Читать книгу The Golden Fool - Робин Хобб - Страница 13

… and it is almost certain that the Chalcedeans could have defeated the Bingtown Traders and claimed their territory for their own if only they could have maintained a solid blockade of Bingtown Bay.

Two magics hampered them in this regard, and magic it most certainly was, despite any who would dispute it, for the Bingtown Traders are merchants and not fighters, as all know. The first magic was that the Bingtown Traders possess Liveships, trading vessels that, by some arcane practice involving the sacrifice of three children or elderly family members, are brought to sentient life. Not only can the figureheads of these vessels move and speak, but they are also possessed of prodigious strength, enabling them to crush lesser vessels if once they grip them. Some of them are able to spit fire for a distance equal to three of their vessels’ lengths.

The second magic is as likely to be disputed by the ignorant as the first, but as this traveller witnessed it, I defy those who call this a lie. A dragon, cunningly crafted of blue and silver gemstones and activated by a marvellous combination of magic and … (passage obscured by damage to parchment) … was hastily created by the Bingtown artisans for the defence of their harbour. This creature, named Tinnitgliat by her creators, rose from the smoking wreckage that the Chalcedeans had made of the Bingtown warehouse district and drove the enemy vessels from the harbour.

Winfroda’s My Adventures as a World Traveller

I threaded my way back through the maze of corridors and emerged once more into my cell. I paused to peer into the darkness before entering it. Once within, I secured the secret door behind me. Then I paused, standing perfectly still in the darkness. Through the closed door that led to the Fool’s apartment, voices reached me.

‘Well, as I’ve no idea when he rose and left, nor why, I’ve no idea when he will return. It seemed such a charming concept at first, to have a strong and able man-at-arms, capable not only of defending me from street ruffians but also serving as my valet and seeing to my other needs as well. But he has proven most unreliable at daily tasks. Look at this! I’ve had to snatch a passing page from the corridor and have him tell a kitchen-boy to bring up my breakfast. And it isn’t what I would have chosen at all! I’m tempted to let Badgerlock go entirely, except that with my ankle as it is, it is no time for me to be without a sturdy servant. Well. Perhaps I shall have to accept his limitations and acquire a page or two to see to my daily tasks. Look at the layer of dust on that mantle! Shameful. I can scarcely invite visitors to my chambers with them looking like this. It is almost fortunate that the pain in my ankle makes me tend towards solitary occupations just now.’

I froze where I was. I longed to know to whom he was speaking and why that person sought me, but I could scarcely make an entrance if Lord Golden had already insisted I was not here.

‘Very well. May I leave a message for your man then, Lord Golden?’

The voice was Laurel’s and the irritation level in it was unmasked. She had seen too much of us when she had accompanied us on our journey to be deceived by our charade. She would never again believe us to be merely master and man: we had bungled our roles too often. Yet I also understood why Lord Golden insisted on resuming the masquerade. To do otherwise would eventually have unravelled our deception of the court.

‘Certainly. Or you would be welcome to return this evening, if you wish to take the chance that he may have recalled his duties and wandered home.’

If he had intended that to mollify her, it failed. ‘A message will suffice, I am sure. In passing through the stable, I noticed something about his horse that made me concerned for her. If he will meet me there at noon today, I will point it out to him.’

‘And if he does not return by noon … by Sa, how I detest this! That I should have to act as a secretary to my own serving-man!’

‘Lord Golden.’ Her quiet voice cut through his dramatics. ‘My concern is a grave one. See that he meets me then, or arranges to speak to me about my concern. Good day.’

She shut the door very firmly behind her. I heard the thump, but even so I waited some minutes, to be completely certain that the Fool was alone. I eased the door open silently, but the Fool’s preternatural awareness served him well. ‘There you are,’ he exclaimed with a sigh of relief. ‘I was beginning to worry about you.’ Then he looked more closely at me and a smile lit up his face. ‘The Prince’s first lesson must have gone very well.’

‘The Prince chose not to attend his first lesson. And I am sorry to have put you out. I didn’t think to arrange for Lord Golden’s breakfast.’

He made a disparaging noise. ‘I assure you, the last thing I would expect is that you would be a competent servant. I’m perfectly capable of arranging my own breakfast. It is required, however, that I raise a suitable fuss when I am forced to waylay a page for it. I’ve muttered and complained enough now that I can add a boy to my staff without exciting any comment.’ He poured himself another cup of tea, sipped it and made a face. ‘Cold.’ He gestured at the remains of the repast. ‘Hungry?’

‘No. I ate with Kettricken.’

He nodded, unsurprised. ‘The Prince sent me a message this morning. It now makes sense to me. He wrote, ‘I was saddened to see that your injury prevented you from joining in the dancing at my betrothal festivities. Well do I know how frustrating it is when an unexpected inconvenience denies you a pleasure long anticipated. I heartily hope that you are soon able to resume your favourite activities.’

I nodded, somewhat pleased. ‘Subtle, yet it conveys it. Our prince is becoming more sophisticated.’

‘He has his father’s wit,’ he agreed, but when I glanced at him sharply, his expression was mild and benign. He continued, ‘You have another message as well. From Laurel.’

‘Yes. I overheard it.’

‘I thought you might have.’

I shook my head. ‘That one both puzzles and alarms me. From the way she spoke, I don’t think this meeting has anything to do with my horse. Still, I’ll meet her at noon and see what it is about. Then I’d like to go down to Buckkeep Town, to see Hap, and to apologize to Jinna.’

He lifted a pale eyebrow.

‘I had said I would come by last night, to talk to Hap. As you know, I went to the betrothal festivities with you instead.’

He picked up a tiny nosegay of white flowers from his breakfast tray and sniffed it thoughtfully. ‘So many people, all wanting a bit of your time.’

I sighed. ‘It is hard for me. I don’t quite know how to manage it. I’d grown used to my solitary life, with only Nighteyes and Hap making claims on me. I don’t think I’m handling this very well. I can’t imagine how Chade juggled all his tasks for so many years.’

He smiled. ‘He’s a spider. A web-weaver, with lines stringing out in all directions. He sits at the centre and interprets each tug.’

I smiled with him. ‘Accurate. Not flattering, but accurate.’

