and the gaining day that follows it. Once I would have looked forward to it with anticipation. But now I had too many tasks to do, and no time to do any of them well. During the mornings I was the Prince’s instructor. During the meat of my day, I masqueraded as Lord Golden’s servant. Lord Golden had hired two lackeys to tend his wardrobe and fetch his breakfast, but I was still expected to ride out with him and trail after him at social functions. Folk had become accustomed to seeing me at his side, and so I shadowed him even though his ankle was apparently well healed now. It was useful to me. There were times when Golden led conversations about to test a noble’s opinion of trade with the Outislanders, or the way trading rights had been allocated. I was privy to many a casually expressed opinion, and gathered all such threads of information for Chade.

Lord Golden also professed an interest in the Wit, and asked about this strange magic. The virulence of the replies he received from some was shocking even to me. The acrimony against the magic ran deep, past all logic. When he asked what harm the magic did, he was told that Witted ones did everything from coupling with animals to gain their ability to speak their tongues to cursing their neighbours’ flocks and herds. Supposedly Witted ones could take on the guise of animals to gain access to those they would seduce or worse, rape and murder in their beast forms. Some spoke out angrily against the Queen’s leniency for the beast-magic, and told Lord Golden that the Six Duchies were a better place in the days when Witted ones could be dispatched easily. Oh, I learned more than I wished to know of the intolerance that my own people had for their neighbours in the evenings when I was occupied as Lord Golden’s servant. In the hours he left free to me, I tried to further my own studies of the Skill-scrolls. More often than I like to admit, I left my studies and went instead to Buckkeep Town, and not to meet my boy. Sometimes I caught a brief glimpse of Hap as he left Jinna’s home on his way to meet Svanja. Our conversations were limited to brief greetings, and his empty promise to come home early so that we might have a real visit. Often enough, I saw a speculative look pass over his face as he watched Jinna and me together, and just as often I was relieved that he did not come home as early as he had promised.

I was in danger of settling into a routine that was, if not comfortable, at least predictable. Despite my intentions to remain ever wary against the Piebalds, their continued silence and inactivity was lulling. I almost dared to hope that Laudwine had died of his injuries. Perhaps his followers had disbanded, and the threat was no more. Despite the way they had terrorized me that night on the road to Buckkeep Castle, it was difficult to maintain an ever-watchful stance when drowned by a constant wave of silence from them. Complacency threatened. Periodically, Chade would quiz me on my spying efforts, but I never had anything to report to him. As far as I could determine, the Piebalds had forgotten us.

I spied on Civil Bresinga regularly, but found nothing to justify my suspicions of him. He appeared to be no more than a lesser noble, come to court in a bid to increase his stature amongst the aristocracy. I found no sign of his cat in the stables. He rode out often accompanied by his groom, but on the few occasions when I shadowed him, he appeared to be doing no more than exercising his horse. I searched his room several times, but discovered nothing more interesting than a brief note from his mother assuring him that she was well and that she preferred he stay at court, for ‘we are all so pleased that your friendship with Prince Dutiful is prospering’. And indeed, his friendship with the Prince did prosper, despite my frequent entreaties that Dutiful regard him with caution. It was something Chade and I had discussed. Both of us would prefer that the friendship be severed, but we wondered how the Old Blood folk would interpret that.

We had had no more direct communications from any of the Witted, neither the Old Bloods nor the Piebalds. Their continued silence was uncanny. ‘We have kept our end of the bargain,’ Chade once observed to me grumpily. ‘Since the Prince was returned to us, there have been no executions of any Witted ones in Buck. Perhaps that was all they ever sought. As for what the Piebalds may do to their fellows, well, we cannot protect them from their own folk unless they bring complaint before us. It all seems to have died down, and yet in my heart I fear it is but the calm before the storm. Be wary, boy. Be wary.’

Chade was correct about the public executions. Queen Kettricken had accomplished this by the simple expedient of announcing that no criminal in Buck could be executed for any crime, save by royal decree, and that any such executions would take place only within Buckkeep. So far, no town had seen fit to petition for an execution. Paperwork is daunting to even the hottest quest for vengeance. Yet as time passed, and we heard nothing from the Piebalds, I felt not relief, but a sense of continued scrutiny. Even if the Piebalds ceased to trouble us, I could not forget that too many Old Bloods now knew our prince was Witted. It was a lever that could be used against us at any time. I regarded strange animals with suspicion and was glad of the little ferret Gilly on patrol within the walls of Buckkeep.

Then came a night that sharpened my wariness once more. I had gone down to Buckkeep Town. When I knocked at Jinna’s door, her niece told me that Aunt Jinna had gone out to deliver several charms to a family whose goats had been plagued with a mange. Privately, I wondered if charms would have any efficacy against such a thing, but aloud I asked her niece to let Jinna know I had come calling. When I asked after Hap, she made a face of disapproval and said that perhaps I might find him at the Stuck Pig with ‘that Hartshorn girl’. Her disparagement of my son’s companion stung. As I made my way to the Stuck Pig through the crisp winter night, I pondered what steps I should take. Hap’s passionate courtship of the girl was neither balanced nor appropriate. For those very reasons, I doubted he would listen to me advising him to temper his wooing.

Yet when I entered the Stuck Pig’s draughty common room, I saw no sign of Hap or Svanja. I wondered briefly where they were, but was sharply distracted from that question when I saw Laurel sitting at one of the stained tables. The Queen’s Huntswoman drank alone. I scowled at that, for I well recalled that Chade had assigned a man to guard her. As I watched, the tavern boy came to fill her mug again. The reckless way she lofted it told me it had already been filled several times that night.

