Читать книгу The Complete Tawny Man Trilogy: Fool’s Errand, The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate - Робин Хобб - Страница 22

Hunting cats are not entirely unknown within Buck Duchy, but they have remained for years an anomaly. Not only is the terrain of Buck more suited to hound-hunting, but also hounds are more suited to the larger game that is usually the prey of mounted hunters. A lively pack of hounds, boiling and baying, is a fine accompaniment for a royal hunt. The cat, when it is employed, is usually seen as more fittingly the dainty hunting-companion of a lady, suitable for the taking of rabbits or birds. King Shrewd’s first queen, Queen Constance, kept a little hunting cat, but more for pleasure and companionship than sport. Her name was Hisspit.

Sulinga’s A History of Coursing Beasts

‘The Queen wishes to see you.’

‘When?’ I asked, startled. It was hardly the greeting I had expected from Chade. I had opened the panel that admitted me to his tower to find him sitting in his chair before the hearth, waiting for me. He stood immediately.

‘Now, of course. She wants to know what progress we have made, and is naturally anxious to hear from you as soon as possible.’

‘But I haven’t made any progress,’ I protested. I had not even reported my day’s work to Chade yet. I probably stank of sweat from the weapons court.

‘Then she’ll want to hear that,’ he replied relentlessly. ‘Come. Follow me.’ He triggered the door and we left the tower chamber.

It was evening. I had spent my afternoon doing as the Fool had advised me, playing the role of a servant learning his way about a new place. As such, I’d talked to quite a number of my fellow servitors, introduced myself to Weaponsmaster Cresswell, and successfully arranged it that he would suggest I freshen my blade skills against Delleree. She proved to be a formidable swordswoman, nearly as tall as I was, and both energetic and light-footed. I was pleased she could not get past my guard, but I was soon panting with the effort of maintaining it. Trying to penetrate her defences was not yet an option for me. The weapons training Hod had enforced on me long ago stood me in good stead, but my body simply could not react as swiftly as my mind. Knowing what to do under an attack is not the same thing as being able to do it.

Twice I begged leave for breathing space and she granted it to me with the satisfaction of the insufferably young. Yet my leading questions about the Prince availed me little, until at my third rest interlude I loosened my collar and opened my shirt wide to the cool air. I almost felt guilty doing it, yet I will not deny that I wanted to test if the charm would coax her to be more loquacious with me.

It worked. Leaning on the wall in the shade of the weapons shed, I caught my breath, and then looked up into her face. As our gaze met, her brown eyes widened, in the way that a person’s eyes widen at the sight of something pleasantly anticipated. Like a rapier rushing to its target, I thrust my question past her guard. ‘Tell me, do you press Prince Dutiful so hard when he practises with you?’

She smiled. ‘No, I fear I do not, for I am usually more occupied with maintaining my own defences against him. He is a skilled swordsman, creative and unpredictable in his tactics. No sooner do I devise a new trick to use against him than he learns it and tries it against me.’

‘Then he loves his blade-work, as good fighters usually do.’

She paused. ‘No. I do not think that is it. He is a youth who makes no half-measures in anything he does. He strives to be perfect in all he attempts.’

‘Competitive, is he?’ I tried to make my query casual. I busied my hands in smoothing my wayward hair back into its tail.

Again she considered. ‘No. Not in the usual sense. There are some I practise with who think only of beating their opponents. That preoccupation can be used against them. But I do not think the Prince cares if he wins our matches, only that he fights each one perfectly. It is not the same thing as competing with my skills …’ Her voice trailed away as she pondered it.

‘He competes with himself, against an ideal he imagines.’

My prompting seemed to startle her for an instant. Then, grinning, ‘That is it, exactly. You’ve met him, then?’

‘Not yet,’ I assured her. ‘But I’ve heard a great deal about him, and look forward to meeting him.’

‘Oh, that won’t be soon,’ she informed me guilelessly. ‘He has his mother’s Mountain ways in some things. Often he goes apart from the whole court for a time, to spend time just thinking. He isolates himself in a tower. Some say he fasts, but I have never seen signs of it when he returns to his routine.’

‘So what does he do?’ I asked in hearty puzzlement.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘You’ve never asked him?’

She gave me an odd look, and when she spoke, her voice had cooled. ‘I am only his training partner, not his confidante. I am a guardsman and he is a prince. I would not presume to question my prince on his private time alone. He is, as all know, a private person, with a great need for solitude.’

Necklace or not, I knew I had pushed her too hard. I smiled, I hoped disarmingly, and straightened up with a groan. ‘Well, as a training partner, you’re the equal of any I’ve ever had. The Prince is fortunate to have someone such as you to sharpen his skills against. As am I.’

‘You are welcome. And I hope we can measure ourselves against one another again.’

I left it at that. I had as much success with the other servants. My queries, whether direct or indirect, yielded little information. It was not that the servants refused to gossip; they were as willing to chatter about Lord Golden or Lady Elegance as one could wish, but on the topic of the Prince, they simply seemed to know nothing. The picture I formed of Dutiful was of a boy who was not disliked, but was isolated not only by his rank but by his nature. It did not encourage me. I feared that if he had run, he had divulged his plans to no one. His solitary habits would have left him singularly vulnerable to kidnappers as well.

My mind went back to the note the Queen had received. It had told her that the Prince was Witted and demanded she take suitable action. What had the writer intended as ‘suitable action’? Revealing his Wit and proclaiming that the Witted must be accepted? Or purifying the Farseer line with his demise? Had the writer contacted the Prince as well?

Chade’s old workbench had yielded me the lock-picks I needed for my dinner-hour adventure. The Prince had Prince Regal’s former grand chambers. That lock and I were old friends and I anticipated that I could slip it easily. While the rest of the keep was at table, I approached the Prince’s rooms. Here again I saw his mother’s influence, for there was not only no guard at his door, but it was not locked. I slipped silently within, closing it softly behind me. Then I stared about me in perplexity. I had expected the same clutter and disorder that Hap tended to leave in his wake. Instead the Prince’s sparse possessions were all stored in such an orderly fashion that the spacious room looked nearly empty. Perhaps he had a fanatical valet, I mused. Then, recalling Kettricken’s upbringing, I wondered if the Prince had any body-servants at all. Personal servants were not a Mountain custom.