He cocked his head at me suddenly. ‘It was Kettricken, then, wasn’t it? Not Chade.’

‘I don’t understand.’

He looked down at his hands, twiddling the little bouquet. ‘There’s a change in you. Your shoulders are squared again. Your eyes focus on me when I talk to you. I don’t feel as if I should glance over my shoulder to see if a ghost is there.’ He set the flowers down carefully on the table. ‘Someone has lifted a part of your burden.’

‘Kettricken,’ I agreed with him after a moment. I cleared my throat. ‘She was closer to Nighteyes than I realized. She mourns him, too.’

‘As do I.’

I thought about my next words before I said them. I wondered if they were necessary, feared that they might hurt him. But I spoke them. ‘In a different way. Kettricken mourns Nighteyes as I do, for himself, and for what he was to her. You …’ I faltered, unsure how to put it.

‘I loved him through you. Our link was how he became real to me. So, in a sense, I do not mourn Nighteyes as you do. I grieve for your grief.’

‘You have always been better with words than I am.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. Then he sighed and crossed his arms on his chest. ‘Well. I am glad that someone could help you. Even as I envy Kettricken.’

That made no sense. ‘You envy her, that she mourns?’

‘I envy her, that she could comfort you.’ Then, before I could even think of any reply, he added briskly, ‘I’ll leave it to you to clear the dishes away to the kitchen. Take care to be a bit surly when you return them, as if your master had just harshly rebuked you. Then you may be off to Laurel and Buckkeep Town. I plan to spend a quiet day today, in my own pursuits. I’ve let it out that my ankle pains me and that I wish to rest, without visitors. Later this afternoon, I am invited to gaming with the Queen’s favoured. So if you do not find me here, look for me there. Will you be back in time to help me limp down to dinner?’

‘I expect so.’

His spirits seemed suddenly dampened, as if he were truly in pain. He nodded gravely. ‘Perhaps I will see you then.’ He rose from the table and went to his private room. Without another word he opened the door, then shut it quietly but firmly behind him.

I gathered the dishes onto the tray. Despite his words about my incompetence as a servant, I took care to straighten the room. I returned the tray to the kitchens, and then fetched wood and water for our chambers. The door to the Fool’s personal room remained shut. I wondered if he were ill. I might have ventured to tap at the door if noon had not been upon me. I went to my room and buckled on my ugly sword. I took some of the coins from the purse Kettricken had given me and put the rest under the corner of my mattress. I checked my hidden pockets, took my cloak from its hook and headed down to the stables.

With the influx of people for Prince Dutiful’s betrothal, the regular stable was filled to capacity with our guests’ horses. In these circumstances, the beasts of lesser folk like me had been moved to the ‘Old Stables’, the stables of my childhood. I was just as content with the arrangement. Far less chance that I might encounter Hands there or any who might recall a boy who had once dwelt with Stablemaster Burrich.

I found Laurel leaning against the gate of Myblack’s stall, talking softly to her. Perhaps I had misinterpreted her message. My concern for the animal mounted and I hastened to her side. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ I asked, and then, belatedly recalling my manners, ‘Good day to you, Huntswoman Laurel. I am here as you requested.’ Myblack benignly ignored both of us.

‘Badgerlock, good day. Thank you for meeting me here.’ She glanced about casually, and finding our corner of the stable deserted, she leaned still closer and whispered to me, ‘I need a word with you. In private. Follow me.’

‘As you wish, mistress.’ She strode off and I followed at her heels. We walked past the rows of stalls to the back of the stables and then to my shock we began the climb up the now-rickety steps that had once led to Burrich’s loft. When he was Stablemaster, he had claimed to prefer to live close to his charges rather than accept better quarters in the castle itself. When I had lived with him, I had believed that to be true. In the intervening years, I had decided that he had kept his humble residence there as much for the sake of keeping me out of the public eye as he did for his own privacy. Now, as I followed Laurel up the steep steps, I wondered how much she knew. Did she bring me here as a prelude to telling me that she knew who I really was?

The door at the top of the steps was not latched. She shouldered it open and it scraped across the floor. She stepped inside the dim chamber and motioned for me to follow. I ducked a dusty cobweb in the doorframe. The only light came from the cracked shutter over the little window at the end of the room. How small the space suddenly seemed. The sparse furnishings that had sufficed for Burrich and I were long gone, replaced by the clutter of a stable. Twisted bits of old harness, broken tools, moth-eaten blankets: all the horsey litter that folk set aside, thinking that perhaps one day they will mend it or that it might come in useful in a pinch, filled the chamber where I had spent my childhood.

How Burrich would have hated this! I thought to myself. I wondered that Hands allowed such clutter to gather, and then decided that he probably had more pressing matters to attend to. The stables were a larger and grander concern than they had been during the years of the Red Ship War. I doubted that Hands sat up at night greasing and mending old harness.

Laurel misinterpreted the look on my face. ‘I know. It smells up here, but it’s private. I would have seen you in your own room, but Lord Golden was too busy playing the grand noble.’

‘He is a grand noble,’ I pointed out, but the flashing look she gave me stilled my tongue. Belatedly it came to me that Lord Golden had bestowed much attention on Laurel during our journey, yet not a word had they exchanged last night. Oh.

‘Be that as it may, or be you whom you may.’ She dismissed her annoyance with us, obviously intent on graver matters. ‘I received a message from my cousin. Deerkin didn’t intend the warning for you; he intended it for me. I doubt that he would approve my passing it on to you, for he has ample reasons not to be fond of you. The Queen, however, seems to hold you in some regard. And it is the Queen I am sworn to.’

‘As we both are,’ I assured her. ‘Have you shared these tidings with her as well?’

She looked at me. ‘Not yet.’ She admitted. ‘It may be that there is no need to, that this is a matter you can handle yourself. And it is not as easy for me to manage a quiet moment with the Queen as it is for me to summon you.’

‘And the warning?’

‘He bade me flee. The Piebalds know who I am and where I live. I am twice a traitor, to their way of thinking. For by my family connection, they consider me Old Blood. And I serve the hated Farseer regime. They will kill me if they can.’ Her voice betrayed no emotion as she recounted the threat to herself. But she lowered her tone and looked aside from me as she added, ‘And the same is true of you.’

