Читать книгу The Tawny Man Series Books 2 and 3: The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate - Робин Хобб - Страница 20

I am no coward. I have always accepted the will of the god-born. More than a dozen times has my life been put at the feet of Duke Sidder, for the good of glorious Chalced. None of those risks do I regret. But when the most gracious and divinely just Duke Sidder finds fault with us for failing to hold Bingtown Harbour, he is unfortunately basing his judgement on the reports of men who were not there. Hence, our most gracious and divinely just duke cannot be faulted in any way for coming to flawed conclusions. Herewith, I endeavour to correct those reports.

Scribe Wertin wrote that ‘… a fleet of seasoned battleships was defeated and driven away by slaves and fishermen.’ This is not the case. Slaves and fishermen were, indeed, responsible for much treachery against our ships, done in secret and under cover of darkness rather than in true battle. But as our captains had not been given warning that the Bingtown Traders might have such organized forces at their disposal, why would we be expected to be on guard against them? I think the fault here lies not with our captains, but with those Bingtown emissaries, scribes and accountants, not warriors, who neglected to keep us well informed. Hanging is too kind for them. Many brave warriors died unworthy deaths due to their laxity in reporting.

Scribe Wertin also suggests that perhaps treasure was loaded from the warehouses before they were destroyed, and that individual captains kept it for themselves following our defeat. This is most emphatically not true. The warehouses, stuffed with the spoils our assiduous treasure collecting had gathered for you, were burned to the ground with all their contents by Bingtown fanatics. Why is this so hard for scribes to believe? There were also reports of Bingtown folk who killed their kinfolk and themselves rather than face our raiders. In consideration of our reputations, I think this can be taken as fact.

But Scribe Wertin’s gravest and most unjust error is his denial of the existence of the dragon. May I ask, most courteously and humbly, on what he bases this report? Every captain who returned to our shores reported sightings of a blue-and-silver dragon. Every captain. Why are their words dismissed as cowardly excuses, while the tales of a soft eunuch are heralded as truth? There was, indeed, a dragon. We took disastrous damage from it. Your scribe fatuously states that there is no proof of this, that the reports of the dragons are ‘the excuses of cowards for fleeing a certain victory, and perhaps a subterfuge for keeping treasure and tribute from Duke Sidder’. What proof, I ask, could be sought that is more telling than those hundreds of men who never returned home?

Captain Slyke’s rebuttal of his Execution Verdict, Chade Fallstar’s translation from the Chalcedean

It was hours later when I wearily climbed the stairs back to Lord Golden’s room. I had had a long audience with the Queen and Chade. Chade had declined to summon Prince Dutiful to attend it. ‘He knows that we know one another, you and I, of old. But I don’t think we would be wise to strengthen that connection in his mind. Not just yet.’

On reflection, I decided that perhaps I agreed with him. Chade was technically my great-uncle, though I had never related to him that way. Always he had been my mentor. Old as he was and scarred as I was, we still shared some family resemblance. Dutiful had already voiced his suspicions that I was related to him. Best that he did not see us together, and gain strength for any of his theories.

My session with Chade and the Queen had been long. Chade had never before had the opportunity to have both of us in the same room while he questioned us about the true nature of the Six Duchies dragons. He sipped one of his foul tisanes and took copious notes until his bony hand wearied. After that, he passed the pen to me and commanded me to write as we spoke. As ever, his questions were concise and thoughtful. What was new in his demeanour was his obvious enthusiasm and fervour. For him the wonder of the stone dragons, brought to life with blood, Skill and Wit, were a manifestation of the extended powers of the Skill. I saw hunger in his eyes, as he speculated that perhaps men seeking to avoid death’s cold jaws had first worked this magic.

Kettricken frowned at that. I surmised that she preferred to believe that the stone dragons had been created by Skill-coteries in the hope of serving the Six Duchies some day. She probably believed that the older dragons had likewise been carved for some loftier goal. When I countered this with the concept that a Skill-addiction led one to the creation, they both scowled at me.

I had been scowled at a great deal. My relaying of the information about the Bingtown dragons was treated first with scepticism, and then annoyance that I had not spoken sooner. Why I shielded the Fool from their disapproval, I could not have said. I did not lie directly; Chade had trained me too well for that. Instead, I let them think that he had told me his tales of Bingtown dragons when first he came to visit me. I took upon myself the responsibility that I had not passed the knowledge on to them. I shrugged, and said carelessly that I had not thought such tales could affect us here in Buckkeep. I did not have to add that it seemed a wild story to me then. Both of them were still teetering on whether they accepted it.

‘It puts our own dragons into a new light,’ Kettricken mused softly.

‘And makes the veiled man’s remarks a bit less offensive,’ I ventured to add.

‘Perhaps. Though I still feel affront that he dared to doubt our dragons were real.’

Chade cleared his throat. ‘We must let that pass, for now, my queen. Last year I came into possession of some papers that spoke of a dragon defending Bingtown from the Chalcedean fleet. It seemed but a wild battle tale to me, such as men often use to excuse defeat. I surmised that the rumours of our real dragons had led the Chalcedeans to pretend themselves defeated by a Bingtown dragon rather than simple strategy. Perhaps I should have heeded it; I will see what other information I can purchase. But for now, let us consider our own resources.’ He cleared his throat and stared at me as if he suspected me of withholding vital information. ‘The buried cities the Fool told you about … could they be related to the abandoned city that you visited?’ Chade pushed the question in as if it were more important than the Queen’s comment about affront.

I shrugged. ‘I have no way of knowing. The city I visited was not buried. Some great cataclysm had riven it, true. It was like a cake chopped with an axe. And the water of the river had flowed in to fill the chasm.’

‘What cracks the earth in one city could have precipitated a sinking of the ground in another,’ Chade speculated aloud.

‘Or wakened a mountain to wrath,’ Kettricken put in. ‘We have many such tales in the Mountain Kingdom. The earth quakes, and one of the fire mountains awakes to pour forth lava and ash, sometimes darkening the sky and filling the air with choking smoke. Sometimes it is only a slurry of water and muck and stones that cascade down, filling valleys to the brim and spreading out across plains. There are also tales, not that old, of a town in a valley near a deep lake. The day before the earthquake, all was well there. It bustled with life. Travellers arriving there two days after the quake found folk dead in the street, yes, and their beasts beside them. None of the bodies bore any marks. It was as if they had simply dropped where they stood.’

A silence had followed her words. Then Chade had made me recite yet again all the Fool had told me of the Bingtown dragons. He had asked me a number of questions about the Six Duchies dragons, most of which I did not know the answers to. Could there be serpent-born dragons among the dragons I woke? If Bingtown’s serpent-born dragons rose against the Six Duchies, did I think our own dragons could be persuaded to rise and protect us again? Or would they side with their scaly kin? And speaking of scales, what of the lizardish boy? Did the Fool know aught of people of that kind?