It took me very little time to explore his rooms. I found a modest assortment of clothing in his chests. I could not determine if any were missing. His riding boots were still there, but Chade had already told me that the Prince’s horse was still in his stall. He possessed a neat array of brush, comb, washbasin and looking-glass, all precisely aligned in a row. In the room where he pursued his studies, the ink was tightly stoppered and the tabletop had never suffered any blots or spills. No scrolls had been left out. His sword was on the wall, but there were empty pegs where other weapons might have hung. There were no personal papers, no ribbons or locks of hair tucked into the corner of his clothing chest, not even a sticky wineglass or an idly-tossed shirt under his bed. In short, it did not strike me as a boy’s bedchamber at all.

There was a large cushion in a sturdy basket near the hearth. The hair that clung to it was short, yet fine. The stoutly-woven basket bore the marks of errant claws. I did not need the wolf’s nose to smell cat in the room. I lifted the cushion, and found playthings beneath it: a rabbitskin tied to a length of heavy twine, and a canvas toy stuffed with catmint. I raised my eyebrows to that, wondering if hunting cats were affected by it as mousing cats were.

The room yielded me little else: no hidden journal of princely thoughts, no defiant run-away’s final note to his mother, nothing to suggest that the Prince had been spirited away against his will. I had retreated quietly from his rooms, leaving all as I had found it.

My route took me past the door of my old boyhood room. I paused, tempted. Who stayed there now? The hallway was empty and I yielded to the impulse. The lock on the door was the one I had devised, and it demanded my rusty skills to get past it. It was so stiff I was persuaded it had not turned in some time. I shut the door behind me and stood still, smelling dust.

The tall window was shuttered, but the shutters were, as they had always been, a poor fit. Daylight leaked past them, and after a few moments, my eyes adjusted to the dusky light. I looked around. There, my bedstead, with cobwebs embroidering the familiar hangings. The cedar clothing chest at the foot of it was thick with dust. The hearth, empty, black and cold. And above it, the faded tapestry of King Wisdom treating with the Elderlings. I stared at it. As a boy of nine, it had given me nightmares. Time had not changed my opinion of the oddly-elongated forms. The golden Elderlings stared down on the lifeless and empty room.

I suddenly felt as if I had disturbed a grave. As silently as I had entered the chamber, I left it, locking the door behind me.

I had thought to find Lord Golden in his chambers, but he was not there. ‘Lord Golden?’ I asked questioningly, and then advanced to tap lightly at the door of his private chamber. I swear I did not touch the catch, but it swung open at my touch.

Light flooded out. The small chamber had a window, and the afternoon sun filled it with gold. It was a pleasant, open room that smelled of woodshavings and paint. In the corner, a plant in a tub climbed a trellis. Hanging on the walls, I recognized charms such as Jinna made. On the worktable in the middle of the room, amongst the scattered tools and paint pots, there were pieces of rod, string and beads, as if he had disassembled a charm. I found I had taken a step into the room. There was a scroll weighted flat on the table, with several charms drawn on it. They were unlike anything I had seen in Jinna’s shop. Even at a glance, the sketches were oddly unsettling. ‘I remember that,’ I thought, and then, when I looked closer, I was absolutely certain I had never seen the like before. A shiver ran down my back. The little beads had faces; the rods were carved with spinning spirals. The longer I stared, the more they disturbed me. I felt as if I could not quite get my breath, as if they were pulling me into them. ‘Come away.’ The Fool spoke softly from behind me. I could not reply.

I felt his hand on my shoulder and it broke the spell. I turned at his touch. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said instantly. ‘The door was ajar and I –’

‘I did not expect you back so soon, or it would have been latched.’

That was all he said, and then he drew me from the room and shut the door firmly behind us.

I felt as if he had pulled me back from a precipice. I drew a shaky breath. ‘What were those?’

‘An experiment. What you told me of Jinna’s charms made me curious, so when I reached Buckkeep Town, I resolved to see them for myself. Once I had, I wanted to know how they worked. I wanted to know if the charm could only be made by a hedge-witch, or if the magic was in the way they were assembled. And I wanted to know if I could make them work better.’ His voice was neutral.

‘How can you stand to be around them?’ I demanded. Even now, the hair on the back of my neck was standing.

‘They are tuned to humans. You forget that I am a White.’

The statement left me as speechless as the insidious little sketches had. I looked at the Fool and for one blink I could see him as if for the first time. As attractive as his colouring was, I had never seen any other person with it. There were other differences, the way his wrists attached his hands to his arms, the airiness of his hair … but when our eyes met, I was looking at my old friend again. It was like jolting back to the earth after a fall. I suddenly recalled what I had done. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to … I know you need your privacy –’ I felt shamed and hot blood rushed to my face.

He was silent for a moment. Then he said justly, ‘When I came to your home, you hid nothing from me.’ I sensed that the statement reflected his idea of what was fair rather than his emotions on the topic.

‘I won’t go in there again,’ I promised fervently.

That brought a small smile to his face. ‘I doubted that you would.’

I suddenly wanted to change the subject, but the only thought that came to me was, ‘I saw Jinna today. She made this for me.’ I opened the collar of my shirt.

He stared, first at the charm, then up at my face. He seemed struck dumb. Then a wide and fatuous grin spread over his face.

‘It’s supposed to make people feel kindly towards me,’ I explained. ‘To counteract my grim appearance, I think, though she was not so unkind as to say that directly.’

He took a breath. ‘Cover it,’ he begged, laughing, and as I did so, he turned away from it. He walked almost hastily to the chamber window and looked out. ‘They are not tuned to my bloodlines, but that does not mean I am completely impervious against them. You often remind me that in some ways I am still very human.’

I unfastened it from my throat and held it out to him. ‘You can take it and study it if you like. I’m not entirely sure I like wearing it. I think I’d rather know what people honestly think of me.’

‘Somehow I doubt that,’ he muttered, but he returned to take the charm from my hand. He held it out in the air between us, studied it, and then glanced at me. ‘Tuned to you?’ he guessed.

I nodded.

‘Intriguing. I would like to keep it, for a day or so. I promise not to take it apart. But after that, I think you should wear it. Always.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ I promised, but felt no inclination to don it again.

‘Chade wanted to see you as soon as you came in,’ he suddenly said, as if he had only then remembered it.