Silence floated between us. I watched dust particles dancing in the thin sunlight through the shutters and pondered. After a time, she spoke again.

‘This is the gist of it. Laudwine still languishes, recovering from your chopping off his forearm. In the wake of our little adventure, many of his followers have abandoned him, to return to the true Old Blood ways. Old Blood families have put pressure on their sons and daughters to forsake the Piebalds’ extreme politics. There is a feeling amongst many that the Queen genuinely intends to better the lot of the Old Blood folk. As it has become known that her own son is Witted, they have a kindlier feeling towards her. They are content to wait, for a short time at least, to see how she will treat us now.’

‘And those who remain amongst the Piebalds?’ I asked unwillingly.

Laurel shook her head. ‘Those who remain with Laudwine are the ones most dangerous and least reasonable. He attracts those who desire to shed blood and wreak havoc. They desire revenge more than justice, and power more than peace. Some, like Laudwine, have seen family and friends put to death for the crime of being Witted. Others have hearts that pump more madness than blood. They are not many but as they place no limits on what they will do to attain their goals, they are as dangerous as a vast army.’

‘Their goals?’

‘Simple. Power for themselves. Punishment for those who have oppressed the Witted. They hate the Farseers. But even more, they hate you. Laudwine feeds their hatred. He wallows in hate and offers it to his followers as if it were gold. You have stirred their wrath against all Old Blood who “grovel before the Farseer oppressors”. Laudwine’s Piebalds bring reprisals against the Old Blood who came to your aid against the Piebalds. Some homes have been burned. Flocks have been scattered or stolen. Those sort of attacks are already happening, but worse is threatened. The Piebalds say they will expose any that will not side with them against the Farseers. It thrills them that we should be killed by the folk we will not rise against. The Piebalds say that all Old Blood must either stand with them or be purged from the community.’ Her face had gone both grave and pale. I knew there was a real threat to her family, and it curdled my stomach to think that I was partially responsible for provoking it.

I took a breath. ‘Only some of what you tell me is news to me. Only a few nights ago I was stalked on the road from Buckkeep Town by Piebalds. I am only surprised that they let me live.’

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that did not dismiss my danger, only the possibility of understanding the Piebalds. ‘You are a special target for them. You struck Laudwine’s hand from his arm. You are Old Blood, serving the Farseers and directly opposing the Piebalds.’ She shook her head. ‘Take no comfort that they have left you alive when they could have so easily killed you. It only means that they have some use for you that requires you to be alive. My cousin hinted as much, when he warned me, for he said that perhaps I had mixed myself with worse company than I thought. The Piebald rumour is that Lord Golden and Tom Badgerlock were not what they seemed to be – small surprise to me that was, but Deerkin seemed to think it portentous.’

She paused, as if to give me time to reply. I said nothing but thought much. Had someone firmly connected Tom Badgerlock to the Witted Bastard of song and legend? And if so, what use would they have for me that required me alive? If they had wanted to take me hostage and use me against the Farseers, they could have done so that night. But my thoughts were cut off as Laurel scowled at my silence and then resumed her talk.

‘The raids and attacks against their own stir Old Blood against them, even amongst some who once called themselves Piebalds. Some raids, it seems, are carried out to settle old scores or for personal profit rather than for any “lofty” Piebald motives. No one restrains them. Laudwine is still too weak to resume full leadership. He is feverish and febrile from the loss of his arm. Those closest to him hate you doubly for that; they will be swift as wildfire to set their vengeance against you. Witness that you have been back in Buckkeep only a few days, and they have already located you.’

We stood silent in the dusty room for a time, both of us following thoughts too dark to share. At last, Laurel spoke reluctantly.

‘You understand that Deerkin still has ties to those in the Piebalds. They try to lure him back. He must … pretend to side with them. To protect our family. He walks a thin and dangerous line. He hears things that are very dangerous for him to repeat, and yet he has sent word.’ Her words trickled away. She stared at the obscured window as if she could truly see what was beyond it I knew what she was trying to express. ‘You should speak to the Queen. Tell her that Deerkin must appear a traitor to the crown for the sake of keeping your family safe. Will you flee, as he bids you?’

She shook her head slowly. ‘Flee where? To my family? Then I plunge them into more danger. Here, at least, the Piebalds must reach into danger’s mouth to extract me. I will stay here and serve my queen.’

I wondered if Chade would be able to protect her, let alone her cousin.

Her voice was flat when she spoke again. ‘Deerkin hears hints that the Piebalds are forming an alliance with outsiders. “Powerful folk who would be happy to destroy the Farseers and leave Laudwine’s folk in power”.’ She gave me a worried glance. ‘That sounds like a silly boast, doesn’t it? It couldn’t be real, could it?’

‘Best tell the Queen,’ I said, and hoped she could not hear that I did think it possible. I knew I would take the tale to Chade.

‘And you?’ She asked me. ‘Will you flee? I think you should. For you would make a fine example of the Piebalds’ power. Exposed, you would illustrate that there are Witted even within the walls of Buckkeep. Quartered and burned, you would be a fine example to other traitors to the Old Blood, that those who deny and betray their own kind are in turn betrayed by them.’

She was not herself Witted. Her cousin was. Even though the magic ran in her family blood, she had no love for the Wit or those who used their magic. Like most Six Duchies folk, she regarded my ability to sense animals and bond with a beast as a despicable magic. Perhaps her use of the word ‘traitor’ should have carried less sting because of that, yet the contempt of the message burned me.

‘I am not a traitor to my Old Blood. I but keep my oath where it was sworn, to the Farseers. If Old Blood had not tried to harm the Prince, it would not have been necessary for me to wrest him back from them.’

Laurel spoke flatly. ‘Those are the words of my cousin’s message to me. Not mine. He sent me those words so that I might warn the queen, partly because he feels a debt to me. But also because she is the most tolerant of Old Blood of any recent Farseer reign we have known. He would not see her shamed and her influence lessened. I suspect he thinks she would rid herself of you if she knew you could be used against her. I know her better. She will not heed my warning and send you away from Buckkeep before you can be used against her.’

So. That was her real message for me. ‘Then you think that would be best for all? If I simply removed myself, without her having to ask me to leave.’