When finally they dismissed me so that they might deliberate together, I felt sure that several meals must have passed me by. I left Kettricken’s private chambers by secret ways, emerged from my own room to find Lord Golden absent from his chambers, and went down to scavenge the kitchens for whatever I could find. The bustle and clatter was intense, and I found myself firmly refused entrance. I retreated, and then made a foray into the guardsmen’s hall, where I secured bread, meat, cheese and ale, which were all I really needed to content my soul anyway.

As I climbed the stairs, I was wondering if I could steal a moment or two of sleep while Lord Golden and the rest of the Buckkeep nobility were at dinner with the Bingtown contingent. I knew I should dress and descend, to stand at his shoulder and watch how the evening proceeded, but I felt I had already taken in as much information as my mind could hold. I had passed on the information to Kettricken and Chade; let them deal with it. My dilemma with Hap still impaled my heart. I could think of no course of action that would better it.

Sleep, I told myself firmly. Sleep would shield me for a time from all of it, and upon waking perhaps some aspect of it would have come clear.

I tapped at Lord Golden’s chamber door and entered. As I did so, a young woman stood up from one of the hearthside chairs. I glanced about the room, assuming that Lord Golden must have admitted her, but saw no sign of him. Perhaps he was in one of his other chambers, though it seemed unlike him to leave a guest unattended. Nor did I see food or wine set out, as he certainly would have done.

She was a striking woman. It was not just her extravagant garb; it was the sheer scale of her. She was at least my height, with long blonde hair and light brown eyes, and a warrior’s muscling in her arms and shoulders. Her clothing was chosen to emphasize that last feature. Her black boots came to her knees, and she wore leggings rather than skirts. Her shirt was of ivory linen, and her fancifully decorated vest of soft doeskin. The sleeves of the shirt were pleated, and there was lace at the cuff, but not enough to get in her way. The cut of the garments was simple, but the extravagance of the fabrics was only exceeded by the embroidery that graced them. She wore several earrings in each ear, some of wood and some of gold. In the spiralling wooden ones, I recognized the Fool’s handiwork. There was gold at her throat and on her wrists as well, but it was simple gold, and I would wager she wore it more for her own pleasure than for show. She bore a plain sword on one hip, and a practical knife on the other.

In the first moment of mutual surprise, her gaze met mine. Then her stare wandered over me in a way that was overly familiar. When her eyes came back to mine, she grinned disarmingly. Her teeth were very white.

‘You must be Lord Golden.’ She extended a hand to me as she strode towards me. Despite her foreign dress, her accent was Shoaks Duchy. ‘I’m Jek. Perhaps Amber has spoken of me.’

I took her hand by reflex. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, but you are mistaken. I am Lord Golden’s serving-man, Tom Badgerlock.’ Her grip was firm, her hand callused and strong. ‘I am sorry I was not here to admit you when you first arrived. I had not realized Lord Golden was expecting a visitor. May I bring you anything?’

She gave a shrug and released my hand as she walked back to the chair. ‘Lord Golden isn’t exactly expecting me. I came looking for him and a servant directed me here. I knocked, no answer, so I came in to wait.’ She seated herself, crossed her legs at the knee and then asked with a knowing grin, ‘So. How is Amber?’

Something was not right here. I glanced at the other closed doors. ‘I know no one named Amber. How did you get in?’ I stood between her and the door. She looked formidable, but her clothing and hair were unruffled. If she had done any damage to the Fool, she’d likely show some signs of a struggle. Nor was anything in the room awry.

‘I opened the door and walked in. It wasn’t locked.’

‘That door is always locked.’ I tried to make my contradiction pleasant, but I was becoming more and more worried.

‘Well, it wasn’t today, Tom, and I have important business with Lord Golden. As I am well known to him, I doubt he would mind me entering his rooms. I’ve conducted a lot of business on his behalf in the last year or so, with Amber as the go-between.’ She tilted her head and rolled her eyes at me. ‘And I don’t believe for a minute that you don’t know Amber.’ She cocked her head the other way and stared at me discriminatingly. Then she grinned. ‘You know, I like you better with brown eyes. Much more becoming than the blue ones Paragon has.’ As I stared at her in consternation, her grin grew wider. It was like being stalked by a large, overly-friendly cat. I sensed no animosity from her. Rather it was as if she suppressed mirth and deliberately strove to make me uncomfortable, but in a friendly, teasing way. I could make no sense of her. I tried to decide if it would be better to eject her from the room or detain her here until Lord Golden returned. More and more, I longed to open the door to his bedchamber and privy, to be sure that no treachery had befallen him in my absence.

With sudden relief, I heard his key in the lock. I strode to the door, and opened it for him, proclaiming before he stepped in, ‘Lord Golden, a visitor awaits you. A Lady Jek. She says this is a –’

Before I could get any further in my warning speech, he pushed past me in a most uncharacteristic hurry. He shut the door behind him as if Lady Jek were a puppy that might race out into the corridor, and latched it before he turned towards her. His face was as pale as I’d seen it in years as he confronted his unexpected guest.

‘Lord Golden?’ Jek exclaimed. For a long moment she stared. Then she burst into hearty laughter, pounding a doubled fist against her thigh. ‘But, of course. Lord Golden! How could I not have guessed? I should have seen through it from the start!’ She advanced on him, completely confident of a warm welcome, to hug him heartily and then step back. As she gripped him by the shoulders, her delighted gaze wandered over his face and hair. To me, he looked dazed, but her grin didn’t fade. ‘It’s marvellous. If I didn’t know, I never would have guessed. But I don’t understand. Why is this ruse necessary? Doesn’t it make it difficult for the two of you to be together?’ She glanced from him to me, and it was apparent the question was addressed to both of us. Her implication was obvious, although I could not fathom her reference to a ‘ruse’. I felt the rush of heat and colour to my face. I waited for Lord Golden to make some clarifying remark to her but he held his silence. The look I wore must have shocked her, for she turned her gaze back to Lord Golden. She spoke uncertainly. ‘Amber, my friend. Aren’t you glad to see me?’

Lord Golden’s face seemed immobilized. His jaws moved and then he finally spoke. His voice was low and calm but still seemed somewhat breathless. ‘Tom Badgerlock, I have no further need of your services today. You are dismissed.’

Never had it been harder for me to remain in my role, but I sensed desperation in his retreat into formality, so I clenched my teeth and bowed stiffly, containing my seething affront at Jek’s obvious assumption about us. My own voice was icy as I answered him.