I bought myself a beer and studied the population of the common room. Two men and a woman at a corner table seemed positioned to watch the Huntswoman. But just as I wondered if they had ill intentions, the obvious couple of the group rose, bid the lone man farewell, and sauntered out without a backward glance. The remaining man gestured a tavern maid to his table. To my glance, it appeared he was trying to purchase something warmer than beer from her. His loutish behaviour calmed my reservations.

I crossed the crowded common room. Laurel seemed startled as I set my mug down, then looked away miserably as I took a seat on the bench beside her. I spoke quietly.

‘Not the sort of place where one would expect the Queen’s Huntswoman to drink.’ I glanced about the grubby tavern pointedly, and then asked, ‘And where is your apprentice tonight?’ I’d had a glimpse or two of Chade’s man. The sheer muscle of him would have daunted any ambusher. I thought less of his intellect, especially at this moment. ‘Doesn’t it seem a bit unwise for you to visit Buckkeep Town without him?’

‘Unwise? Where, then, is your keeper? The danger to you is greater than the threat to me,’ she rebuked me bitterly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but from tears or drink, I could not tell.

I kept my voice low. ‘Perhaps I am more accustomed to this sort of danger.’

‘Well. That might be true. I know little enough of you to know what you are accustomed to. But as for me, I have no intention of becoming accustomed to it. Or limiting the choices in my life by walking in constant fear.’ Laurel looked tired, and there were lines at the sides of her mouth and the corners of her eyes that I did not recall. She had been walking in constant fear despite her brave dismissal of it.

‘Have there been any further threats?’ I asked her quietly.

She smiled, a showing of teeth. ‘Why? Isn’t one enough for you?’

‘What’s happened?’

She shook her head at me and drank the rest of her ale. I signalled to the tavern boy to bring us more. After a moment, she said, ‘The first was nothing that anyone else would have recognized as a threat. Just a sprig of laurel tied to the latch of my horse’s stall. Hung by a little noose of twine.’ Almost unwillingly, she added, ‘There was a feather as well. Cut in four pieces and scorched.’

‘A feather?’

It took her a long time to decide to answer. ‘Someone I care about is bonded to a goose.’

For an instant, my heart was still. Then it started again with a jolt. ‘So they show you that they can reach inside the walls of the keep,’ I said quietly. She nodded as the boy replenished our mugs from a heavy pitcher. I gave him his coin and he turned away. Laurel picked her mug up immediately, and a small wave of ale slopped over the brim and onto her hand. She was slightly drunk.

‘Did they ask anything of you? Or simply show that they could reach you where you live?’

‘They asked quite clearly.’

‘How?’

‘A little scroll, left amongst the grooming gear for my horse. All in the stables know that I insisted on caring for Whitecap myself. It simply said that if I knew what was wise, I should leave your black horse and Lord Golden’s Malta in the far paddock at night.’

Cold seemed to spread out from my belly and fill the rest of my body. ‘You didn’t do it?’

‘Of course not. Instead, I assigned a groom that I trust to watch over them both last night.’

‘So this is recent?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Her head wobbled slightly as she nodded.

‘And you told the Queen?’

‘No. I told no one.’

‘But why not? How can we protect you if we don’t know you are threatened?’

She was silent for a time. Then she said, ‘I didn’t want them to think that they could use me against the Queen. I wanted it to be that if they pulled me down, they pulled only me down. I should protect myself, Tom, not hide behind the Queen’s skirts and let my fears spread to her.’

Brave. And foolish. I kept the thoughts to myself. ‘And what happened?’

‘To them? Nothing. But Whitecap was dead in her stall the next morning.’

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Whitecap was Laurel’s horse, a willing and responsive creature that had been her pride. When I kept silent, she glared at me. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’ She lowered her voice to an ugly, taunting whisper. “She’s not Witted. The horse was no more to her than a horse, just a thing she rode.” But that’s not true. I raised Whitecap from a foal, and she was my friend as well as my beast. We didn’t have to share a mind to share a heart.’

‘I didn’t think anything of the kind,’ I said very quietly. ‘I’ve numbered many animals as my friends, without sharing the special bond of the Wit with them. Anyone who had seen you with Whitecap knew that the horse worshipped you.’ I shook my head. ‘I feel sick that you protected our horses, and paid for it with your own.’

I don’t know if she even heard me. She was staring at the scarred tabletop as she spoke. ‘She … she died slowly. They gave her something, somehow, that lodged in her throat and choked her as it swelled. I think … no, I know. It was their ultimate mockery, that I came from an Old Blood family but did not have the magic in me. If I had, I would have known that she was in trouble. I would have come to her and saved her. When I found her, she was down, her muzzle and chest all soaked in saliva and blood … She died slowly, Tom, and I wasn’t even there to ease it for her or say goodbye.’

Shock that a Witted person could do so cruel a thing froze me like an icy wave. It was evil past my imagining. I felt tainted that people who shared my magic could stoop to such wickedness. It gave substance to all the evil things said of the Witted.

She took a sudden gasping breath and turned to me blindly. Her face was panicky with a pain she did not want to admit. I lifted my arm and she put her face against my chest as I folded her in my embrace. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered by her ear. ‘I’m so sorry, Laurel.’ She didn’t weep, but only took long, shuddering breaths as I held her. She was past weeping, and nearly past fear. I thought to myself that if the Piebalds succeeded in pushing her to fury, they might face a stronger foe than they had intended to create. If they didn’t kill her first. I shifted in my chair. Habit had made me place my back to the wall. Now I deliberately sought a full view of the tavern and any who might have followed her here.