She gazed past me, spoke past me. ‘You suddenly appeared from nowhere. Perhaps it were best if you returned there.’

For an instant, I actually toyed with the notion. I could go downstairs, saddle Myblack and ride off. Hap was safely apprenticed, and Chade would see that he remained so. I had been reluctant to teach Dutiful the Skill, let alone what I knew of the Wit. Perhaps this was the simplest solution for all of us. I could disappear. But.

‘I did not come to Buckkeep at my own desire. I came at my queen’s behest. And so do I stay. Nor would my departure remove the danger to her. Laudwine and his followers know the Prince is Witted.’

‘I thought you would say as much,’ Laurel conceded. ‘And for all I know, perhaps you are right. Yet I will still pass on my warning to the Queen.’

‘You would be remiss if you did not. Yet I thank you for taking the time to seek me out and pass on this warning to me, as well. I know I gave Deerkin little reason to think well of me. I am willing to let all that occurred between us fade into the past. If you have the chance, I ask you to pass that message on to him. That I bear no ill will to him, or to any that follow the true Old Blood ways. But I must always put my service to the Farseers first.’

‘As do I,’ she responded grimly.

‘You say nothing of Laudwine’s intentions towards Prince Dutiful.’

‘Because Deerkin’s message said nothing of that. So my only answer is, I don’t know.’

‘I see.’

And there seemed nothing else to say to one another. I let her leave first so we would not be seen together. I lingered in the old rooms longer than I needed to. Beneath the dust on the windowsill, I could just glimpse the track of my boyhood’s idle knife. I looked up at the slanting ceiling over the spot where my pallet had been. I could still see the owl shape in the twisted grain of the wood there. There was little left here of Burrich or of me. Time and other occupants had obliterated us from the room. I left it, dragging the door closed behind me.

I could have saddled Myblack and ridden down to Buckkeep Town, but I chose to walk despite the edged chill of the day. I have always believed it is harder to shadow a man on foot. I passed out of the gates without incident or comment. I strode off briskly, but once I was out of sight of the guards and any other travellers, I stepped aside from the road, to stand in the scrub-brush that banked it and look back to see if anyone were following me. I stood still and silent until the scar on my back began to ache. There was damp in the wind, rain or snow to come tonight. My ears and nose were cold. I decided that no one was shadowing me today. Nonetheless, I performed the same manoeuvre twice more on my walk into town.

I took a roundabout path through Buckkeep Town to Jinna’s house. Part of this was caution, but part of it was dithering. I wanted to take her a gift, both as an apology for not visiting last night as I had said I would and as thanks for helping me with Hap, yet I could not think what it should be. Earrings seemed somehow too personal and too permanent. So did the brightly woven scarf that caught my eye in the weaver’s stall. Fresh smoked redfish teased my appetite, yet seemed inappropriate. I was a man grown, yet I felt caught in a boy’s dilemma. How did I express thanks, apology and interest in her without appearing too grateful, apologetic or interested? I wanted, I decided, a friendly gift, and resolved that I would choose something that I could as easily present to the Fool or Hap without feeling any awkwardness. I settled on a sack of sweet hevnuts, this year’s plump and shining harvest, and a loaf of fresh spice bread. With these in hand, I felt almost confident as I tapped at the door with the palm-reader’s sign on it.

‘A moment!’ came Jinna’s voice, and then she opened the top half of the door, squinting in the sunlight. Behind her the room was dim, shutters closed, candles burning fragrantly on the table. ‘Ah. Tom. I’m in the midst of a reading for a customer. Can you wait?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good.’ And then she shut the door firmly and left me standing outside. It wasn’t what I had expected, and yet I reflected it was no more than I deserved. So I waited humbly, watching the street and the folk passing by, and trying to look at ease in the biting wind. The hedge-witch’s house was on a quiet street in Buckkeep Town, and yet there was a steady trickle of folk along it. Next door to her lived a potter. His door was closed to the wind, his wares stacked beside it, and I heard the thump of his wheel as he worked. Across the street lived a woman who seemed to have an impossible number of small children, several of whom seemed intent on wandering out into the muddy street despite the chill day. A little girl not much older than the toddlers patiently hauled them back onto the porch. From where I stood, I could just glimpse the doors of a tavern down the street. The hanging sign that welcomed guests showed a pig wedged in a fence. The trade seemed to be mostly the sort who took their beer home in small buckets.

I was just beginning to think of either leaving or tapping on the door again when it opened. A lavishly garbed matron and her two daughters emerged. The younger girl had tears in her eyes, but her sister looked bored. The mother thanked Jinna profusely for a very long time before she tartly ordered her girls to stop tarrying and come along. The glance she gave me as she led them off did not approve of me.

If I had thought Jinna’s leaving me standing outside was a sort of retribution, the warm and weary look she gave me dispelled the notion. She wore a green robe. A wide yellow waist cinched her middle and lifted her breasts. It was very becoming. ‘Come in, come in. Oh, such a morning. It’s strange. Folk want to know what you see in their hands, but so often they don’t want to believe it.’

She shut the door behind me, plunging us back into dimness.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit last night. My master had duties for me. I’ve brought you some fresh spice bread.’

‘Oh. How lovely! I see you bought hevnuts at the market. I wish I had known that you liked them, for my niece’s trees have borne so heavily this year that we can scarcely decide what to do with them all. A neighbour out near her farm may take some for pig fodder, but they have fallen so thick this year one fair wades through them.’

So much for that. But she took the spiced bread from me and set it on the table, exclaiming over how delicious it smelled, and telling me that Hap was, of course, at his master’s. Her niece had borrowed the pony and cart to haul firewood in, did I mind? Hap had said she might, and said, too, that it was better for the pony to do the light work the old beast could handle than to stand idly stabled. I assured her that was fine. ‘No Fennel?’ I asked, wondering at the cat’s absence.

‘Fennel?’ She seemed surprised I would ask. ‘Oh, he’s probably out and about his own business. You know how cats are.’

I set the sack of hevnuts on the floor by the door and hung my cloak above it. The little room was warm and my cold ears stung as they returned to life. As I turned to the table, she was setting down two steaming cups of tea. The rising warmth beckoned me. A dish of butter and some honey waited beside the bread. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked me, smiling up at me.