And there we had left it, and I felt that I was, if not excused, at least forgiven for going where I had no business being.

Now as I followed Chade through the narrow passageway, I asked him, ‘How was this all built? How can a labyrinth like this that winds all through the castle be kept secret?’

He carried a candle and walked before me. He spoke over his shoulder, softly. ‘Some was built into the bones of the keep. Our ancestors were never trusting folk. Part of it was intended as a system of boltholes. Some of it has always been used for spying. Some of it used to be servants’ stairs, incorporated into the secret passages during a phase of intense reconstruction following a fire. And some was created deliberately, in your lifetime. When you were small, do you remember when Shrewd ordered that the hearth in the guardroom be rebuilt?’

‘Vaguely. I did not pay much attention at the time.’

‘No one did. You may have noticed that a wooden façade was added to two walls.’

‘The cupboard wall? I thought it was built so that Cook had a bigger larder, one that kept rats out. It made the room smaller, but warmer as well.’

‘And above the cupboards, there is a passageway, and several viewing slits. Shrewd liked to know what his guards were thinking of him, what they feared, what they hoped.’

‘But the men who built it would have known of it.’

‘Different craftsmen were brought in to do different parts of the job. I myself added the viewing slits. If any of them thought it odd that the ceilings of the cupboards were so sturdily built, they said nothing. And here we are. Hush.’

He lifted a tiny leather flap on the wall and peered into the revealed hole. After a moment, he whispered, ‘Come.’

The silent door admitted us into a privy chamber. There we paused again, while Chade again peered through a peephole, then tapped lightly at the door. ‘Enter,’ Kettricken responded quietly.

I followed Chade into a small sitting room off the Queen’s bedchamber. The connecting door to the bedchamber was closed and a bolt in place. The room was decorated sparsely in the Mountains’ severe but restful way. Fat scented candles gave us light in the windowless chamber. The table and chairs were of bare pale wood. The woven mat on the floor and the wall-hangings were made of grass worked into a scene of waterfalls tumbling down a mountainside. I recognized Kettricken’s own handiwork. Other than that, the chamber was bare. All this I noticed peripherally, for my queen stood in the centre of the room.

She was waiting for us. She wore a simple gown of Buck blue, with a white and gold kirtle. Her gold hair was dressed close to her head, and crowned only with a simple band of silver. She was empty-handed. Another woman would have brought her needlework or had set out a platter of food, but not our queen. She was waiting for us but I did not sense impatience or anxiety. I suspected she had been meditating, for an aura of stillness still clung to her. Our eyes met, and the small lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes seemed lies, for in the gaze we shared no time had passed at all. The courage I had always admired still shone there, and her self-discipline was like an armour she wore. Yet, ‘Oh, Fitz!’ she cried low on seeing me, and in her voice there was warm welcome and relief.

I bowed low to her, and then sank on one knee. ‘My queen!’ I greeted her.

She stepped forwards and touched my head, her hand a benediction. ‘Please rise,’ she said quietly. ‘You have been at my side through too many trials for me ever to want to see you on your knees before me. And as I recall, you once called me Kettricken.’

‘That was many years ago, my lady,’ I reminded her as I rose.

She took both my hands in hers. We were nearly of a height, and her blue eyes looked deep into mine. ‘Far too many, for which I fault you, FitzChivalry. But Chade told me, long ago, that you might choose solitude and rest for yourself. When you did, I did not begrudge it to you. You had sacrificed everything to your duty, and if solitude was the only reward you wished, then I was glad to grant it to you. Yet I confess I am more glad to see you return, especially at such a time of crisis.’

‘If you have need of me, then I am glad to be here,’ I replied, almost without reservations.

‘I am saddened that you walk among the folk of Buckkeep, and none know what sacrifices you have made for them. You should have been accorded a hero’s welcome. Instead, you walk unknown among them in the guise of a servant.’ Her earnest blue eyes searched my own.

I found myself smiling. ‘Perhaps I spent too long in the Mountains, where all know that the true ruler of that kingdom is the servant of all.’

For a moment her blue eyes widened. Then the genuine smile that broke forth on her face was like the sun breaking through storm clouds, despite the sudden tears that stood in her eyes. ‘Oh, Fitz, to hear you say such words is balm to my heart. Truly, you have been Sacrifice for your people, and I admire you for it. But to hear from your lips that you understand that it has been your duty, and took satisfaction in that, brings me joy.’

I did not think that was exactly what I had said, and yet I will not deny that her praise eased some of the ancient hurt in me. I pulled back from looking at that too closely.

‘Dutiful,’ I said suddenly. ‘He is why I am here, and much pleasure as I take in this reunion, I would take even more in discovering what has become of him.’

My queen kept possession of one of my hands and held it tightly as she drew me towards the table. ‘Oh, you were ever my friend, even before I came as a stranger to this court. And now your heart goes with mine in this matter.’ She drew a deep breath, and the fears and worries of a mother broke past the control in the monarch’s voice as she said, ‘No matter how I dissemble before the court – and it grieves me that I must deceive my own people this way – my son is never out of my thoughts for a moment. FitzChivalry, I put the blame for this at my own feet, yet I do not know if my fault was too much discipline for him, or too little, or if I demanded too much of the Prince and not enough of the boy, or –’

‘My queen, you cannot approach this problem from that direction. We must begin from where we are; no good will come of trying to apportion blame. I will tell you bluntly that in my brief time here, I have discovered nothing. Those who I have questioned speak well of the Prince. No one has divulged to me that he was unhappy or discontented in any way.’

‘Then you think he was taken?’ she broke in.

This interruption was so uncharacteristic of Kettricken that I finally grasped the depth of her anguish. I drew out a chair for her, and as she sat, I looked down into her face and said with all the calm I could muster, ‘I do not think anything yet. I do not have enough facts to form an opinion.’

At an impatient sign from her, both Chade and I were seated at the table. ‘But what of your Skill?’ she demanded. ‘Does it tell you nothing of him? Chade told me that he suspected you and the boy were somehow linked in your dreams. I do not understand how that could be so, but if it is, surely it must tell you something. What has he dreamed these last few nights?’

‘You will not like my answer, my queen, any more than you liked my answer all those years ago when we searched for Verity. My talent now is as it was then: erratic and unreliable. From what Chade has told me, it is possible that I have occasionally shared a dream with Prince Dutiful. But if it is so, I was not cognizant of it at the time. Nor can I break into his dreams at will. If he has dreamed these last few nights, he dreamed alone.’