It was then that I saw Jinna. She had probably come to the tavern to look for me after speaking with her niece. She stood by the door she had just entered. For a fraction of an instant, our gazes met. She stared, stricken, at the woman I embraced. My eyes pleaded with her, but her face went cold. Then her gaze skated past me as if she had neither seen nor recognized me. She turned and departed, her stiff back speaking volumes to me.

Frustration squeezed my heart. I was doing nothing wrong, and yet Jinna’s posture as she left the tavern told me how affronted she was. Nor could I leave Laurel sitting alone and inebriated to hurry after Jinna and explain to her, even if I had felt inclined to do so. So I sat stewing in my discomfort while Laurel took several more deep breaths and recovered herself. She sat up abruptly, almost pushing me away. I released her from my embrace. She rubbed her eyes and then picked up her mug and drained it off. I had scarcely touched mine.

‘This is stupid of me,’ Laurel suddenly announced. ‘I came here because I’d heard a rumour that Witted ones congregated here. I came hoping someone would approach me so I could kill him. I’d probably just be killed. I don’t know how to fight that way.’

I saw a disturbing thing in her eyes then. They had gone calculating and cold as she considered just how she did know how to fight. ‘You should leave the fighting to those who –’

‘They should have left my horse alone,’ she broke in blackly, and I knew she would not hear anything else I said on that topic.

‘Let’s go home,’ I offered.

She gave me a weary nod and we left the tavern. The cold streets were lit only by what lamplight leaked from the windows. As we left the houses behind and began the long walk up the dark road to the keep, I asked her unwillingly, ‘What will you do? Will you leave Buckkeep?’

‘And go where? Take this home to my family? I think not.’ She drew a breath and sighed it out, steaming, in the cold night. ‘Yet I think you are right. I cannot stay here. What will they do next? What is worse than killing my horse?’

We both knew several answers to that. The rest of the way, we walked in silence. Yet she was neither angry nor taciturn. I could sense her eyes straining through the uncertain moonlight, and her head turned to every small sound. My vigilance matched hers. I broke the silence once, to ask, ‘Is it true, that Witted go to the Stuck Pig?’

She gave a shrug. ‘So it is said of that tavern. Folk say it of many dives. “Fit for the Witted.” Surely you’ve heard that phrase before.’

I hadn’t, but I filed the information away. Perhaps in that slander lurked a germ of truth. Was there a tavern in Buckkeep Town where the Witted congregated? Who would know? What might I learn there?

Just past the gates of Buckkeep Castle, I saw her ‘apprentice’ hastening to meet us. He wore a worried expression. At the sight of me, it changed to a snarl. Laurel sighed and took her hand from my arm. She walked unsteadily towards him and he all but swooped her up. Despite whatever her soft words were, he glared at me suspiciously before escorting her to her chambers. Before I sought my own room for the night, I made a quick and quiet tour of the stables. Myblack greeted me with her usual warm show of indifference. I could scarcely blame the horse; I had not had much time for her lately. In truth, she was to me ‘just a horse’. I rode her when Lord Golden rode Malta, but other than that, I trusted her care to the stablehands. It suddenly seemed a callous way to treat her, but I knew that I had no time to give her more. I wondered what the Piebalds had intended. If our horses had been left in the far paddock, would they have been stolen? Or worse?

Wit-sense straining, I strolled past every stall and scrutinized every drowsy stablehand there. I saw no one whom I recognized, and Laudwine was not lurking beneath the stairs or outside the door. Nonetheless, I did not feel at ease until I was in Chade’s upper chambers that night. He was not there, but I left him a full written account.

We discussed it the next day, but came to no real conclusion. He would rebuke Laurel’s bodyguard for letting her slip away alone. He could not think of any way to keep Laurel safer without confining her even more tightly. ‘And she would not care for that. She does not like that I have a man beside her. Yet, what more can I do, Fitz? She is valuable to us, for it may be she will draw these Piebalds out of hiding.’

‘At what cost?’ I had asked him harshly.

‘As little as we can make it,’ he replied grimly.

‘Why did they want my horse and Lord Golden’s?’

Chade lifted a brow at me. ‘You know more of Witted magic than I do. Could they ensorcel them to throw you, or somehow use them to listen in on your words?’

‘The Wit doesn’t work that way,’ I said wearily. ‘Why our horses? Why not Prince Dutiful’s? It is almost as if the Fool and I were their targets rather than the Prince.’

Chade looked uncomfortable. Almost reluctantly, he suggested quietly, ‘A cautious man might wish to follow that thought and see where it led.’

I stared at him, wondering what the old assassin was telling me in his obscure way. He folded his lips and shook his head at me, as if he regretted having spoken the words. Shortly after that, he made an excuse to leave. I sat pondering before the fire.

In the days that followed, I felt too uncomfortable to call on Jinna. I knew it was foolish, but there it was. I did not feel I owed her an explanation, but I was sure she would expect one. No convenient lie came to me to explain why I had been embracing Laurel in the Stuck Pig. I did not want to discuss Laurel with Jinna at all. It would lead her too close to dangerous topics. Hence, I did not visit Jinna at all.