‘As you will, my lord. I will take the opportunity to rest.’ I turned and retreated to my own chamber. As I passed the table, I took a candle. I opened my door, went into my room and shut the door behind me. Almost.

I am not proud of what I did next. Shall I blame it on Chade’s early training of me? I could, but that would not be honest. I burned with indignation. Jek obviously believed Lord Golden and I were lovers. He had not bothered to correct her misconception; her words and manner told me that he was the source of it. To some end of his own, he allowed her to continue in that belief.

It was the way Jek had looked at me, as if she knew far more about me than I knew of her. Obviously, she knew Lord Golden, but from another place and by another name. I was sure I had never seen her before. So, whatever she knew of me, she knew from the Fool. I justified my spying on the grounds that I had the right to know what he had said about me to strangers. Especially when it made a stranger look from him to me and smile in a way so knowing and so offensive. What things had he said about me to her, to make her assume such a thing? Why? Why would he? Outrage struggled to blossom in me, but I suppressed it. There would be a reason, some driving purpose behind such talk. There had to be. I would trust my friend, but I had a right to know what it was. I set the candle on my table, sat down on my bed and gripped my hands in my lap, forcing myself to discard all emotion. And no matter how distasteful my situation, I would be rational in my judgement. I listened. Their conversation came faintly to my straining ears.

‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’ There was more than surprise or annoyance in the Fool’s voice. It was almost despair.

‘How could I let you know?’ Jek demanded cheerfully. ‘The Chalcedeans keep sinking all the ships that head this way. From the few letters I’ve received from you, it’s obvious that half my own have gone awry.’ Then, ‘So, admit it. You are Lord Golden?’

‘Yes.’ He sounded exasperated. ‘And it is the only name I am known by in Buckkeep. So I would thank you to bear that in mind at all times.’

‘But you told me that you went to visit your old friend, Lord Golden, and that all my correspondence to you must be sent through him. And what of all the transactions I’ve made in Bingtown and Jamaillia? All the inquiries I’ve made and the information I’ve sent you? Were all of those actually for you, as well?’

He spoke tightly. ‘If you must know, yes.’ And then, pleading, ‘Jek, you look at me as if I’ve betrayed you. I haven’t. You are my friend, and I was not pleased to deceive you. But it was necessary. This ruse, as you put it, all of this, is necessary. And I cannot explain why to you, nor can I tell you the whole of it. I can only repeat to you, it is necessary. You hold my life in your hands. Tell this tale in a tavern some night, and you might as well have slit my throat now.’

I heard the sound of Jek’s body dropping into a chair. When she spoke, there was a trace of hurt in her voice. ‘You deceived me. And now you insult me. After all we’ve been through, do you really doubt my ability to hold my tongue?’

‘I did not set out to do either,’ said someone. And the hair on the back of my neck rose, for the voice was neither Lord Golden’s nor the Fool’s. This voice was lighter and devoid of any Jamaillian accent. Amber’s voice, I surmised. Yet another façade for the person I thought I knew. ‘It is just … you have taken me by surprise, and frightened me badly. I entered this room and there you were, grinning as if it were a fine joke, when actually you … Ah, Jek, I cannot explain it. I simply must trust to our friendship, and to all we have been through together, all we have been to one another. You have stumbled into my play, and now I fear you must take up a role in it. For the duration of your visit, you must speak to me as if I am truly Lord Golden, and as if you are my agent in Bingtown and Jamaillia.’

‘That’s easy enough for me to do, for such I have been. And you speak truly when you say we are friends. It hurts me still that you thought any of this deception was needed between us. Still, I suppose I can forgive it. But I wish I understood it. When your man, this … Tom Badgerlock, when he came in and I recognized his face, I was filled with joy for you. I watched you carve that figurehead. Don’t deny to me what you feel for him. “They are reunited at last,” I thought to myself. But then you bark at him and send him off as if he were a servant … Lord Golden’s serving-man, in fact, is what he told me he was. Why the masquerade, when it must be so difficult for both of you?’

A long silence followed. I heard no sound of footsteps, but I recognized the chink of a bottle’s neck against a glass’s lip. I guessed that he poured wine for both of them as Jek and I awaited his answer.

‘It is difficult for me,’ the Fool replied in Amber’s voice. ‘It is not so difficult for him, because he knows little of it. There. Fool that I am and have been, truly, to have ever let that secret have breath to anyone, let alone shape. Such a monstrous vanity on my part.’

‘Monstrous? Immense! You carved a ship’s figurehead in his likeness, and hoped no one would ever guess what he meant to you? Ah, my friend. You manage everyone’s lives and secrets so well and then when it comes to your own … Well. And he doesn’t even know that you love him?’

‘I think he chooses not to. Perhaps he suspects … well, after chatting with you, I am certain that he suspects now. But he leaves it alone. He is like that.’

‘Then he’s a damned fool. A handsome damned fool, though. Despite the broken nose. I’ll wager he was even prettier before that happened. Who spoiled his face?’

A small sound, a little cough of laughter. ‘My dear Jek, you’ve seen him. No one could spoil his face. Not for me.’ A pretty little sigh. ‘But come. I’d rather not talk of it, if you don’t mind. Tell me of other things. How is Paragon?’

‘Paragon. The ship or the pirate princeling?’

‘Both. Please.’

‘Well, of the heir to the Pirate Islands throne, I know little more than what is common gossip. He’s a lively, lusty boy, the image of King Kennit, and his mother’s delight. The whole Raven fleet’s delight and darling, actually. That’s his middle name, you know. Prince Paragon Raven Ludluck.’

‘And the ship?’

‘Moody as ever. But in a different way. It’s not that dangerous melancholy he used to sink into, more like the angst of a young man who fancies himself a poet. For that reason, I find it much more annoying to be around him when he’s moping. Of course, it’s not entirely his fault. Althea’s pregnant, and the ship obsesses about the child.’

‘Althea’s pregnant?’

This ‘Amber’ took a woman’s delight in such tidings.

‘Yes,’ Jek confirmed. ‘And she’s absolutely furious about it, despite Brashen walking on air and choosing a new name for the child every other day. In fact, I think that’s half of why she’s so irritable. They were wed in the Rain Wild Traders Concourse … I wrote to you about that, didn’t I? I think it was more to placate Malta, who seemed humiliated by her sister’s cavalier attitude towards her arrangement with Brashen than for any desire on Althea’s part to be married. And now she’s with child, and puking her guts up every dawn, and spitting at Brashen whenever he gets solicitous.’

‘She must have known that eventually she’d get with child?’