‘Or perhaps he did not dream at all,’ Kettricken mourned. ‘Perhaps he is dead already, or tormented so that he cannot sleep and dream.’

‘My queen, you imagine the worst, and when you do, your mind stops at the problem and does not consider the solution.’ Chade’s voice was almost severe. Knowing how tormented he was over the boy’s absence, his sternness surprised me, until I saw the Queen’s reaction. Kettricken took strength from his firmness.

‘Of course. You are right.’ She took a breath. ‘But what can our solution be? We have discovered nothing, and neither has FitzChivalry. You have counselled me to keep his disappearance a secret, lest we panic the people and precipitate rash decisions. But there have been no demands for ransom. Perhaps we should make it public that the Prince is missing. Someone, somewhere, must know something. I think we must announce it and ask the people to help.’

‘Not yet,’ I heard myself say. ‘For you are right in saying that someone, somewhere, must know something. And if they are aware that the Prince is absent from Buckkeep, and they have not come forwards, then they have a reason. And I should like to know what it is.’

‘Then what do you suggest?’ Kettricken demanded of me. ‘What is left to us?’

I knew it would chafe her, yet I still suggested it. ‘Give me a little more time. A day, at most two. Let me ask more questions and sniff about some more.’

‘But anything could have happened to him by then!’

‘Anything could have happened to him by now,’ I pointed out levelly. I spoke calmly the cruel words. ‘Kettricken. If someone took him to kill him, they have done it by now. If they took him to use him, they are still awaiting our move in this game. If he ran away, then he may yet run home again. While we keep his absence a secret, the next move belongs to us. Let it be known, and others will make that move for us. You will have nobles tearing up the countryside, looking for him, and not all will have his best interests at heart. Some will want to “rescue” him to curry favour, and others may think to seize a prize from another weasel’s jaws.’

She closed her eyes but nodded reluctantly to my words. When she spoke, her voice was strained. ‘But you know that time runs out for us. Chade has told you that an Outislander contingent comes to formalize Prince Dutiful’s affiance? When they arrive a fortnight from now, I must be able to produce him or I risk not only embarrassment but also insult and an end to a carefully-wrought truce that I hope to make an alliance.’

‘Bought with your son.’ The words leapt out of my mouth before I knew I had thought them.

She opened her eyes and gazed at me levelly. ‘Yes. As the Mountain alliance with the Six Duchies was bought with me.’ She cocked her head at me. ‘Do you consider it a poor transaction?’

I deserved rebuke. I bowed my head to it. ‘No, my queen. I think it was the best bargain that the Six Duchies ever made.’

She nodded to my compliment and a faint blush rosed her cheeks. ‘I shall listen to your counsel, Fitz. Two more days will we seek Dutiful on our own, before we reveal his absence to our people. In those days, we will use every means at our disposal to discover what may have become of him. Chade has opened to you the concealed maze within the walls of Buckkeep. I little like what it says of us, that we furtively spy on our own folk, but I grant the freedom of it to you, FitzChivalry. I know you will not abuse it. Use it as seems wise to you.’

‘Thank you, my queen,’ I replied awkwardly. I did not truly welcome this gift, the access to every lord’s and lady’s small and grubby flaws. I did not glance at Chade. What had it cost him to be privy not just to the massive secrets of the throne, but the dirty and shameful sins of the folk of the keep? What vices had he inadvertently witnessed, what painful shortcomings had he glimpsed, and how did he meet the eyes of those folk every day in the broad and well-lit chambers of the keep?

‘… and whatever you must do.’

My mind had been wandering, but my queen was looking at me, waiting. I made the only possible response. ‘Yes, my queen.’

She gave a great sigh as if she had feared my refusal. Or as if she dreaded what she next must say. ‘Then do so, FitzChivalry, ever friend. I would not spend you this way if it could be avoided. Safeguard your health. Be wary of the drugs and herbs, for as thorough as your old master is, no translation should ever be absolutely trusted.’ She took a breath, then added in a different tone, ‘If either Chade or I press you too hard, tell us so. Your head must stand guard against my mother’s heart. Do not … do not let me shame myself in this, by asking more of you than you can …’ Her voice trailed away. I think she trusted me to take her meaning. She drew another breath. She turned her head and looked away from me, as if that would keep me from knowing that tears stood in her eyes. ‘You will begin tonight?’ she asked in an unnaturally high voice.

I knew what I had just agreed to. I knew then that I stood at the lip of the abyss.

I flung myself off into it. ‘Yes, my queen.’

How shall I describe that long climb up the stairs to the tower? Chade led the way through the secret places of the keep and I followed his uncertain lamplight. Dread and anticipation warred inside me. I felt I had left my stomach far behind me, and yet I longed for him to hurry up the steps. Excitement coursed through me as we approached that indulgence so long denied to me. My hopes and focus should have been on recovering the Prince, but the prospect of drowning myself in Skill dominated all my thoughts. It terrified and tantalized me. My skin felt taut and alive, and my senses seemed to strain against the confines of my flesh. Music seemed to move through the air at the edges of my hearing.

Chade triggered the door’s opening, and then gestured for me to precede him. As I edged past him, he observed, ‘You look nervous as a bridegroom, boy.’

I cleared my throat. ‘It seems strange to rush headlong into that which I have tried to school myself to avoid.’

He shut the door behind us as I glanced about the room. A small fire burned on the grate. Even in the height of summer, the thick stone walls of the keep seemed to whisper a chill into the room. Verity’s sword leaned up against the hearth where I had left it, but someone had removed the leather on the hilt. ‘You recognized Verity’s blade,’ I observed.

‘How could I not? I am glad you kept it safe.’

I laughed. ‘More like, that it kept me safe. Well. What exactly do you propose?’

‘I suggest you make yourself comfortable and that you attempt to Skill out after the Prince. That is all.’

I looked around for a place to sit. Not on the hearthstones. Yet, as it ever had been, there was only one comfortable chair near the fire. ‘And the drugs and herbs the Queen mentioned?’