On the occasions when I went down to Buckkeep Town, I sought Hap at his workplace. Our conversations there were brief and unsatisfactory. The boy seemed very aware of the other apprentices watching us talk, and spoke his words to me as if he were displaying to them his anger with his master. He was frustrated, too, with his stalled courtship of Svanja. Her father was making it hard for him to see her, and refused to speak with Hap on the streets. I sensed that some of Hap’s anger was for me. He seemed to think I neglected him, yet when it came to finding time to meet with me in the evening, he preferred Svanja’s company. I kept resolving that I would do better with Hap and make amends with Jinna, but somehow the days dribbled past and I could not find the time to accomplish either task.

Within Buckkeep, the festivities and trade negotiations of the Prince’s betrothal continued. Winterfest came and went, grander than ever I had seen it in the castle. Our Outislander guests enjoyed it tremendously. In the time that followed there were trading discussions every day and aristocratic amusements every night. The puppeteers, minstrels, jugglers and other entertainers of the Six Duchies prospered. The Outislanders became a familiar sight in the halls of Buckkeep Castle. Some formed genuine friendships, both with the nobles staying at the keep and with the merchant-traders from Buckkeep Town. In the town below, our ancient trade with the Outislands began to revive. Trading vessels arrived, and goods were bartered. Messages were exchanged as well, and it was no longer socially unacceptable to admit to a cousin or two in the Outislands. Kettricken’s plans seemed to be prospering.

The late nights of court gaiety showed me a Buckkeep I had never known. As a servant, I was almost as invisible as I had been when I was a nameless boy. The difference was that as Lord Golden’s man, I attended him on socially lofty occasions when the nobility were gaming, dining and dancing. I saw them in their best clothes and worst behaviour. Drunk with wine or vapid with Smoke, besotted with lust or frantic to recover gaming losses … if ever I had supposed that our lords and ladies were made of finer stuff than the fishers and tailors that crowded the Buckkeep Town taverns, I was disillusioned that winter.

Women, young and old, single and married, flocked to the Lord Golden’s charms, as well as young men desirous of distinguishing themselves as ‘the Jamaillian lord’s friend’. It amused me somewhat that not even Starling and Lord Fisher were immune to Lord Golden’s social allure. Often they joined him at the gaming table. Twice they even came to Lord Golden’s chambers to sample fine Jamaillian brandies with his other guests. It was difficult for me to maintain my attitude of servitude and uninterest in her presence. Her husband was a physically affectionate man, often drawing her body close to his and boyishly stealing a kiss. Then she would gaily rebuke him for such unseemly public conduct, yet often enough manage to snatch a glance at me as she did so, as if to be sure I had noticed how passionately Lord Fisher still courted his wife. At times, it was all I could do to keep a stoic expression on my face. It was not that my heart or flesh burned for her. The pang that assaulted me at such a time was that she deliberately flaunted her happiness in a way calculated to remind me of how solitary a life I led. In the midst of the fine court with its merriment and elaborate entertainment, I stood, a silent servant, witness only to their pleasures.

In this way, the long dark of winter dawdled on. The constant whirl of activity took a toll on the young prince as well as myself. One early morning, we both arrived at the tower with absolutely no inclination for studies or tasks of any kind. The Prince had been up late the night before, gaming with Civil and the other young noblemen currently residing at the keep.

I had had the good sense to seek my own bed at a more reasonable hour, and had succeeded in several hours of deep sleep before Nettle had insinuated herself into my dreams. I was dreaming of catching river fish, sliding my hands into the water and abruptly flipping the lurking fish out onto the bank behind me. It was a good dream, a comforting dream. Unseen but felt, Nighteyes was with me. Then my groping fingers encountered a door handle under the chill water. I plunged my head under to look at it. As I stared at it through water-green light, it opened and pulled me in. Suddenly I stood, wet and dripping, in a small bedroom. I knew I was in the upper chambers of the house by the slanting ceiling. The house was silent around me, and only a guttering candle lighted the room. Wondering how I had arrived here, I turned back to the door. A girl stood there, her back pressed resolutely to the door, her arms spread wide to bar it from me. She wore a cotton nightdress and her dark hair hung in a single long braid over one shoulder. I stared at her in astonishment.

‘If you will not let me into your dreams, then I will trap you in mine,’ she observed triumphantly.

I stood very, very still and held my silence. On some level, I sensed that anything of myself I might give her, word or gesture or look, would only increase her hold on me. I took my gaze from her, for in recognizing her, I was entering into her dream more deeply. Instead, I forced my eyes down, to my own hands. With a curious elation, I realized they were not my own. She had trapped me here as she visualized me, not as I truly was. My fingers were short and stubby. The palms of my hands and the inside surface of my fingers were black and coarse as a wolf’s pads, and rough black hair coated the backs of my hands and my wrists.

‘This isn’t me.’ I spoke the words aloud, and they came out as a queer growl. I lifted my hands to my face, found a muzzle there.

‘Yes, it is!’ she asserted, but already I was fading, drifting out of the form she had thought would contain me. The trap was the wrong shape to hold me. She leapt towards me and seized me by one wrist, only to find she grasped an empty wolfskin.

‘I’ll catch you next time!’ she declared angrily.

‘No, Nettle. You won’t.’

My use of her name froze her. Even as she struggled to mouth the question, how did I know her name, I dissipated from her dream into my own wakefulness. I shifted on my hard bed, and briefly opened my eyes to the now-familiar blackness of my servant’s chamber. ‘No, Nettle. You won’t.’ I spoke the words aloud, reassuring myself that they were true. But I had not slept well the rest of the night.

And so the two of us, Dutiful and I, faced one another blearily over the table in the Skill-tower the next dawn. It was dawn in name only. The winter sky outside the tower window was black, and the candles on our table reached vainly towards the darkness in the corners of the room. I had kindled a fire in the hearth, but it had not yet taken the edge off the chill. ‘Is there anything so miserable as being sleepy and cold at the same time?’ I asked him rhetorically.