‘I doubt it. They’re slow to conceive, those Traders, and half the time they can’t carry the calf to term. Her sister Malta’s lost two already. I think that’s part of Althea’s anger; that if she knew she’d have a baby to show for all the puking and cramps, she might accept it gracefully, even welcome it. But her mother wants her to come home to have it, and the ship insists the babe will be born on his decks and Brashen would let her give birth in a tree, so long as he had a baby to dandle and brag over afterwards. The constant stream of advice and suggestions just leaves her spitting mad. That’s what I told Brashen. “Just stop talking to her about it,” I said to him. “Pretend you don’t notice and treat her as you always have.” And he said, “How am I to do that, when I’m watching her belly rub the lines when she tries to run the rigging?” But of course, she was just around the corner when he said that, and she overheard, and like to burn his ears off with the names she called him.’

And so they went on, gossiping together like goodwives at a market. They discussed who was pregnant, and who was not but wished to be, doings at the Jamaillian harbours and courts, politics of the Pirate Islands and Bingtown’s war with Chalced. If I had not known who was in the other room, I would not have guessed. Amber bore no resemblance to Lord Golden or the Fool. The change was that complete.

And that was the second thing that scalded me that evening. Not just that he had spoken of me to strangers, in such detail that Jek could recognize me and believe I was his lover, but that there still remained a life or lives of his about which I had no knowledge. Strange, how being left out of a secret always feels like a betrayal of trust.

I sat alone by the light of my candle and wondered who, in truth, the Fool was. I scraped together in a small heap all the tiny hints and clues that I had gathered over the years and considered them. I’d put my life in his hands any number of times. He’d read all my journals, demanded a full report of all my travels, and I’d given such to him. And what had he offered to me in return? Riddles and mysteries and bits of himself.

And like cooling tar, my feelings for the Fool hardened as they grew colder. The injury grew in me as I thought about it. He had excluded me. The heart knows but one reaction to that. I would now exclude him. I stood and then walked to the door of my room. I shut it completely, not loudly, but not caring if he noticed that it had been ajar. I triggered the secret door, then crossed the room to open it and entered the spy labyrinth. I wished that I could close that door and leave that part of my life behind me. I tried. I walked away from it.

There are few things so tender as a man’s dignity. The affront I felt was a thing both painful and angry, a weight that grew in my chest as I climbed the stairs. I fingered all my grievances, numbering them to myself.

How dared he put me in this position? He had compromised his own reputation when we visited Galekeep in search of Prince Dutiful. He had kissed young Civil Bresinga, deliberately setting off a social flap that misled Lady Bresinga as to the purpose of our visit at the same time that it got us expelled from her home. Even now, Civil avoided him with distaste, and I knew that his act had inspired a squall of excited gossip and speculation about his personal preferences at Buckkeep. I thought I had managed to hold myself aloof from those rumours. Now I reconsidered. There had been Prince Dutiful’s question. And suddenly my confrontation with the guardsmen in the steams took on a new connotation. Blood burned my face. Would Jek, despite her assurances of a still tongue, become a source of even more humiliating talk? According to her words, the Fool had carved my countenance onto a ship’s figurehead. I felt violated that he would do such a thing without my consent. And what had he said to folk while he was carving it, to lead to Jek’s assumption?

I could not fit what he had done with either what I knew of the Fool or what I knew of Lord Golden. It was the act of this Amber, a person I knew not at all.

Hence I did not truly know him at all. And never had.

And with that, I unwillingly knew I had worked my way down to the deepest source of my injury. To discover that the truest friend I had ever had was actually a stranger was like a knife in my heart. He was another abandonment, a missed step in the dark, and a false promise of warmth and companionship. I shook my head to myself. ‘Idiot,’ I said quietly. ‘You are alone. Best get used to it.’ But without thinking, I reached towards where there had once been comfort.

And in the next instant, I missed Nighteyes with a terrible physical clenching in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, and then walked two more steps and sat down on the little bench outside the spyhole to the Narcheska’s apartments. I blinked, denying the stinging boy’s tears that clung to my eyelashes. Alone. It always came back to alone. It was like a contagion that had clung to me since my mother had lacked the courage to defy her father and keep me, and since my father had abandoned his crown and holdings rather than own up to me.

I leaned my forehead against the cold stone, forcing control onto myself. I steadied my breathing, and then became aware of faint voices through the wall. I sighed deeply. Then, as much to retreat from my own life as for any other reason, I set my eye to the spyhole and listened.

The Narcheska sat on a low stool in the middle of the room. She was weeping silently, clasping her elbows and rocking back and forth. Tears had tracked down her face and dripped from her chin and they still squeezed out from her closed eyes. A wet blanket shawled her shoulders. She held herself in such silence amidst her pain that I wondered if she had just endured some punishment from her father or Peottre.

But even as I wondered, Peottre came hurrying into the room. A tight little whimper burst from her at the sight of him. His jaw was clenched and at the sound, his face went tighter and whiter. He carried his cloak, but it was bundled to serve as a sack. He hurried to Elliania’s side and set the laden cloak on the floor before her. Kneeling, he took her by the shoulders to get her attention. ‘Which one is it?’ he asked her in a low voice.

She gasped in a breath, and spoke with an effort. ‘The green serpent. I think.’ Another breath. ‘I cannot tell. When he burns, he burns so hot that the others seem to burn, too.’ And then she lifted her hand to her mouth and bit down on the meat on her thumb. Hard.

‘No!’ Peottre exclaimed. He caught up the dripping hem of the blanket, folded it twice, and offered it to her. He had to shake her hand free of her jaws. Then, eyes closed, she clamped her teeth on the blanket edge. I saw the clearly demarcated prints of her teeth on her hand as it fell away to her side. ‘I am sorry I took so long. I had to go secretly, so no one would notice what I did and ask questions. And I wanted it fresh and clean. Come, turn this way, into the light,’ he told her. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her so that her back was towards me. She let the wet blanket fall from her shoulders.

She was stripped to the waist above doeskin trousers. From shoulder to waist, she was tattooed. That was shocking enough to me, but the markings were like none I had ever seen. I knew that the Outislanders tattooed themselves, to show clan and claim victories and even to show the status of a woman, with marks for marriages and for children. But those were like the clan tattoo on Peottre’s brow, a simple pattern of blue marks.

Elliania’s tattoos were nothing like that. I’d never seen anything to compare to them. They were beautiful, the colours brilliant, the designs sharp and clear. The colours had a sparkling metallic quality to them, reflecting the lamplight like a polished blade. The creatures that sprawled and twined on her shoulders and spine and down her ribs gleamed and glistened. And one, an exquisite green serpent that began at the nape of her neck and meandered down her back amongst the others, stood out puffily, like a fresh burn blister. It was oddly lovely, for it gave the impression that the creature was trapped just below her skin, like a butterfly trying to break free from its chrysalis. At the sight of it, Peottre gave a sharp exclamation of sympathy. He opened the bundled cloak at his feet to reveal a mound of fresh, white snow. Cupping a handful of it, he held it to the serpent’s head. To my horror, I heard a sizzling like a quenched blade. The snow melted immediately, to run down her spine in a narrow rivulet. Elliania cried out at the touch, but it was a cry of both shock and relief.