‘A bit,’ I admitted. Her smile was contagious.

Her eyes moved over my face. ‘I am, too,’ she said. Then she stepped forward, and I found my arms around her, and her mouth rising up to mine. I had to stoop to kiss her. Her lips opened to mine, inviting, and she tasted of tea and spices. I felt suddenly dizzy.

She broke the kiss, and pressed her cheek to my chest. ‘You’re cold,’ she said. ‘I should not have made you wait outside so long.’

‘I’m much warmer now,’ I assured her.

She looked up at me and smiled. ‘I know.’ And as her lips found mine again, her hand dropped down to trace the proof of that. I jumped at the touch, but her hand on the back of my neck kept my mouth on hers.

She was the one who walked us sideways to her bedchamber, never breaking the kiss. She released me to shut the door firmly behind us, plunging us into near darkness save for the bits of light that fingered their way in through the shakes of the roof and past the open rafters of a small loft. The bed was plump with featherbeds. The chamber smelled of woman. I tried to take a breath and find my mind. ‘This isn’t wise,’ I said. I could scarcely get the words out.

‘No. It isn’t.’ Her fingers loosened the laces of my shirt and tightened my desire. She gave me a small push and I sat down on the edge of her bed.

As she pulled my shirt off over my head, my eyes fell on a small charm on a bedside table. A string of red and black beads were looped and wound around a framework of dead sticks. It was a dash of cold water, stilling my desire and infusing me with a sense of futility. As she unbuckled her waist, her eyes followed my glance. She studied my face, and smiling, shook her head. ‘Well. Aren’t you the sensitive one? Don’t look at that. It’s for me, not you.’ And she casually covered it with the shirt she took from my hands.

I knew then a moment of sanity when I could have stopped what was happening. But she gave me no chance to surrender to my common sense, for her hands were at my belt, her fingers warm against my belly, and I stopped thinking entirely. I stood and lifted her robe over her head, and its passage left her curly hair standing out in a cloud around her face. For a time we stood, nuzzling one another. She made some approving comment about the charm that she had made for me. It was all I currently wore. When she asked me what had given me the fresh scratches on my neck and belly, I silenced her mouth with mine. I recall picking her easily off her feet and turning to set her on her bed. I knelt on the bed over her and beheld the wealth of her, her nipples standing out pink and eager, and the delicious scent of woman rising from her.

Without a word, I mounted her and then possessed her. Blind lust drove me, and she gasped, ‘Tom!’ shocked at my fierce ardour. My hands were cupped on her shoulders, my mouth covered hers, and she rose to meet me. A sudden terrible need for her overtook me. To touch, skin to skin, in closeness and passion, to share myself completely with another being, to leave behind the sense of being isolated in my own flesh. I held nothing back, and I thought I carried her with me.

Then, as I lay dizzied with completion, she said in a small voice, ‘Well. You’re a hasty man, Tom Badgerlock.’

My hoarse breathing as I lay on top of her made a hideous silence of its own. Shame drenched me. After a terrible stillness, she stirred under me. I heard her draw a breath. ‘You were hungry!’ Perhaps she regretted her words of disappointment, but that did not call them back. Her gentle attempt at making light of it brought the blood to my face and completed my humiliation. I dropped my forehead to the pillow beside hers. I listened to the wind outside in the streets. Some people tramped by in the street, just on the other side of the plank wall. A man’s sudden shout of laughter made me wince. Up in the attic loft, I head a thump and a squeak. Then Jinna kissed the side of my neck and her hands moved gently down my back. Her voice was a soothing whisper. ‘Tom. The first time is seldom the best. You’ve shown me your boy’s passion. Shall we find your man’s skills, now?’

So she gave me another chance to prove myself, and I was shamefacedly grateful. I proceeded in a workmanlike way that soon rekindled both of us. There were several things Starling had taught me and Jinna seemed pleased with my second performance. It was only at the very end, as we lay panting together, that her words stirred a misgiving in me. ‘So, Badgerlock,’ she said, and then drew breath beneath me. ‘So that is what it is like for a she-wolf.’

Incredulous, I lifted myself a little from her so that I could look down into her eyes. She blinked up at me, an odd smile on her face. ‘I’ve never been with a Witted one, before this,’ she confided to me. She drew another deeper breath. ‘I’ve heard other women speak of it. That such men are more …’ She paused, seeking for a word.

‘Animal?’ I suggested. The word as I spoke it was an insult.

Her eyes widened, and then she laughed uncomfortably. ‘That isn’t what I was going to say, Tom. You shouldn’t take insults to yourself where a compliment is intended. Untamed, was what I was going to say. Natural, as an animal is natural, with no thought of what any other may think of his ways.’

‘Oh.’ I could say no more than that. I wondered abruptly what I was to her. A novelty? A forbidden indulgence with something not quite fully human? It was unnerving to wonder if she saw me as bestial and strange. Did our magics set us so far apart in her mind?

Then she pulled me down upon her breasts again, and kissed the side of my neck. ‘Stop thinking,’ she warned me, and I did.

Afterwards, she dozed briefly beside me, my arm around her and her head pillowed on my shoulder. I judged that I had acquitted myself well. But as I watched the sunlight’s passage on the wall, I realized it had been a performance. Neither of us had spoken of love. It had simply been a thing we had done together, something that felt good, something I was reasonably competent at. Yet if our first coupling had left her unsatisfied, the later ones left me feeling incomplete in a deeper way. With a sharpness I had not felt in years, I suddenly longed for Molly, and how simple, good, and true it had been between us. This was not that, any more than my partnering with Starling had been. It wasn’t even sharing a bed. At the heart of my discontent, I wanted to be in love with someone the way I had been that first time. I wanted someone I could touch and be held by, someone that made everything else in the world more significant simply by her existence.

This morning, Kettricken had touched me as a friend, and that had held more meaning and even more true passion than this had. I suddenly wanted to be gone from here, for none of this ever to have happened. Jinna and I had been on the path to becoming friends. I was just beginning to know her. What had I done to that? And Hap was stirred up in this stew as well. If Jinna wanted to carry on with this, how would I manage it? Openly flaunting yet again all the rules I had taught him, for how a man should conduct his life. Or in secret, hiding it from Hap, furtively coming and going from Jinna’s bed?