Chade gave me a sidelong glance. I thought I detected some wariness in the look. ‘I do not think we will need them. She refers to several scrolls within the Skill collection. There are teas and tinctures that are suggested for Skill-students who seem to have difficulty attaining a receptive state. We had considered using them on Prince Dutiful but had decided to postpone it until we were sure they are necessary.’

‘Galen never used any herbs when he was instructing us.’ I brought a tall stool from the workbench and set it opposite Chade’s chair. I perched on it. He settled in his chair, but then had to look up at me. I suspect it annoyed him. He sounded peevish when he spoke.

‘Galen never used any herbs when he was instructing you. Did you never suspect that perhaps the others in your Skill-coterie received special attentions that you were not privy to? I did. Of course, we will never be certain of that.’

I shrugged my shoulders to that. What else could I do? It was years ago and they were all dead, several of them at my hands. What did it matter now? But the thoughts had stirred my old aversion to the Skill. From anticipation, I had shifted suddenly to dread. I changed the subject. ‘Did you find out for me who gave the cat to the Prince?’

Chade looked startled at my abrupt shift. ‘I – yes, of course. Lady Bresinga of Galeton and her son Civil. It was a birthday gift. The cat was presented to him in a little jewelled harness with a leash. The animal was about two years old, a long-legged stripy creature with a rather flat face and a tail as long as the rest of it. I understand those cats cannot be bred, that a kitten must be taken from a wild den before its eyes have opened if anything is to be made of it. It is an exotic coursing animal, suited to solitary hunting. The Prince took to it immediately.’

‘Who took the kitten from the den?’ I asked.

‘I have no idea. Their huntsman, I imagine.’

‘Did the cat like the Prince?’

Chade frowned to himself. ‘I had not really concerned myself with that. As I recall, they approached the dais, with Lady Bresinga holding the end of the cat’s leash and her son actually carrying the animal. It seemed almost dazed by all the light and noise of the festivities. I wondered myself if they had drugged it lest it panic and struggle to escape. But when they had made their courtesies to the Prince, the lady put the end of the leash in his hand and Civil, her son, set the cat at Dutiful’s feet.’

‘Did it try to get away? Did it test the leash?’

‘No. As I said, it seemed quite calm, almost unnaturally so. I believe it looked at the Prince for a time, and then bumped its head against his knee.’ Chade’s eyes had gone distant, and I saw his trained mind recalling the scene in detail. ‘He reached down to stroke it, and it cowered away. Then it sniffed his hand. Then it did this strange thing, opening its mouth wide and breathing near his hand, as if it could taste his scent from the air. After that, it seemed to accept him. It rubbed its head up and down his leg, just as a little cat does. When a servant tried to lead it away, it would not go, so it was allowed to remain near the Prince’s chair for the rest of the evening. He seemed very well pleased with it.’

‘How soon did he begin hunting it?’

‘I believe he and Civil took it out the next day. Civil and the Prince are nearly of an age, and the Prince was eager to try the cat, as any boy would be. Civil and his mother stayed on at court the rest of the week, and I think that Civil and the Prince took out the cat every morning. It was his chance to learn how to hunt with it, you see, from people familiar with the sport.’

‘And did they hunt well together?’

‘Oh, I suppose so. It is not for large game of course, but they brought back, oh, birds I think, and hares.’

‘And it always slept in his room?’

‘As I understand it, it has to be kept close to a human to keep it tamed. And of course, the hounds in the stable would not have left it in peace. So, yes, it slept in his room and followed him about the keep. Fitz, what do you suspect?’

I answered him honestly. ‘The same thing that you do. That our Witted prince has vanished with his hunting cat companion. And that none of this is a coincidence. Not the gift of the animal, not the bonding, not the disappearance. Someone planned this.’

Chade frowned, not wanting to admit what he believed. ‘The cat could have been killed when the Prince was taken. Or she could have run off.’

‘So you’ve said. But if the Prince is Witted, and the cat is bonded to him, she would not have run off when he was taken.’ The stool was uncomfortable but I stubbornly remained perched on it. I closed my eyes for a moment. Sometimes, when the body is weary, the mind takes flight. I let my thoughts skip where they would. ‘I’ve bonded thrice, you know. The first time to Nosy, the puppy that Burrich took from me. And again, to Smithy when I was still a boy. The last time, to Nighteyes. Each time, there was that instant sense of connection. With Nosy, I bonded before I was even aware I was doing it. I suspect it happened because I was lonely. Because when Smithy offered love, I accepted it with no discrimination. And when the wolf’s anger and hatred of his cage so exactly matched mine, I could not distinguish between us.’ I opened my eyes briefly and met Chade’s startled stare. ‘I had no walls, you see.’ I looked away from him, down at the dwindling fire. ‘From what I’ve been told, in Witted families, the children are protected from doing that. They are taught to have walls when they are young. Then, when they are of an age, they are sent out to find suitable partners, almost like seeking a suitable marriage partner.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ Chade asked quietly.

I followed the thought where it led me. ‘The Queen has chosen a bride for Prince Dutiful for the sake of a political alliance. What if an Old Blood family has done the same?’

A lengthy silence followed my words. I looked back at Chade. His eyes were on the fire, and I could almost see his mind working frantically to sort out all the implications of what I had said. ‘An Old Blood family deliberately selects an animal for the Prince to bond with. Assumptions, then: that Lady Bresinga is Witted, that indeed her whole line is, as you put it, Old Blood. That they somehow knew or suspected the Prince is also Witted.’ He paused, pursed his mouth, and considered. ‘Perhaps they were the source of the note claiming the Prince was Witted … I still do not grasp what they would profit from it.’

‘What do we profit from marrying Dutiful to some Outislander girl? An alliance, Chade.’

He scowled at me. ‘The cat somehow is part of the Bresinga family and retains ties to it? The cat can somehow influence the Prince’s political actions?’

The way he said it made it seem ridiculous. ‘I haven’t got it completely worked out yet,’ I admitted. ‘But I think there is something there. Even if their only goal is to prove that the Prince himself is Witted, and hence that other Witted folk should not be chopped up and burned for being the way they are. Or to gain the Prince’s sympathy towards Witted folk, and through him, the Queen’s.’

Chade gave me a sidelong glance. ‘Now that is a motive I can concede. There is also a possible blackmail there. Once they have bonded the Prince to an animal, they can hold out for political favours under the threat that they will tell others he is Witted.’ He looked aside from me. ‘Or attempt to reduce him to the level of an animal, if we do not comply with their political wishes.’