‘Here,’ Peottre said gruffly. ‘A moment.’ He spread his cloak out and then pushed the snow out into an even layer on it. ‘Lie down here,’ he instructed her, and helped her from the stool. He eased her back onto the bed of snow and she whimpered as it quenched the burning. I could see her face now, and the sweat that ran from her brow as well as the tears that still flowed down her face. She lay still, eyes closed, her new breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath she took. After a few moments, she began to shiver, but she did not roll away. Peottre had taken the discarded blanket and was wetting it fresh with water from a pitcher. He brought it back to her and set it by her side. ‘I’m going out for more snow,’ he told her. ‘If that melts and stops soothing your back, try this blanket. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

She unclenched her jaws and wet her lips. ‘Hurry,’ she pleaded in a gasp.

‘I will, little one. I will.’ He stood up, and then said gravely, each word solemn, ‘Our mothers bless you for what you endure. Damn these Farseers and their stiff-necked ways. And damn those dragon-breeders.’

The Narcheska rolled her head back and forth on the snow bed. ‘I just … I just wish I knew what she wanted. What she expected me to do about it, past what we have done.’

Peottre had begun moving about the room, looking for something to carry snow in. He had picked up the Narcheska’s cloak. ‘We both know what she expects,’ he said harshly.

‘I am not a woman yet,’ she said quietly. ‘It is against the mothers’ law.’

‘It is against my law,’ Peottre clarified, as if his will was the only one that mattered in this. ‘I will not see you used that way. There must be another path.’ Unwillingly, he asked, ‘Has Henja come to you? Has she said why you are tormented like this?’

Her nod was a jerk of her head. ‘She insists I must bind him to me. Open my legs to him to be sure of him before I leave. It is the only path she believes in.’ Elliania spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I slapped her and she left. And then the pain became fourfold.’

Anger froze his features. ‘Where is she?’

‘She is not here. She took her cloak and left. Perhaps it is to avoid your temper, but I think she has gone into the town again, to further her cause there.’ Elliania’s teeth clenched in a smile. ‘Just as well. Our position here is difficult enough without having to explain why you’ve killed my maid in a fury.’

I think her words recalled him to practicality, even if they did not calm him.

‘It is well that slut is out of my reach. But aren’t you a bit late to counsel me to restraint? My little warrior, you have inherited your uncle’s temper. Your act was not wise, but I cannot find it in me to rebuke you for it. That empty-souled whore. She truly believes that is the only way a man can be bound to a woman.’

Unbelievably, the Narcheska gave a small laugh. ‘It is the only one she believes in, Uncle. I did not say it was the only one I knew. Pride may bind a man, even where there is no love. That is the thought I cling to now.’ Then her brow clenched in pain. ‘Fetch more snow, please,’ she gasped, and he nodded sharply and went out.

I watched him go. Then she sat up slowly. She scraped the melting snow into a narrower pallet. The tattoos on her back stood out as glowingly as ever. Around them, her bared flesh was bright red from cold. Gingerly she lay back down on her snow couch. She took a breath and lifted the backs of her hands to her brows. I recalled that one scroll had said that was how Outislanders prayed. But the only words she said were, ‘My Mother. My Sister. For you. My Mother. My Sister. For you.’ It soon became a toneless chant in time with her breathing.

I sat back on my stool. I was trembling, as much with awe at her courage as pity for what she suffered. I wondered what I had just witnessed and what was the significance of it. My candle had burned down to half its length. I took it up and slowly climbed the rest of the stairs to Chade’s tower room. I was exhausted and downhearted and sought familiar comfort somewhere. But when I reached there, the room was empty and the fire gone out. A sticky wine glass stood empty on the table by the chairs. I cleaned the ashes from the hearth, muttering to myself at Thick’s neglect of his duties, and built a fresh fire.

Then I took paper and ink and wrote down what I had witnessed. I coupled it to the previous interplay I had witnessed between Elliania, Peottre and the serving-woman Henja. Plainly the last one was a woman to be watched. I sanded the fresh ink, tapped it off and left the paper on Chade’s chair. I hoped he would come up to the rooms tonight. I reflected again, bitterly, on the stupidity that he refused to let me have a way of contacting him directly. I knew what I had witnessed was important; I hoped he would know why.

Then I reluctantly went back down the stairs to my own chamber. There I stood for a time, in silence, listening. I heard nothing. If Jek and Lord Golden were still there, they were either sitting silently or they were in his bedchamber. After what she had implied about me, that did not seem likely. After a time, I eased the door open a crack. The room was darkened, the fire banked on the hearth. Good. I had no wish to confront either of them just now. I had, I decided, words to say to both of them, but I was not yet calm enough to say them.

Instead I took my cloak from its hook and left Lord Golden’s chamber. I would go out, I decided. I needed to be away from the castle for a time, away from all the interconnecting webs of intrigue and deceit. I felt I was drowning in lies.

I made my way down the stairs and towards the servants’ entrance. But as I walked down the main hall, I felt a sudden shiver in the Wit. I lifted my eyes. Coming towards me from the opposite end of the hall was the veiled Bingtown youth. His veil was over his face, but through the lace that obscured his features I caught the faint blue glow of his eyes. It tightened the flesh on the nape of my neck. I wanted to turn aside, or even turn around and walk away, anything to avoid him. But such an action would have looked very strange. I steeled myself and resolutely walked towards him. I averted my eyes, but then when I dared to glance up at him, I felt his gaze on me. He slowed as we approached one another. When he was very close, I bobbed my head, a servant’s gesture of acknowledgement. But before I could pass him, he stopped and stood still. ‘Hello,’ he greeted me.

I stiffened and became a correct Buckkeep servant. I bowed from the waist. ‘Good evening, sir. May I be of service?’

‘I … Yes … Perhaps you could.’ He lifted his veil and pushed back his hood as he spoke, baring his scaled face. I could not help but gawk at him. Up close, his visage was even more remarkable than what I had glimpsed earlier. I had over-estimated his age. He was years younger than Hap or Dutiful, though I could not guess his exact age. His height made his boyish face incongruous. The silvery gleam in the scaling on his cheekbones and brow reminded me of the Narcheska’s glimmering tattoos. Abruptly, I recognized that this scaling was what the Jamaillian make-up Lord Golden sometimes wore mimicked. It was an odd little insight, one I stored away with all the other significant things that the Fool had never bothered to explain to me. Doubtless, when it suited his purpose, he would reveal it to me. Doubtless. Bitterness welled in me like blood from a fresh wound. But the Bingtowner was beckoning me closer, even as he backed away from me. I followed him unwillingly. He glanced into a small sitting room and then gestured me into it. He was making me nervous. I repeated my question like a good servant. ‘How may I be of service?’