He sighed, and I had the feeling he had not even heard my question. The one he asked me sent a different sort of chill up my back. ‘Have you ever used the Skill to make someone forget something?’

‘I … no. No, I’ve never done anything like that.’ Then, dreading the answer, ‘Why do you ask?’

He heaved an even deeper sigh. ‘Because if it could be used that way, it could make my life much simpler right now. I fear that I … I said something last night, to someone, never intending that … I didn’t even mean it that way, but she …’ He faltered to a halt, looking miserable.

‘Start at the beginning,’ I suggested.

He took a deep breath, then puffed it out, exasperated with himself. ‘Civil and I were playing Stones and –’

‘Stones?’ I interrupted him.

He sighed again. ‘I made myself a game-cloth and playing pieces. I thought I could get better at it by playing against someone besides you.’

I strangled back an objection. Was there any reason why he should not introduce his friends to the game? None that I could think of. Yet it disgruntled me.

‘I had played a game or two with Civil, which he lost. As he should and did expect to, for no one plays a game well the first few times one is shown it. But he had declared he had had enough of it for now, that it was not the sort of game he relished, and he got up from the table and went over to the hearth to talk to someone else. Well, Lady Vance had been watching us play earlier in the evening, and had said she wanted to learn, but we were in the midst of the game then, so there had been no place for her. But she had been standing by our table, watching us play, and when Civil left, instead of following him as I thought she would, for she had seemed very attentive to him, she sat down in his place. I had been putting the cloth and pieces away, but she reached over and seized my hand and commanded that I should set the game out afresh, for now it was her turn.’

‘Lady Vance?’

‘Oh, you wouldn’t have met her. She’s, let me see, about seventeen and she’s quite nice. Her full name is Advantage, but she thinks it’s too long. She’s very friendly and tells funny stories and, well, I don’t know, she’s just more comfortable to be around than most girls. She doesn’t always seem to be, you know, so aware that she is a girl. She acts just like anybody else. Lord Shemshy of Shoaks is her uncle.’ He shrugged a shoulder, dismissing my concern over who she was. ‘Anyway, she wanted to play, and even when I warned her that she’d likely lose the first few games, she said she didn’t care, that in fact if I would play her five straight games, she’d wager she’d win at least two of them. One of her friends overheard that and came close to the table, and asked what the wager was on the bet. And Lady Vance said that if she won, she wanted me to go riding with her on the morrow – that’s today – and that if I won, well, I could name my own stakes. And the way she said it was, well, daring me to make her bet something that might be a bit, well, improper or …’

‘Like a kiss,’ I suggested, my heart sinking. ‘Or something of that sort.’

‘You know I wouldn’t go that far!’

‘So how far did you go?’ Did Chade know anything of this? Or Kettricken? How late last night had it happened? And how much wine had been involved?

‘I said if she lost, she had to bring breakfast for Civil and me to Mirror Hall and serve it to us herself, owning up that what had been said earlier was true, that Stones is not a game that a girl can master.’

‘What? Dutiful, this game was taught to me by a woman!’

‘Well –’ He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t know that. You had said it was part of your Skill-training. I thought my father had taught it to you. So … wait. Then a woman helped train you in the Skill? I’d thought it had only been my father who taught you.’

I cursed my carelessness. ‘Leave that,’ I commanded him crossly. ‘Finish your story.’

He snorted, and gave me a glance that promised he’d come back to his question later. ‘Very well. And besides, it wasn’t me who said that to Elliania, it was Civil, and –’

‘Said what to Elliania?’ Dread clutched at me.

‘That it wasn’t a game for a girl’s mind. Civil said it to her. Civil and I were playing, and she came up and said that she’d like to learn. But … well, Civil doesn’t like Elliania much. He says she is just like Sydel, that girl who insulted him and trampled his feelings, that Elliania is only interested in making a good match. So. He doesn’t like her to stand near us when we talk or are playing games of chance.’ He flinched before my scowl, and added grumpily, ‘Well, she’s not like Lady Vance. Elliania is always being a girl, she’s always so aware of what are proper manners and what courtesies are due between folk. She’s so correct that she’s always wrong. If you see what I mean?’

‘It sounds to me as if she is a foreigner at the court, intent on complying with our customs. But go on with the story.’

‘Well. Civil knows that about her, that she always strives to be absolutely correct in her manners. So he knew that the fastest way to be rid of her was to tell her that in the Six Duchies, Stones was considered a man’s occupation. He explained it to her in a way that seemed like he was being kind, but at the same time it was horribly funny, in a cruel sort of way, because she doesn’t know our language or our customs well enough to realize how ridiculous his excuse was … Don’t look at me like that, Tom. I didn’t do it. And once he had begun to do it, there was no way I could put a stop to it without making it worse. So. Anyway. He had told her that the Stone game wasn’t for girls, and Elliania had left us and gone off to stand near her uncle’s shoulder. He was playing toss-bones with her father, at a table on the other side of the hall. So. She wasn’t anywhere near us when Lady Vance sat down. Well. I set up the game and we began to play. The first two games went exactly as I had supposed they would. On the third game, I made a silly mistake, and she won. The fourth game, I won. And now – I think I deserve credit for this – halfway through the fifth game, I realized how it might be seen as improper when she lost if she actually did come to serve breakfast to Civil and me. I mean, even Duke Shemshy might see it as an insult, his niece acting as a servant to us, even if it didn’t bother Elliania or Mother. So. I decided it might be better to let her win. I’d still have to take her riding, but I could make sure there were others with us, perhaps even Elliania.’