As always, Chade’s mind was capable of far more convolutions than mine was. It was almost a relief to have him refine my ideas. I did not want my mentor to be failing in mind or body. In so many ways, he still stood as a shield between me and the world. I nodded to his suggestions.

He stood up suddenly. ‘So all the more reason we should proceed as we had planned. Come, take my chair. You look like a parrot perched up there; you can’t possibly be comfortable. One thing all the basic scrolls stress is that a practitioner of the Skill should find a comfortable starting place, one in which the body is relaxed and unobtrusive to the mind.’

I opened my mouth to say that was the opposite of what Galen had done to us. On the contrary, when he was teaching us, he had made us so miserable in body that the mind became our only escape. I shut my mouth, the words unsaid. Useless to protest or ponder what Galen had done. The twisted, pleasureless man had tormented us all, and those he had succeeded in training he had warped into a mindlessly loyal coterie for Prince Regal. Perhaps that had had something to do with it; perhaps he had wanted to break down the body’s resistance and the mind’s judgement before he could shape them into the coterie he desired.

I sat down in Chade’s chair. It retained his warmth and the imprint of his body. It felt strange to sit there in his presence. It was as if I were becoming him. He assumed my perch on the stool and looked down on me from that towering height. He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned forwards to smirk down at me.

‘Comfortable?’ he asked me.

‘No,’ I admitted.

‘Serves you right,’ he muttered. Then, with a laugh, he got off the stool. ‘Tell me what I can do to help you with this process.’

‘You want me to just sit here and Skill out, hoping to find the Prince?’

‘Is that so hard?’ It was a genuine question.

‘I tried for several hours last night. Nothing happened except that I got a headache.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment he looked discouraged. Then he announced firmly, ‘We will simply have to try again.’ In a lower voice he muttered, ‘For what else can we do?’

I could think of no answer to that. I leaned back in his chair and tried to relax my body. I stared at his mantelpiece, only to have my attention stick on a fruit knife driven into the wood. I had done that, years ago. Now was not the time to dwell on that incident. Yet I found myself saying, ‘I crept into my old room today. It looks as if it has not been used since last I slept there.’

‘It hasn’t. Castle tradition says it is haunted.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘No. Think about it. The Witted Bastard slept there, and he was taken to his death in the castle dungeons. It’s a fine basis for a ghost tale. Besides. Flickering blue lights have been seen through its shutters at night, and once a stableboy said he saw the Pocked Man staring down from that window on a moonlit night.’

‘You kept it empty.’

‘I am not entirely devoid of sentiment. And for a long time, I hoped you would some day return to that room. But, enough of this. We have a task.’

I drew a breath. ‘The Queen did not mention the note about the Prince being Witted.’

‘No. She did not.’

‘Do you know why?’

He hesitated. ‘Perhaps some things are so frightening that even our good queen cannot bring herself to consider them.’

‘I’d like to see the note.’

‘Then you shall. Later.’ He paused, then asked me heavily, ‘Fitz. Are you going to settle down and do this thing or keep procrastinating?’

I took a deliberate breath, blew it out slowly, and fixed my gaze on the dwindling fire. I looked into its heart as I gradually unfastened my mind from my thoughts. I opened myself to the Skill.

My mind began to unfold. I have, over the years, given much thought to how one could describe Skilling. No metaphor really does it justice. Like a folded piece of silk, the mind opens, and opens, and opens again, becoming larger and yet somehow thinner. That is one image. Another is that the Skill is like a great unseen river that flows at all time. When one consciously pays attention to it, one can be seized in its current and drawn out to flow with it. In its wild waters, minds can touch and merge.

Yet no words or similes do it justice, any more than words can explain the smell of fresh bread or the colour yellow. The Skill is the Skill. It is the hereditary magic of the Farseers, yet it does not belong to kings alone. Many folk in the Six Duchies have a touch of it. In some it burns strong enough that a Skilled one can hear their thoughts. Sometimes, I can even influence what a Skill-touched person thinks. Far more rare are those who can reach out with the Skill. That ability is usually no more than a feeble groping unless the talent is trained. I opened myself to it, and let my consciousness expand but with no expectations of reaching anyone.

Threads of thought tangled against me like waterweed. ‘I hate the way she looks at my beau.’ ‘I wish I could say one last word to you, Papa.’ ‘Please hurry home, I feel so ill.’ ‘You are so beautiful. Please, please, turn around, see me, at least give me that.’ Those who flung the thoughts out with such urgency were, for the most part, ignorant of their own strength. None of them was aware of me sharing their thoughts, nor could I make my own thoughts known to them. Each cried out in their deafness with voices they believed were mute. None was Prince Dutiful. From some distant part of the keep, music reached my ears, temporarily distracting me. I pushed it aside and strove on.

I do not know how long I prowled amongst those unwary minds, nor how far I reached in my search. The range of the Skill is determined by strength of ability, not distance. I had no measure of my strength and time does not exist when one is in the grip of the Skill. I trod again that narrow measure, clinging to my awareness of my own body despite the temptation to let the Skill sweep me free of my body forever.

‘Fitz,’ I murmured, in response to something, and then, ‘FitzChivalry,’ I said aloud to myself. A fresh log crashed down onto the embers of the fire, scattering the glowing heart into individual coals. For a time I stared at it, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Then I blinked, and became aware of Chade’s hand resting on my shoulder. I smelled hot food, and slowly turned my head. A platter rested on a low table near the chair. I stared at it, wondering how it had come to be there.

‘Fitz?’ Chade said again, and I tried to recall his question.

‘What?’

‘Did you find Prince Dutiful?’

Each word gradually made sense to me until I perceived his query. ‘No,’ I said as a wave of weariness rolled over me. ‘No, nothing.’ In the wake of the fatigue, my hands began to tremble and my head to pound. I closed my eyes, but found no relief. Even with my eyes closed, snakes of light trembled across the dark. When I opened my eyes, they were superimposed on the room before me. I felt as if too much light were getting inside my head. The waves of pain tumbled me in a surf of disorientation.

‘Here. Drink this.’