‘I … that is … I feel as if I should know you.’ He peered at me closely. When I only stared at him as if puzzled, he tried again. ‘Do you understand what I speak about?’ He seemed to be trying to help me begin a conversation.

‘I beg your pardon, sir? You are in need of help?’ It was all I could think of to say.

He glanced over his shoulder and then spoke to me more urgently. ‘I serve the dragon Tintaglia. I am here with the ambassadors from Bingtown and the representatives from the Rain Wild. They are my people, and my kin. But I serve the dragon Tintaglia, and her concerns are my first ones.’ He spoke the words as if they should convey some deep message to me.

I hoped that what I felt did not show on my face. It was confusion, not at his strange words, but at the odd feeling that rang through me at that name. Tintaglia. I had heard the name before, but when he spoke it, it was the sharp tip of a dream breaking through into the waking world. I felt again the sweep of wind under my wings, tasted dawn’s soft fogs in my mouth. Then that blink of memory was gone, and left behind only the uncomfortable feeling of having been someone other than myself for a sliced instant of my life. I said the only words I could think of. ‘Sir? And how can I assist you?’

He stared at me intently, and I’m afraid I returned that scrutiny. The dangles along his jawline were serrated tissue. The fleshy fringe was too regular to be a scar or unnatural growth. It looked as if it belonged there as rightfully as his nose or lips. He sighed, and as he did so, I clearly saw him close his nostrils for a moment. He evidently decided to begin anew, for he smiled at me and asked gently, ‘Have you ever dreamed of dragons? Of flying like a dragon or of … being a dragon?’

That was too close a hit. I nodded eagerly, a servant flattered at conversing with his betters. ‘Oh, haven’t we all, sir? We Six Duchies folk, I mean. I’m old enough to have seen the dragons that came to defend the Six Duchies, sir. I suppose it’s natural that I’ve dreamed of them, sometimes. Magnificent they were, sir. Terrifying and dangerous, too, but that’s not what stays with a man who has seen them. It’s their greatness that stays in my mind, sir.’

He smiled at me. ‘Exactly. Magnificence. Greatness. Perhaps that is what I sensed in you.’ He peered at me, and I felt the bluish gleam in his eyes was more probing than the eyes themselves. I tried to retreat from that scrutiny.

I glanced aside from him. ‘I’m not alone in that, sir. There are many in the Six Duchies who saw our dragons on the wing. And some that saw far more than I did, for I lived far from Buckkeep then, out on my father’s farm. We grew oats, there. Grew oats and raised pigs. Others could tell you far better tales than I could. Yet even a single glimpse of the dragons were enough to set a man’s soul on fire. Sir.’

He made a small dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘I don’t doubt that they were. But I speak of another thing, now. I speak of real dragons. Dragons that breathe, that eat and grow and breed just as any other creature does. Have you ever dreamed of a dragon like that? One named Tintaglia?’

I shook my head at him. ‘I don’t dream much, sir.’ I left a little pause there and let it grow just long enough to be slightly uncomfortable. Then I bobbed a bow to him again and asked, ‘And how can I be of service to you, sir?’

He stared past me for so long that I thought he had forgotten me entirely. I thought of simply leaving him there and slipping away, except that I seemed to feel something in the air. Does magic hum? No, that is not quite the way of it, but it is a similar wordless vibration that one feels, not with the body but with that part of a man that does magic or receives it. The Wit whispers and the Skill sings. This was something like to both of them, and yet its own. It crept along my nerves and stood up the hair on the back of my neck. Suddenly his eyes snapped back to me. ‘She says you are lying,’ he accused me.

‘Sir!’ I was as affronted as I could manage for the terror I felt. Something groped at me angrily. I felt as if swiping claws passed through me. Some instinct warned me to leave my Skill-walls as they stood, that any effort to reinforce them now would only display me to her. For it was unmistakably a ‘she’ that sought to seize me. I took a breath. I was a servant, I reminded myself. Yet any servant of Buckkeep would have taken righteous offence at such words from a foreigner. I stood a bit straighter. ‘Our queen keeps a good cellar, sir, as all in the Six Duchies know. Perhaps it has been too good a cellar for your sensibilities. It is known to happen to foreigners here. Perhaps you should retire to your chamber for a time.’

‘You have to help us. You have to make them help us.’ He did not seem to hear my words. Desperation tinged his own. ‘She is stricken to the heart over this. Day after day, she strives to feed them but there is only one of her. She cannot feed so many, and they cannot hunt for themselves. She herself grows thin and weary with the task. She despairs that they will ever grow to proper size and strength. Do not doom her to being the last of her kind. If these Six Duchies dragons of yours are any kind of true dragons, then they will come to her aid. In any case, the least you can do is persuade your queen that she must ally with us. Help us put an end to the Chalcedean threat. Tintaglia is true to her word; she keeps their ships out of the Rain Wild River, but she can do no more than that. She dares not range further to protect us, for then the young dragons would die. Please, sir! If you have a heart in you, speak to your queen. Do not let dragons pass away from this world because men could not stop their bitter squabbling long enough to aid them.’

He stepped forward and tried to catch at my hand. I hastily retreated from him. ‘Sir, I fear you have taken too much to drink. You have mistaken me for someone of influence. I am not. I am but a servant here in Buckkeep Castle. And now I must be about my master’s errands for me. Good evening, sir. Good evening.’

And as he stared after me, I backed hastily from the room, bobbing and bowing as if my head were on a string. Once I was in the hall, I turned and strode hastily away. I know he came to the doorway and looked after me, for I felt his blue gaze on my back. I was glad to turn the corner to the kitchen wing, and gladder still to put a door between him and me.

Outside it was snowing, huge white flakes wafting down with the nightfall. I left the keep, barely nodding to the guards on duty at the gate, and began the long walk down to town. I had no set destination in mind, only a desire to be away from the castle. I hiked down through the gathering darkness and thickening snowfall. I had too much to think about: Elliania’s tattoos and what they meant, the Fool and Jek and what she believed of me because of something he had said, dragons and boys with scales and what Chade and Kettricken would say to the Bingtowners and to the Outislanders. Yet the closer I came to town, the more Hap pushed into my mind. I was failing the boy I considered my son. No matter how serious the events up at Buckkeep Castle were, I couldn’t let them displace him. I tried to think how I could turn him around, make him return to his apprenticeship with a willing heart and eager hands, make him set aside Svanja until he could make an honest offer for her hand, make him take up residence with his master … make him live a tidy life, abiding by all the rules that could keep him safe but never ensure him success or happiness.