‘So you let her win.’ I said the words heavily.

‘Yes. I did. And by then, because she had been quite excited when she won the third game, laughing and shouting and calling out to all that she had bested me, well, by then there was quite a group of people gathered around us, watching us play. So, when she won the final game, she was crowing over her victory, and one of her friends said to me, “Well, my lord, it seems you were badly mistaken earlier when you said this was not a game a girl could master.” And I said … I only meant to be clever, Tom, I swear, not to offer insult. I said –’

‘What did you say?’ I asked harshly as he faltered.

‘Only that no girl could master it, but perhaps a beautiful woman could. And everyone laughed, and lifted glasses to drink a toast to that. So we drank, and then it was cups down. And only then did I realize that Elliania was standing there, at the edge of the crowd. She hadn’t drunk with us, and she didn’t say a word. She just stared at me, with her face very still. Then she turned and walked away. I don’t know what she said to her uncle, but he stood up immediately and gave over the game to her father, even though there was quite a stack of coins riding on the outcome. And the two of them left the gaming hall and went directly to their chambers.’

I leaned back in my chair, striving to think my way through it. Then I shook my head and asked, ‘Does your lady mother know of this yet?’

He sighed. ‘I do not think so. She excused herself early from the gaming last night.’

‘Or Chade.’

He winced, already dreading the councillor’s opinion of his rashness. ‘No. He, too, left the tables early. He seems weary and distracted of late.’

Too well did I know that. I shook my head slowly. ‘This is not something that can be solved with the Skill, lad. Wiser to take it immediately to those who know diplomacy the best. And then do whatever they say.’

‘What do you think they will demand of me?’ There was dread in his voice.

‘I don’t know. I think a direct apology might be a mistake; it would only confirm that you had insulted her. But … oh, I don’t know, Dutiful. Diplomacy has never been my talent. But perhaps Chade will know something you can do. Some special attention from you to confirm that you do think Elliania is beautiful and a woman.’

‘But I don’t.’

I ignored his bitter little contradiction. ‘And above all, do not go out riding alone with Lady Vance. I suspect you’d be wise to avoid her company entirely.’

He slapped his hand on the table in frustration. ‘I can’t back out of paying my wager!’

‘Then go,’ I snapped. ‘But if I were you, I’d be sure that Elliania rode at my side, and that your conversation was with her. If Civil is as good a friend as you say he is, perhaps he can help you. Ask him to distract Lady Vance’s attention from you, make it appear as if he is the one accompanying her on the ride.’

‘What if I don’t want her attention distracted from me?’

Now he sounded simply stubborn and contrary, as vexing as Hap the last time I had seen him. I simply looked at him, flat and level, until he cast his eyes aside. ‘You’d best go now,’ I told him.

‘Will you go with me?’ His voice was very soft. ‘To speak to Mother and Chade?’

‘You know I cannot. And even if I could, I think you’d best do this on your own.’

He cleared his throat. ‘This morning, when we ride. Will you go with me then?’

I hesitated, then suggested, ‘Invite Lord Golden. That isn’t a promise to be there, only that I’ll think it over.’

‘And do what Chade thinks is best.’

‘Probably. He’s always been better than me at these niceties.’

‘Niceties. Pah. I’m so sick of them, Tom. It’s why Lady Vance is so much easier to be with. She’s just herself.’

‘I see,’ I said, but I reserved judgement on that. I wondered if Lady Vance was just a woman who had set her cap at a prince, or someone else’s playing piece, positioned to set Kettricken’s game awry. Well. We’d all find out soon enough.

The Prince left me, locking the door behind him. I stood, silent and considering in the tower room, listening to the sound of his footsteps on the stone stairs fade away. I caught the raised voice of the guard’s greeting at the bottom of the steps. I cast my eyes around the room, blew out the candle on the table and then left, carrying another taper to light my way.

I stopped at Chade’s tower room on the way back to my servant’s chamber. I stepped out of the secret door, then halted, surprised to find both Chade and Thick in the room. Chade had evidently been waiting for me. Thick looked sullen and sleepy, his heavy-lidded eyes even droopier than usual.

‘Good morning,’ I greeted them, and, ‘Yes, it is,’ Chade responded. His eyes were bright and he appeared well pleased about something. I waited for him to share it with me, but instead he said, ‘I’ve asked Thick to be here early this morning. So we could all talk.’

‘Oh.’ I could think of no more to say than that. Now wasn’t the time to tell Chade I’d wished he had warned me first. I would not talk over Thick’s head in his presence. I remembered too well how I had once underestimated the cunning of a little girl and spoken too freely. Rosemary had been Regal’s treacherous little pet. I doubted that Thick was anyone’s spy, but what I didn’t say in front of him, he could not repeat.

‘How is the Prince this morning?’ Chade asked suddenly.

‘He’s well,’ I replied guardedly. ‘But there is something he’ll wish to see you about, something rather urgent. You might wish to be, uh, where you can easily be found. Soon.’

‘Prince sad,’ Thick confirmed dolorously. He shook his heavy head commiseratingly.

My heart sank, but I resolved to test him. ‘No, Thick, the Prince isn’t sad. He’s merry. He has gone to have a fine breakfast with all his friends.’

Thick scowled at me. For an instant, his tongue stuck out even farther than usual, and his lower lip sagged pendulously. Then, ‘No. Prince is a sad song today. Stupid girls. A sad song. La-la-la-le-lo-lo-lo-o.’ The dimwit sang a mournful little dirge.