Chade put a warm mug into my hands and I lifted it gratefully to my mouth. I took a mouthful, then nearly spat it out. It was not elfbark tea to soothe my headache, but only beef broth. I swallowed it without enthusiasm. ‘Elfbark tea,’ I reminded him. ‘That is what I need right now. Not food.’

‘No, Fitz. Recall what you yourself told me. Elfbark stunts the Skill-ability, and numbs you to your talent. That is something we cannot risk just now. Eat something. It will restore your strength.’

Obediently I looked at the tray. Sliced fruit floated in cream next to freshly baked bread. There was a glass of wine and pink slices of baked river fish. I carefully set the mug of broth down next to the revolting stuff and turned my gaze away. The fire was rekindling itself, dancing licks of flame, too bright. I lowered my face into my hands, seeking darkness, but even there the lights still danced before my eyes. I spoke into my hands. ‘I need some elfbark. It has not been this bad in years, not since Verity was alive, not since Shrewd took strength from me. Please, Chade. I cannot even think.’

He went away. I sat counting my heartbeats until he came back. Each thud of my heart was a flare of pain in my temples. I heard the scuff of his steps and lifted my head.

‘Here,’ he said gruffly, and set a cool wet cloth to my forehead. The shock of it made me catch my breath. I held it to my brow and felt the thudding ease somewhat. It smelled of lavender.

I looked at him through a haze of pain. His hands were empty. ‘The elfbark tea?’ I reminded him.

‘No, Fitz.’

‘Chade. Please. It hurts so badly I can’t see.’ Each word was an effort. My own voice was too loud.

‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘I know, my boy. But you will just have to bear it. The scrolls say that sometimes the use of the Skill brings this pain, but that, with time and repeated effort, you will learn to master it. Again, my understanding of it is imperfect, but it seems to have to do with the split effort you make, both to reach out from yourself and to hold tight to yourself. Given time, you will learn how to reconcile those tensions and then –’

‘Chade!’ I did not mean to bellow but I did. ‘I just need the damned elfbark tea. Please!’ I took sudden control of myself. ‘Please,’ I added softly, contritely. ‘Please, just the tea. Just help me ease this pain, and then I could listen to you.’

‘No, Fitz.’

‘Chade.’ I spoke my hidden fear. ‘Pain such as this could push me into a seizure.’

I saw a brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. But then, ‘I don’t think it will. Besides, I’m here beside you, boy. I’ll take care of you. You have to try to get through this without the drug. For Dutiful’s sake. For the Six Duchies.’

His refusal stunned me into silence. Hurt and defiance tore me. ‘Fine.’ I bit off the word. ‘I have some in my pack in my room.’ I tried to find the will to stand.

A moment of silence. Then, unwillingly he admitted, ‘You had some in your pack in your room. It is gone. As is the carryme that was with it.’

I took the rag from my forehead and glared at him. My anger built on the foundation of my pain. ‘You have no right. How dare you?’

He took a breath. ‘I dare as much as my need demands. And my need is great.’ His green-eyed gaze met mine challengingly. ‘The throne needs the talent that only you possess. I will allow nothing that diminishes your Skill.’

He did not look away from me, but I could scarcely keep my eyes on him. Light was flaring all round him, stabbing into my brain. The barest edge of control kept me from throwing the compress at him. As if he guessed that, he took it from me, offering me a freshly cooled one in its place. It was a pitiful comfort, but I put it on my brow and leaned back in the chair. I wanted to weep with frustration and anguish. From behind the compress, I told him, ‘Pain. That’s what being a Farseer means to me. Pain and being used.’

He made no reply. That had always been his greatest rebuke, the silence that forced me to hear my own words over and over. When I took the cloth from my forehead, he was ready with another one. As I pressed it to my eyes, he said mildly, ‘Pain and being used. I’ve known my share of that as a Farseer. As did Verity, and Chivalry, and Shrewd before them. But you know there is more than that. If there weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.’

‘Perhaps,’ I conceded grudgingly. The fatigue was winning. I just wanted to curl up around the pain and sleep but I fought it. ‘Perhaps, but it isn’t enough. Not for going through this.’

‘And what more would you ask, Fitz? Why are you here?’

I knew he meant it to be a rhetorical question but the anxiety had been with me for too long. The answer was too close to my lips, and the pain made me speak without thought. I lifted a corner of the cloth to peer at him. ‘I do this because I want a future. Not for myself, but for my boy. For Hap. Chade, I’ve done it all wrong. I haven’t taught him a thing, not how to fight, nor how to make a living. I need to find him an apprenticeship with a good master. Gindast. That’s who he wishes to teach him. He wants to be a joiner, and I should have seen that this would come and saved my money, but I didn’t. And here he is, of an age to learn and I haven’t a thing to give him. The coins I’ve saved aren’t enough to –’

‘I can arrange that.’ Chade spoke quietly. Then, almost angrily, he demanded, ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’ Something in my face betrayed me, for he leaned closer, brows furrowed as he exclaimed, ‘You thought you’d have to do this in order to ask my help, didn’t you?’ The damp cloth was still in his hand. It slapped the stone flags when he flung it in a temper. ‘Fitz, you –’he began, then words failed him. He stood up and walked away from me. I thought he would leave entirely. Instead he went down to the workbench and the unused hearth at the other end of the chamber. He walked around the table slowly, looking at it and at the scroll racks and utensils as if seeking for something he had misplaced. I refolded the second cloth and held it to my forehead, but surreptitiously I watched him from under my hand. Neither of us said anything for a time.

When he came back to me, he looked calmer but somehow older. He took a fresh cloth from a pottery dish, wrung it out, folded it and offered it to me. As we exchanged the compresses, he said softly, ‘I’ll see that Hap gets his apprenticeship. You could simply have asked me to do that when I visited you. Or years ago, you could have brought the lad to Buckkeep and we’d have seen him decently educated.’

‘He can read and write and figure,’ I said defensively. ‘I saw to that.’

‘Good.’ His reply was chill. ‘I’m glad to hear you retained that much common sense.’

There seemed no rejoinder to that. Both pain and weariness were overcoming me. I knew I had hurt him but I didn’t feel it was my fault. How could I have known he’d be so willing to help me? Nevertheless, I apologized. ‘Chade, I’m sorry. I should have known that you would help me.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed mercilessly. ‘You should have. And you’re sorry. I don’t doubt you’re sincere. Yet I seem to recall warning you, years ago, that those words will only work so often, and then they ring hollow. Fitz, it hurts me to see you this way.’