I was deathly tired of secrets. They seemed to spawn all around me, to fasten to me and suck the life from me like cold leeches. I hungered for something real and true and open. Could I change my relationship with Jinna to that? I doubted it. Not only was there no foundation of deep and honest love between us, but once again I was enmeshed in the secret business of the Farseer intrigues. There would be secrets I must keep from her, secrets that would eventually endanger her.

I had not realized she was awake. Or perhaps my deep sigh stirred her past the edge of drowsing. She set her hand to my chest and patted me lightly. ‘Don’t be troubled, Tom. It wasn’t all your failure. I had guessed there might be a problem when the charm by the bed near unmanned you. And now your spirits grow bleak and grim, do they not?’

I shrugged one shoulder. She sat up beside me in the bed. She reached across me, her flesh warm against mine, and lifted my shirt off the bedside charm. The sad little thing hunched there, forlorn and alone.

‘It’s a woman’s charm. It’s difficult to make, as it must be very finely tuned to the individual woman. To construct this sort of charm, you have to know the woman from the skin in. So a hedge-witch can make one for herself, but not for anyone else … at least, not one that is certain. This one is mine, tuned to me. It’s a charm against conception. I should have guessed that it might affect you. Any man who wants children so desperately that he takes in a foundling to raise on his own has that longing down to his bones. You may deny it, but that little hope burns in you each time you lie with a woman. I suspect it is what must drive your passion, Tom. And this little charm took that idle dream away from you before you could even wish it. It told you our joining would be futile and barren. That’s what you feel now, isn’t it?’

Having something explained to you does not always solve it. I looked aside from her. ‘Isn’t it?’ I asked, and then winced at the bitterness in my voice.

‘Poor boy,’ she said sympathetically. She kissed me on the forehead, where Kettricken had kissed me earlier. ‘Of course not. It’s what we make it.’

‘I’m in no position to be a father to anyone. I didn’t even come to see Hap last night, when he told me it was important. I’ve no wish to start another little life that I cannot protect.’

She shook her head over me. ‘What the heart longs for, and what the mind knows are two different things. You forget I’ve seen your palms, sweet man. Perhaps I know more of your heart than you do yourself.’

‘You said my true love would come back to me.’ Again, despite myself, my words sounded accusing.

‘No, Tom. That I did not. Well do I know that what I say to a person is seldom what that person hears, but I’ll tell you again what I saw. It’s here.’ She took my hand. She held the open palm close to her near-sighted eyes. Her bare breasts brushed my wrist as her fingers traced a line in my palm. ‘There is a love that twines in and out of your days. Sometimes, it leaves, but when it does, it runs alongside you until it returns.’ She lifted my hand closer to her face, studying it. Then she kissed my palm, and moved it back to her breast. ‘That doesn’t mean that you must be alone and idle while you wait for it to come back,’ she suggested in a whisper.

Fennel saved us both the embarrassment of my declining. Want a rat? I glanced up. The orange cat crouched on the edge of the loft, his catch squirming in his jaws as he stared down at us. It’s still got a lot of play in it.

No. Just kill it. I felt the red spark of the rat’s agony. It had no hope of living, but the life in it would not surrender easily. Life never gives up willingly.

Fennel ignored my refusal. He launched from the edge of the loft, dropping down to land beside us on the bed, where he released his prey. The frantic rodent scuttled towards us, dragging a hind leg. Jinna exclaimed in disgust and leapt from the bed. I snatched up the rat. A pinch and a twist ended its torment.

You’re fast! Fennel approved.

Here. Take it away. I offered him the dead rat.

He sniffed the dead body. You broke it! Fennel crouched on the bed, staring at me in round-eyed disapproval.

Take it away.

I don’t want it. It’s no fun any more. He growled low at me, then leapt from the bed. You ended it too fast. You just don’t know how to play. He went immediately to the door and clawed the jamb, demanding to go out. Jinna, clutching her robe against her nakedness, opened the door and he sidled out. I was left sitting naked in her bed, a dead rat in my hands. Blood leaked from the battered rat’s nose and mouth over my hands.

My trousers and drawers were still tangled together when Jinna tossed them to me. ‘Don’t get blood on my bedding,’ she cautioned me, so I didn’t set the rat down, but struggled into my trousers one-handed.

I threw the rat out onto a midden behind the house. When I came back in, she was pouring hot water over tea in the pot. She gave me a smile. ‘The other tea seems to have gone cold, somehow.’

‘Did it?’ I tried to speak as lightly as she did. I went back to her bedroom for my shirt. After I put it on, I twitched the bedding straight. I avoided looking at the charm. When I came out, I ignored my own desire to leave and sat down at the table. We shared bread and butter and honey, and hot tea. Jinna chatted of the three women who had come to see her. She had read the younger daughter’s hands, to see if an offer of marriage boded well for her. Then she had advised her to wait. It was a long involved story, full of detail, and I let it stream gently past me. Fennel came to my chair, stood up and dug his front claws into my leg, then hauled himself up onto my lap. From there, he surveyed the table.

Butter for the cat.

I have no reason to be nice to you.

Yes, you do. I am the cat.

He was so supremely self-confident that that was enough reason for me to butter a corner of a slice of bread and offered it to him. I had expected him to carry it off. Instead, he allowed me to hold it while he licked it clean of butter. More.

No.

‘… or Hap may find himself in the same sort of difficulty.’

I tried to backtrack her words, but realized I had hopelessly lost the thread of her conversation. Fennel was perversely digging his claws into my thigh as I ignored him. ‘Well, I intended to speak with him today,’ I said, and hoped that the comment made some sort of sense.

‘You should. Of course, there’s no good your waiting for him here. Even if you had come last night, you’d have had to sit and wait for him. He comes in late each night, and leaves late for his work every morning.’

Concern prickled me. That didn’t sound like Hap.

‘So what do you suggest?’

She took a breath and sighed it out, a bit annoyed. I probably deserved it. ‘What I just said. Go to the shop, and speak with his master. Ask for some time with Hap. Corner him, and set down some rules for him. Say that if he doesn’t keep them, you’ll insist that he board with his master like the other apprentices do. That would give him a chance to govern himself, or be governed. For if he moves into the apprentices’ quarters there, he’ll find that one evening off twice a month is all he’ll get to himself.’