I glanced at Chade. He was watching our exchange closely. His eyes never left me as he asked Thick, ‘And how is Nettle today?’

I kept my face expressionless. I tried hard to breathe normally, but suddenly I could not quite remember how.

‘Nettle is worried. The dream man won’t talk to her any more, and her father and brother argue. Yah, yah, yah, yah, her head hurts with it, and her song is sad. Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na.’ It was a different tune for Nettle’s sadness, one fraught with tension and uneasiness. Then suddenly Thick stopped in mid-note. He looked at me and then jeered triumphantly, ‘Dog-stink doesn’t like this.’

‘No. He doesn’t,’ I agreed flatly. I crossed my arms on my chest and moved my glare from Thick to Chade. ‘This isn’t fair,’ I said. Then I clenched my jaw over how childish that sounded.

‘Indeed, it isn’t,’ Chade agreed blandly. Then, ‘Thick, you may go if you wish. I think you’ve finished your chores here.’

Thick pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Bring the wood. Bring the water. Take the dishes. Bring the food. Fix the candles.’ He picked his nose. ‘Yes. Chores done.’ He started to go.

‘Thick,’ I said, and when he halted, scowling, I asked, ‘Do the other servants still hit Thick, take his coins? Or is it better now?’

He frowned at me, his brow wrinkling. ‘The other servants?’ He looked vaguely alarmed.

‘The other servants. They used to “hit Thick, take his coins”, remember?’ I tried to copy his inflection and gesture. Instead of jogging his memory, it made him draw back from me in panic. ‘Never mind,’ I said hastily. My effort to remind him that perhaps he owed me a favour had instead worsened his opinion of me. Thrusting out his lower lip, he backed away from me.

‘Thick. Don’t forget the tray,’ Chade reminded him gently.

The serving-man scowled, but he came back for a tray of dishes that held the remains of Chade’s breakfast. He took it up and then crabbed hastily from the room as if I might attack him.

When the wine rack swung back into place behind him, I sat down in my chair. ‘So?’ I asked Chade.

‘So, indeed,’ he replied agreeably. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’

‘No.’ I leaned back in my chair, and then decided there was nothing more to say about it. Instead, I settled on a distraction. ‘Earlier I told you that Dutiful has something urgent to speak about with you. You should be available.’

‘What is it?’

I gave him a look. ‘I think what Dutiful wishes to tell you would come best directly from him.’ I bit down on my tongue before I could add, ‘of course, you could always ask Thick what it is about’.

‘Then I’ll go to my own chambers. Shortly. Fitz. Is Nettle in any danger?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know.’

I saw him rein in his temper. ‘You know what I mean. She’s Skilling, isn’t she? Without guidance of any kind. Yet she seems to have found you. Or did you initiate that contact?’

Had I? I didn’t know. Had I intruded on her dreams when she was younger, as I had on Dutiful’s? Had I unwittingly laid the foundation for the Skill-bond that she sought to build now? I pondered it, but Chade took my silence for mulishness. ‘Fitz, how can you be so short-sighted? In the name of protecting her, you’re endangering her. Nettle should be here, at Buckkeep, where she can be properly taught to master her talent.’

‘And she can be put into service for the Farseer throne.’

He regarded me levelly. ‘Of course. If the magic is the gift of her bloodlines, then the service is her duty. The two go hand-in-hand. Or would you deny it to her because she, too, is a bastard?’

I strangled on sudden anger. When I could speak, I said quietly, ‘I don’t see it so. As denying her something. I’m trying to protect her.’

‘You see it that way only because you are stubbornly focused on keeping her away from Buckkeep at all costs. What is the terrible threat to her if she comes here? That she could know music and poetry, dance and beauty in her life? That she might meet a young man of noble lineage, marry well, and live comfortably? That your grandchildren might grow up where you could see them?’

He made it all sound so rational on his part and so selfish on mine. I took a breath. ‘Chade. Burrich has already said “no” to his daughter coming to Buckkeep. If you press him, or worse, force the issue, he will suspect there is a reason. And how can you reveal to Nettle that she is Skilled without leading her to ask, “where did this magic come from?” She knows Molly is her mother. That leaves only her father’s lineage in question –’

‘Sometimes children are found to have the Skill with no apparent link to the Farseer bloodline. She might have received it from Molly or Burrich.’

‘Yet none of her brothers have it,’ I pointed out.

Chade slapped the table in frustration. ‘I have said it before. You are too cautious, Fitz. “What if this, what if that?” You hide from trouble that may never knock at our door. What if Nettle did discover that a Farseer had fathered her? Would that be so terrible?’

‘If she came to court, and found herself not only a bastard, but the bastard of a Witted Farseer? Yes. What of her fine husband and genteel future then? What does it do to her brothers and to Molly and Burrich, to have to face that past? Nor can you have Nettle here without Burrich coming to see her, to be sure she is well. I know I have changed, but my scars are no disguise to Burrich, nor are my years. If he saw me, he’d know me, and it would destroy him. Or would you try to keep secrets from him, tell Nettle that she must never tell her mother and father that she is taught the Skill, let alone that she is taught by a man with a broken nose and a scar down his face? No, Chade. Better she stays where she is, weds a young farmer she loves, and lives a settled life.’

‘That sounds very bucolic for her,’ Chade observed heavily. ‘I’m sure that any daughter of yours would be delighted with such a sedate and settled life.’ Sarcasm dripped from his words until he demanded, ‘But what of her duty to her prince? What of Dutiful’s need for a coterie?’