‘It’s starting to ease,’ I lied.

‘Not your head, you stupid ass. It hurts me to see that you are still … as you’ve always been since … damn. Since you were taken from your mother. Wary and isolated and mistrustful. Despite all I’ve … After all these years, have you given your trust to no one?’

I was silent for a time, pondering his words. I had loved Molly, but I had never trusted her with my secrets. My bond with Chade was as essential as my bones, but no, I had not believed that he would do all he could for Hap, simply for the sake of what we shared. Burrich. Verity. Kettricken. Lady Patience. Starling. In every instance, I had held back. ‘I trust the Fool,’ I said, and then wondered if I truly did. I did, I assured myself. There was almost nothing about me that he didn’t know. That was trust, wasn’t it?

After a moment, Chade said heavily, ‘Well, that’s good. That you trust someone.’ He turned away from me and spoke to the fire. ‘You should force yourself to eat something. Your body may rebel, but you know that you need the food. Recall how we had to press food on Verity when he Skilled.’

The neutrality in his voice was almost painful. I realized then that he had hoped I would insist that I did trust him. It would not have been true, and I would not lie to him. I rummaged about in my mind for something else to give him. I spoke the words without thinking. ‘Chade, I do love you. It’s just that –’

He turned to me almost abruptly. ‘Stop, boy. Say no more.’ His voice was almost pleading as he said, ‘That’s enough for me.’ He set his hand to my shoulder and squeezed nearly painfully. ‘I won’t ask of you that which you can’t give. You are what life has made you. And what I made you, Eda be merciful. Now pay attention to me. Eat something. Force yourself if you must.’

It would have been useless to tell him that the sight and smell of the food was enough to make me gag. I took a breath, and quaffed down the beef broth, not breathing until it was gone. The fruit in cream felt slimy in my mouth, the fish reeked and the bread near choked me, but I forced myself to swallow it half-chewed. I took a deep breath, and the wine followed it down. When I set the cup down, my stomach churned and my head reeled. The wine was a more potent vintage than I had thought. I lifted my eyes to Chade’s. His mouth hung ajar in dismay. ‘I didn’t mean like that,’ he muttered.

I lifted a hand at him in a gesture of futility. I feared to open my mouth to reply.

‘You’d best go to bed,’ he suggested humbly.

I nodded in reply and levered myself to my feet. He opened the door for me, gave me a candle and then stood at the top of the passage holding a light until my path carried me out of his view. My room seemed impossibly distant, but eventually I arrived at the entry. Queasy as I was, I extinguished my light before I approached and carefully peered through the peephole before I triggered the access to my dark room. No candle burned there tonight. It didn’t matter. I stumbled into the stuffy darkness and thrust the door shut behind me. A few steps carried me to my bed and I dropped onto it. I was too hot and my clothes bound me uncomfortably, but I was too tired to do anything about it. The black was so absolute I could not tell if my eyes were open or shut. At least the lights under my eyelids had been quenched. I stared up into the darkness and longed for the cool peace of the forest.

The thick walls of the room muffled all sound, and sealed me off from the night. It was like being sealed in a tomb. I closed my eyes to the blackness and listened to my headache thump with the beat of my heart. My stomach gurgled unhappily. I drew a deep breath, and ‘Forest,’ I said quietly to myself. ‘Night. Trees. Meadow.’ I reached for the comforting familiarity of the natural world. I painted in the details for myself. A light wind stirring in the treetops. Stars flickering through rags of moving clouds. Coolness, and the rich scents of the earth. Tension eased away from me, taking my pain with it. I drifted with my imagination. The packed earth of a game trail beneath my feet, and I was moving softly through darkness, following my companion.

She went more quietly than night itself, each step sure and swift. Try as I might, I could not keep up with her. I could not even catch a glimpse of her. I knew of her passage by her scent hanging in the night air, or by the still-rustling bushes just ahead of me. My cat followed her, but I was not swift enough. ‘Wait!’ I called to them.

Wait? She mocked me. Wait for you to ruin the night’s hunting? No. I shall not wait. You shall make haste, and do so silently. Have you learned nothing of me? Lightfoot am I and Nightfriend and Shadowstalker. Be you so, and come, come, come to share the night with me.

I hurried after her, drunk with the night and her presence, drawn as irresistibly as a moth is drawn to a candle. Her eyes were green, I knew, for she had told me, and her long tresses were black. I longed to touch her, but she was elusive and taunting, always ahead of me, never revealing herself to my eyes let alone my touch. I could only run after her through the night, the breath rasping in my chest as she flew before me. I did not complain. I would prove myself worthy of her and win her.

But my heart was thundering and my breath burning in my lungs. I crested the top of a hill and stopped for breath. Before me spread the vista of the river valley. The moon hovered round and yellow. Had we come so far, in one night’s hunting? Far below me, the walls of Galeton were a dark huddle of stone on the riverbank. A few isolated lights still shone yellow in the windows of the keep. I wondered who burned candles while the rest of the household slumbered.

Do you long to sleep, in a stuffy room mounded with blankets? Is that how you would squander a night such as this? Save sleep for when the sunlight can warm you, save sleep for when the game is hidden in den or burrow. Hunt now, my clumsy one. Hunt with me! Prove yourself. Learn to be one with me, think as I do, move as I do, or lose me forever.

I started to go after her. My thoughts snagged on something, delaying me. There was something I must do, right now. Something I must tell someone, right now. Startled, I halted where I stood. The thought divided me. Part of me had to go, had to hunt at her heels before she left me behind. But another part of me stood still. I must tell him now. Right now. I peeled myself free, separating while holding onto the knowledge I had gained. It flickered in my grasp, threatening to become the nonsense of a fading dream. I gripped the thought, letting all else fade. Hold it. Say it out loud. Cling to the word, cling tight to the thought. Don’t let it go, don’t let it melt away with the dream.

‘Galeton!’

I said the word aloud, sitting upright in my bed in the stifling darkness. My shirt stuck to me with sweat and the Skill-headache had returned with clanging bells attached to it. It didn’t matter. I lurched from my bed and began a patting search of the invisible walls. ‘Galeton,’ I said aloud, lest the word slip from my grasp. ‘Prince Dutiful hunts near Galeton.’