I was suddenly listening closely. ‘Then all the other apprentices live with Master Gindast?’

She gave me a look of amazement. ‘Of course they do! And he keeps them on a tight leash, which perhaps Hap would benefit from – but there, you are his father, I suppose you would know best about that.’

‘He has never needed one before,’ I observed mildly.

‘Well, that was when you lived in the country. And there were no taverns nor young women about within hailing.’

‘Well … yes. But I had not considered that he might be expected to live in his master’s house.’

‘The apprentices’ quarters are behind Master Gindast’s workshop. It makes it easy for them to rise, wash, eat, and be at work by dawn. Did you not board with your master?’

At that, I supposed that I had. I had just never perceived it that way. ‘I was never formally apprenticed,’ I lied casually. ‘So all of this is new. I had assumed I had to provide Hap’s room and board while he was taught. Which is why I brought this with me.’ I opened my pouch and spilled coins on her table.

And there they lay in a heap between us, and suddenly I felt awkward. Would she think this was intended as payment for something else?

She stared at me silently for a moment, and then said, ‘Tom, I’ve scarcely touched what you sent down before. How much do you think it costs to feed a boy?’

I managed an apologetic shrug. ‘Another town thing that I don’t know. At home, we raised what we needed, or hunted for it. I know Hap eats a great deal after a day’s work. I had assumed it would be expensive to feed him.’ Chade must have arranged for a purse to be sent to her. I had no idea how much it had contained.

‘Well. When I need more, I’ll tell you. The use of the pony and cart has meant a great deal to my niece. It’s something she has always wanted but you know how hard it is to set aside coin for something like that.’

‘You are more than welcome to that. As Hap told you, it is much better for Clover to move about than to be stabled constantly. Oh. Feed for the pony.’

‘That’s easy enough for us to come by, and it seems only fair that we provide for an animal we use.’ She paused, and glanced about us. ‘Then you’ll see Hap today?’

‘Of course. It’s why I came to town today.’ I began to stack the coins, preparatory to returning them to my pouch. It felt awkward.

‘I see. So that was why you came here,’ she observed, but she smiled teasingly as she said it. ‘Well then. I’ll let you be on your way.’

And it suddenly dawned on me that she was letting me know it was time for me to leave. I chinked the coins into my purse again and stood. ‘Well. Thank you for the tea,’ I said and then halted. She laughed aloud at me and my cheeks burned but I managed to smile. She made me feel young and foolish, at a disadvantage. I did not see why that should be so, but I knew I did not care for it. ‘Well. I had best go see Hap.’

‘You do that,’ she agreed, and handed me my cloak. Then I had to stop and get my boots on. I had just finished that when there was a rap at her door. ‘A moment!’ Jinna called, and then I was exiting, nodding to her customer in passing. It was a young man with an anxious expression on his face. He sketched a bow to me and then hastened inside. The door shut on the sound of Jinna greeting him, and I was alone once more in the windy street.

I trudged off to Gindast’s shop. The day grew colder as I walked, and I began to smell snow in the air. Summer had lingered late, but now winter would have her way. Looking up at the sky, I decided it would be a heavy fall. It woke mixed feelings in me. A few months ago, such a sight would have made me check my woodstack, and do a final, critical consideration of what I had gathered for the winter. Now the Farseer throne provided for me. I no longer had to consider my own well-being, only that of the reign. The harness still sat uncomfortably on my shoulders.

Gindast was well known in Buckkeep Town and I had no difficulty finding his shop. His signboard was elaborately carved and framed, as if to be sure his skill were properly displayed. The front of his building held a cosy sitting room, with comfortable chairs and a large table. A fire fuelled with scraps of well-dried wood burned hotly in the hearth. Several pieces of his finest work were displayed in the room for the perusal of potential customers. The fellow in charge of this room listened to my request, then waved me on through to the shop.

This was a barn of a structure, with a number of projects in various stages of completion. An immense bedstead squatted next to a series of fragrant cedar chests emblazoned with someone’s owl sigil. A journeyman knelt, putting stain on the owls. Gindast was not in his shop. He had ridden out with three of his journeymen to Lord Scyther’s manor, to take measurements and consult over the construction of an elaborate mantle, with chairs and tables to match. One of his senior journeymen, a man not much younger than myself, allowed that I could speak with Hap for a time. He also suggested gravely that I might wish to call again, to make an appointment with Master Gindast to discuss my boy’s progress. The journeyman made such a meeting sound ominous.

I found Hap behind the shop with four other apprentices. All appeared younger and smaller than he was. They were engaged in moving a stack of drying wood, turning and shifting each timber in the process. The trampled earth told me this was the third such stack to be turned. The other two were draped with roped-down canvas. There was a scowl on Hap’s face as if this mindless yet necessary task affronted him. I watched him for a time before he was aware of me, and what I saw troubled me. Hap had always been a willing worker when he toiled alongside me. Now I saw suppressed anger in the way he handled himself, and his impatience at working with lads younger and weaker than he was. I stood silently, watching him until he noticed me. He straightened from the plank he had just set down, said something to the other apprentices, and then stalked over to me. I watched him come, wondering how much of his manner was expression of what he truly felt and how much was show for the younger boys. I didn’t much care for the disdain he expressed towards his current task.

‘Hap,’ I greeted him gravely, and ‘Tom,’ he responded. He clasped wrists with me, and then said in a low voice, ‘You see now what I was talking about.’

‘I see you turning wood so it dries well,’ I responded. ‘That seems a necessary task for a woodworker’s shop.’

He sighed. ‘I would not mind it so much, if it were an occasional thing. But every task they put me to demands a lot of my back and little of my brain.’

‘And are the other apprentices treated differently?’

‘No,’ he replied begrudgingly. ‘But as you can see, they are just boys.’

‘Makes no difference, Hap,’ I told him. ‘It’s not a matter of age, but of knowledge. Be patient. There’s something to learn here, even if it’s only how to stack the wood properly, and what you learn from seeing it at this stage. Besides, it’s a thing that must be done. Who else should they put to doing it?’