‘I’ll find you someone else,’ I promised recklessly. ‘Someone just as strong as she is, but not related to me. Not tarnished with any complications.’

‘Somehow I doubt that such candidates will be easy to find.’ He scowled suddenly. ‘Or have you encountered such others, and not seen fit to tell me of them?’

I noticed he did not offer himself. I let that sleeping dog lie. ‘Chade, I swear to you, I know of no other Skill-candidates. Only Thick.’

‘Ah. Then he is the one you will train?’

Chade’s question was flippant, an attempt to make me admit there were no other real candidates. I knew Chade expected a flat refusal from me. Thick hated and feared me, and was dim-witted besides. A less desirable Skill-student I could not imagine. Except for Nettle. And perhaps one other. Desperation forced the next words from my tongue. ‘There might be one other.’

‘And you haven’t told me?’ He trembled at the edge of rage.

‘I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure. I’ve only recently begun to wonder about him myself. I met him years ago. And he may be as dangerous to train as Thick, or even more so. For not only has he strong opinions of his own, but he is Witted.’

‘His name?’ It was a demand, not a request.

I took a breath and stepped off the precipice. ‘Black Rolf.’

Chade scowled. He squinted, rummaging through the attics of his mind. ‘The man who offered to teach you the Wit? You encountered him on the way to the Mountains?’

‘Yes. That’s the one.’ Chade had been present when I had offered Kettricken my painfully complete account of my travels across the Six Duchies to find her. ‘He used the Wit in ways I’d never seen it used. He alone seemed to almost know what Nighteyes and I said privately to one another. No other Witted one has shown me that ability. Some could tell when we used the Wit, if we were not extremely careful, but did not seem to understand what we said to one another. Rolf did. Even at the times when we tried to keep it secret from him, I always suspected that he knew more than he let on. He could have been using the Wit to find us, and the Skill to listen to my thoughts.’

‘Wouldn’t you have felt it?’

I shrugged. ‘I didn’t. So perhaps I am mistaken. Nor am I eager to seek out Rolf to discover the truth of it.’

‘In any case, you could not. I’m sorry to tell you that he died three years ago. He took a fever, and his end was swift.’

I stood still, stunned as much by the news as by the fact that Chade knew it. I found my way to a chair and sat down. Grief did not flood me. My relationship with Black Rolf had always been a fractious one. But there was regret. He was gone. I wondered how Holly managed without him, and how Hilda his bear had endured his passing. For a time I stared at the wall, seeing a small house far away. ‘How did you know?’ I managed at last.

‘Oh, come, Fitz. You reported about him to the Queen. And I’d heard his name from you before, when you were delirious and raving with fever from the infection in your back. I knew he was significant. I keep track of significant people.’

It was like the Stone game. He’d just set another piece on the board, one that revealed his old strategy. I filled in all he had not said. ‘So you know that I returned there. That I studied with him for a time.’

He gave a half nod. ‘I wasn’t certain of it. But I suspected it was you. I received the news with joy. Prior to that, the last I had heard of you was what Starling and Kettricken reported when they left you at the quarry. To hear you were alive and well … For months, I half-expected you to turn up at my doorstep. I looked forward to hearing from your lips of what had happened after Verity-as-Dragon left the quarry. There was so much we did not know! I envisioned that reunion a hundred ways. Of course, you know that I waited in vain. And eventually, I realized you’d never come back to us of your own will.’ He sighed, remembering old pain and disappointment. Then he added quietly, ‘Still, I was glad to hear that you were alive.’

The words were not a rebuke. They were only his admission of pain. My choice had hurt him, but he had respected my right to make it. After my time with Rolf, he would have had spies watching for me. They would not know it was FitzChivalry Farseer they sought, but doubtless they had found me. Otherwise, how would Starling have found her way to my door, all those years ago? ‘You’ve always had an eye on me, haven’t you?’

He looked down at the table and said stubbornly, ‘Another man might see it as a hand sheltering you. As I have just told you, Fitz. I always keep track of significant people.’ He next spoke as if he could hear my thoughts. ‘I tried to leave you alone, Fitz. To find what peace you could, even if it excluded me from your life.’

Ten years ago, I could not have understood the pain in his voice. I would only have seen him as interfering and calculating. Only now, with a son of my own intent on ignoring every bit of advice I’d ever given him, could I recognize what it had cost him to let me go my own way and make my own choices. He had probably felt as I did about Hap, that he was so obviously choosing the wrong course. But Chade had let me steer it.

In that instant, I made my decision. I pushed Chade off balance with it. ‘Chade. If you wish, I could attempt … do you want me to try to teach you the Skill?’

His eyes were suddenly impenetrable. ‘Ah. So you offer that now, do you? Interesting. But I think I am proceeding with my own studies well enough. No, Fitz. I don’t wish you to teach me.’

I bowed my head. Perhaps I deserved his disdain. I took a breath. ‘Then I’ll do as you ask, this time. I’ll train Thick. Somehow, I’ll persuade him to let me teach him. As strong as he is, perhaps he will be all the coterie that Dutiful will need.’

Shock silenced him for a moment. Then, he smiled sourly, ‘I doubt that, Fitz. And you don’t doubt it; you don’t believe it at all. Nevertheless, for the time being, we will leave it at that. You will begin Thick’s training. In exchange, I will leave Nettle where she is. You have my thanks. And now I must go to see what mischief Dutiful had got himself into.’ He rose as if his back and knees pained him. I watched him go but said no more.