I thrust that last traitor thought aside. It angered me and I turned the anger on my boy. I should do as Jinna had suggested. I should take a firm line with him, punish him for disobeying my wishes for him. Take away both money and security until he agreed to do as I wished. Turn him out of Jinna’s and tell him he must live with his master or fend for himself. Force him to toe the line. I scowled to myself. Oh, yes, that would have worked so well on me at that age. Yet something must be done. Somehow, I had to make him see sense.

My thoughts were interrupted by the hoofbeats of a horse on the road behind me. Instantly, Laurel’s warning leapt foremost in my mind. I moved to one side as the horse and rider came abreast of me and set my hand lightly to my knife. I expected them to pass me without comment. It wasn’t until the horse was reined in that I recognized Starling in the saddle. For a moment, she just looked down on me. Then she smiled. ‘Get up behind me, Fitz. I’ll give you a ride down to Buckkeep Town.’

The heart will flee anywhere when it is seeking comfort. I knew that and kept a rein on mine. ‘Thank you, but no. This road can be treacherous in the dark. You’d be risking your horse.’

‘Then I’ll lead him and walk beside you. It has been so long since we talked, and I could use a friendly ear tonight.’

‘I think I would prefer to be alone tonight, Starling.’

She was silent for a moment. The horse jigged restlessly and she pulled him in too tightly. When she spoke, she did not hide her irritation. ‘Tonight? Why do you say tonight when you mean, “I’d always prefer to be alone rather than with you”? Why do you make excuses? Why don’t you just say that you haven’t forgiven me, that you’ll never forgive me?’

It was true. I hadn’t. But that would have been a stupid thing to tell her. ‘Can’t we just let it go? It doesn’t matter any more,’ I said, and that was true as well.

She snorted. ‘Ah. I see. It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. I make one mistake, I fail to tell you one thing that doesn’t really concern you at all, and you decide you can not only never forgive me, but that you will never speak to me again?’ Her fury was building in an astounding way. I stood looking up at her as she ranted. The failing light touched her face indistinctly. She looked older and wearier than I had ever seen her. And angrier. I stood stunned in the flow of her wrath. ‘And why is that, I ask myself? Why does “Tom Badgerlock” dispose of me so easily? Because perhaps I never mattered at all to you, save for one thing. One convenient little thing that I brought right to your door for you, one thing that I thought we shared in friendship and fondness and yes, even love. But you decided you don’t want that from me any more, so you throw all of me aside. You make that the whole of what we shared, and discard me with it. And why? I confess, I’ve given much more thought to it than I should. And I think I’ve found the answer. Is it because you’ve found another place to quench your lusts? Has your new master taught you his Jamaillian ways? Or was I wrong, all those years ago? Perhaps the Fool was truly a man, and you’ve simply gone back to what you preferred all along.’ She jerked her horse’s head again. ‘You disgust me, Fitz, and you shame the Farseer name. I’m glad you’ve given it up. Now that I know what you are, I wish I had never bedded with you. Whose face did you see, all those times when you closed your eyes?’

‘Molly’s, you stupid bitch. Always Molly’s.’ It was not true. I had not played that cheat on her or myself. But it was the most hurtful reply I could think of to insult her. She did not, perhaps, deserve it. And it shamed me that I would use Molly’s name that way. But my festering anger had finally found a target this evening.

She took several deep breaths, as if I had doused her with cold water. Then she laughed shrilly. ‘And no doubt you mouth her name into your pillow as your Lord Golden mounts you. Oh, yes, that I can imagine well. You’re pathetic, Fitz. Pathetic.’

She gave me no chance to strike back, but spurred her horse cruelly and galloped off into the snowy night. For a savage instant, I hoped the beast would stumble and that she would break her neck.

Then, just when I needed that fury most, it deserted me. I was left feeling sick and sad and sorry, alone on the night road. Why had the Fool done this to me? Why? I resumed my trudge down the road.

Yet I did not go to the Stuck Pig. I knew I wouldn’t find Hap or Svanja there. Instead I went to the Dog and Whistle, an ancient tavern I had once frequented with Molly. I sat in the corner and watched patrons come and go and drank two tankards of ale. It was good ale, far better than I’d been able to afford when Molly and I last sat here. I drank and I remembered her. She, at least, had loved me true. Yet comfort in those memories trickled away. I tried to remember what it was to be fifteen years old and in love and so terribly certain that love conveyed wisdom and shaped fate. I recalled it too well, and my thoughts spun aside to Hap’s situation. I asked myself, once I had lain with Molly, could anyone have said anything to persuade me that it was not both my right and my destiny to do so? I doubted it. The best thing, I concluded a tankard later, would have been not to have allowed Hap to meet Svanja in the first place. And Jinna had warned me of that, and I hadn’t paid attention. Just as Burrich and Patience had once warned me not to begin with Molly. They’d been right. I should have admitted that a long time ago. I would have told them that, that very minute, if I could have.

And the wisdom of three tankards of ale after a sleepless night and a long day of unsettling news persuaded me that the best thing to do would be to go to Jinna and tell her that she had been right. Somehow, that would make things better. The fuzziness of why that would be so did not dissuade me. I set out for her door through the quiet night.

The snow had stopped falling. It was a clean blanket, mostly smooth, over Buckkeep Town. It draped eaves and gentled the rutted streets, hiding all sins. My boots scrunched through it as I walked the quiet streets. I nearly came to my senses when I reached Jinna’s door, but I knocked anyway. Perhaps I just needed a friend, any kind of a friend, that badly.

I heard the thud of the cat leaping from her lap, and then her footsteps. She peered out of the top half of her door. ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s me. Tom Badgerlock.’

She shut the top half of the door. It seemed like a long time before she unlatched the whole door and opened it to me. ‘Come in,’ she said, but her voice sounded as if she didn’t care if I did or didn’t.

I stood outside in the snow. ‘I don’t need to come in. I just wanted to tell you that you were right.’

She peered at me. ‘And you are drunk. Come in, Tom Badgerlock. I’ve no wish to let the night cold into my house.’

And so I went in instead. Fennel had already claimed her warm spot in her chair, but he sat up to look at me disapprovingly. Fish?

No fish. Sorry.

‘Sorry’ is not fish. What good is ‘sorry’? He curled up again, and hid his face in his tail.

I admitted it. ‘Sorry isn’t much good, but it’s all I have to offer.’

Jinna looked at me grimly. ‘Well, it’s far more than anything else you’ve given me lately.’

I stood with the snow from my boots melting on her floor. The fire crackled. ‘You were right about Hap. I should have intervened a lot sooner and I didn’t. I should have listened to you.’

After a time longer she said, ‘Do you want to sit down for a while? I don’t think you should try to walk back to the castle just now.’

‘I don’t think I’m that drunk!’ I scoffed.

‘I don’t think you’re sober enough to know how drunk you are,’ she replied. And while I was trying to unravel that, she said, ‘Take your cloak off and sit down.’ Then she had to move her knitting off one chair and the cat off the other, and then we both sat down.

For a short time we both just looked into her fire. Then she said, ‘There’s something you should know about Svanja’s father.’

I met her eyes unwillingly.

‘He’s a lot like you,’ she said quietly. ‘It takes some time for him to get his temper up. Right now, he just feels grief over what his daughter is doing. But as it becomes common talk in town, there will be men who will goad him about it. Grief will change to shame, and not long after that, to fury. But it won’t be against Svanja that he vents it. He’ll go after Hap, as the culprit who has deceived and seduced his daughter. By then, he’ll be righteous as well as angry. And he is strong as a bull.’

When I sat silent, she added, ‘I told Hap this.’ Fennel came to her and wafted up into her lap, displacing her knitting. She petted him absently.

‘What did Hap say?’

She made a disgusted sound. ‘That he wasn’t afraid. I told him that had nothing to do with it. And that sometimes being stupid and being not afraid were two twigs of the same bush.’

‘That pleased him, no doubt.’

‘He went out. I haven’t seen him since.’

I sighed. I was just starting to get warm. ‘How long ago?’

She shook her head at me. ‘It’s no use your going after him. It was hours ago, before sundown.’

‘I wouldn’t know where to look for him anyway,’ I admitted. ‘I couldn’t find him last night, and wherever they were then is where they probably are now.’

‘Probably,’ she agreed quietly. ‘Well, at least Rory Hartshorn didn’t find them last night, either. So they’re probably safe for now.’

‘Why can’t he just keep his daughter in at night? Then no one would have a problem.’

She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘No one would have a problem if you could just keep your son in at night, Tom Badgerlock.’

‘I know, I know,’ I admitted resignedly. And a moment later I added, ‘You really shouldn’t have to deal with any of this.’

A few moments later, the rest of that thought forced its way to the front of my mind. ‘When Svanja’s father decides to look for Hap, he’ll look for him here.’ I squeezed my brows together. ‘I never meant to bring all this trouble to your door, Jinna. I started out just wanting a friend. And now everything is a mess, and it’s all my fault.’ I considered the conclusion of that. ‘I suppose I’d best go face up to Rory Hartshorn.’

‘Wallow in it, Tom Badgerlock,’ she said in disgust. ‘What on earth would you say to the man? Why must you take full credit for everything that goes wrong in the world? As I recall, I met Hap and befriended him long before I knew you. And Svanja has been trouble looking for a place to sprout since her family came to Buckkeep Town, if not before. And she has two parents of her own. Nor is Hap the blundering innocent in this. You’ve not been dallying with Hartshorn’s daughter, Hap has. So stop bemoaning what a mess you’ve made, and start demanding that Hap take responsibility for himself.’ She settled herself deeper into her chair. As if to herself, she added, ‘You’ve quite enough messes of your own to clean up, without claiming responsibility for everyone else’s.’

I stared at her in amazement.

‘It’s simple,’ she said quietly. ‘Hap needs to discover consequences. As long as you claim that it’s all your fault for being a bad parent, Hap doesn’t have to admit that a good share of this is his own fault. Of course, he doesn’t think it’s a problem yet, but when he suddenly perceives that it is, he’s going to come running to you to see if you can fix it. And you’ll try, because you think it’s your fault.’

I sat still, soaking up the words and trying to find the sense in them. ‘So what should I do?’ I demanded at last.

She gave a helpless laugh. ‘I don’t know, Tom Badgerlock. But telling Hap this is all your fault is certainly something you should not do.’ She lifted up the cat and set him back on the floor. ‘However, there is something I should do as well.’ She went into her bedroom. A few moments later, she came back with a purse. She held it out to me. When I didn’t move to take it, she shook it at me. ‘Take it. This is the coin I haven’t spent on Hap’s keep. I’m giving it back to you. Tonight, when he comes back, I’m telling him that I’m turning him out of my house, because I don’t want trouble to come calling at my door.’ She laughed aloud at the look on my face. ‘It’s called a consequence, Tom. Hap should feel more of them. And when he comes moaning to you, I think you should let him deal with it on his own.’

I thought of the last conversation we’d had. ‘I doubt that he’ll come moaning to me,’ I said sombrely.

‘All the better,’ she said tartly. ‘Let him handle it himself. He’s used to sleeping indoors. It won’t take him long to realize that he’d best settle himself in at the apprentices’ hall. And I think you might be wise enough to leave it up to him to have to ask Master Gindast to let him.’ The cat had reinstated himself on her lap. She shook out her knitting over him and tugged more yarn free. It slid through Fennel’s lazy clasp.

I winced at the thought of how much pride Hap was going to have to swallow. A moment later, I felt an odd sense of relief. Hap could do that for himself. I didn’t have to humble myself on his behalf. I think she saw it on my face.

‘Not every problem in the world belongs to you alone, Badgerlock. Let others have their share.’

I thought about it for a time longer. Then I said gratefully, ‘Jinna, you’re a true friend.’

She gave me a sideways look. ‘So. You’ve worked that out, have you?’

I winced at her tone, but nodded. ‘You’re a true friend. But you’re still angry at how I’ve behaved.’

She nodded as if to herself. ‘And some problems do belong to you, Tom Badgerlock. Entirely.’ She stared at me expectantly.

I took a breath and steeled myself to it. I’d lie as little as possible, I comforted myself. It was thin comfort.

‘That woman, in the Stuck Pig that night. Well, we aren’t … that is, she is just a friend. I don’t bed with her.’ The words clattered awkwardly out of me like dropped crockery, and lay between us, all sharp shards.

A long silence followed. Jinna looked at me, then into the fire, and then back at me. Tiny glints of anger and hurt still danced in her eyes, but a very tiny smile played around the corners of her lips as well. ‘I see. Well, that is good to know, I suppose. And now you have two friends that you don’t bed with.’

Her meaning was unmistakable. That comfort would not be offered to me tonight, and perhaps never again. I will not pretend I didn’t feel disappointment. But there was relief as well. Had it been offered, I would have had to refuse it. I’d already been through the consequences of refusing a woman once tonight. I nodded slowly to her words.

‘The water in the kettle is hot,’ she pointed out. ‘If you wanted to stay, you could make tea for us.’ It was not forgiveness. It was a second chance to be friends. I was happy to accept it. I got up to find the pot and cups.