He stared at the ground while I spoke, silent but unconvinced. I took a breath. ‘Do you think you might do better if you lived here with the other apprentices, instead of with Jinna?’

He met my eyes suddenly with a look full of outrage and dismay. ‘No! Why do you suggest such a thing?’

‘Well, because I have learned it is customary. Perhaps if you lived here, close by your work, it would be easier. Not so far to go to be on time in the morning, and—’

‘I’d go crazy if I had to live here as well as apprentice here! The other boys have told me what it is like. Every meal the same as the last one, and Gindast’s wife counts the candles, to be sure they are not burning them late at night. They must air their bedding and wash their own blankets and small-clothes weekly, not to mention that he keeps them at extra chores after the day’s work is done, shovelling sawdust to mulch his wife’s rose garden and picking up scraps for the kindling heap and—’

‘It does not sound so terrible to me,’ I interrupted, for I could see he was but building himself to more heat. ‘It sounds disciplined. Rather like what a man-at-arms goes through in his training. It wouldn’t hurt you, Hap.’

He flung his arms wide in an angry gesture. ‘It wouldn’t help me, either. If I had wanted to break heads for a living, then, yes, I’d expect to be trained like a dumb animal. But I didn’t expect my apprenticeship to be like this.’

‘Then you’ve decided that this isn’t what you want?’ I asked, and near held my breath awaiting the answer. For if he had changed his mind, I had no idea what I would do with him. I could not have him up at Buckkeep with me, nor send him back to the cabin alone.

His answer came grudgingly. ‘No. I haven’t changed my mind. This is what I want. But they had better start actually teaching me something soon, or …’

I waited for him to say, ‘or what’ but his words ran out. He, too, had no idea what he would do if he left Gindast. I decided to take that as a positive sign. ‘I’m glad this is still what you want. Try to be humble, to be patient, to work well, and listen and learn. I think that if you do so, and show yourself a sharp lad, you will soon progress to more challenging tasks. And I’ll try to meet you tonight, but I dare not make any promises. Lord Golden keeps me very busy, and it’s been hard for me to get this much time free. Do you know where Three Sails Tavern is?’

‘Yes, but don’t meet me there. Come to the Stuck Pig instead. It’s very near Jinna’s.’

‘And?’ I pressed, knowing there was another reason.

‘And you can meet Svanja, too. She lives nearby, and watches for me. If she can, she joins me there.’

‘If she can sneak away from her home?’

‘Well … somewhat. Her mother doesn’t much mind, but her father hates me.’

‘Not the best start for a courtship, Hap. What have you done to deserve his hatred?’

‘Kissed his daughter.’ Hap grinned a devil-may-care grin, and I smiled in spite of myself.

‘Well. That is a thing we will discuss this evening as well. I think you are young to begin a courtship. Better to wait until you have some solid prospects and a way to keep a wife. Perhaps then her father would not mind a stolen kiss or two. If I can get free tonight, I will meet you there.’

Hap seemed somewhat mollified as he waved me a farewell and went back to his stacking work. But I walked away from him with a heavier heart than I had come with. Jinna was right. Town life was changing my boy, and in ways I had not foreseen. I did not feel that he had truly listened to my counsel, let alone that he would act on it. Well. Perhaps tonight I could take a firmer line with him.

As I walked back through the town, the first flakes of snow began to fall. When I reached the steeper road that wound its way up to Buckkeep Castle, it began to fall thick and soft. Several times I paused and stepped aside from the road, to watch back the way I had come but I saw no sign that anyone followed me. For the Piebalds to threaten me, and then vanish completely made no sense. They should have either killed me or taken me hostage. I tried to put myself in their position, to imagine a reason to leave your prey walking freely about. I could think of nothing. By the time I reached the gates of the keep, there was a thick carpet of snow on the road, and the wind had begun to whistle in the treetops. The weather brought an early darkness. It was going to be a foul night. I would be glad to spend it inside.

I stamped the clinging wet snow from my feet outside the entrance to the hall that went past the kitchens and the guardroom. I smelled hot beef soup and fresh bread and wet wool as I went past the guardroom. I was tired and wished I could enter and share their simple food and rough jokes and casual manners. Instead I straightened my shoulders and hastened past and up to Lord Golden’s chambers. He was not there, and I recalled he said he might be gaming with the Queen’s favoured. I supposed I should seek him there. I went into my chamber to be rid of my damp cloak and found a scrap of parchment on my bed. There was a single word on it. ‘Up.’

A few moments later, I emerged in Chade’s tower chamber. There was no one there. But on my chair waited a set of warm clothing, and a green cloak of heavy wool with an overlarge hood. The outside bore the otter badge, unfamiliar to me. An unusual feature of the cloak was that it reversed to plain homespun, in servant blue. Beside it was a leather travel-bag with food and a flask of brandy in it. Beneath it, folded flat, was a leather scroll-case. This heap of gear was topped with a note in Chade’s hand. ‘Heffam’s troop rides out on highway patrol tonight from the north gate at sunset. Join them and then divert to your own goal. I hope you will not mind missing the harvest feast. Return as swiftly as possible, please.’

I snorted at myself. Harvest Fest. I had so looked forward to it as a boy. Now I had not even recalled that it was nigh. Doubtless the Prince’s betrothal ceremony had been intentionally scheduled to precede Buckkeep’s celebration of plenty. Well, I had missed it for the last fifteen years. Once more would not bother me.

On the end of the worktable was a hearty meal of cold meat, cheese, bread and ale. I decided to trust that Chade had arranged my disappearance from Lord Golden’s service. I had no time to seek him out and relay the information, nor did I feel comfortable leaving him a note of any kind. I thought regretfully of my delayed-again meeting with Hap, and decided that I’d already warned him I might not be there. And the sudden opportunity to take some action on my own appealed mightily to me. I wanted to banish the hanging suspicion that the Piebalds had located my den. Even to discover that they had would be better than wondering fearfully.

I ate, and changed clothes. By the time the sun was setting, I was mounted on Myblack and approaching the north gate. My hood was pulled well forward to exclude the biting wind and blinding snow. Other anonymous green-cloaked riders were gathering there, some complaining bitterly about drawing road patrol while the betrothal festivities and harvest celebration were at their height. I drew closer and then nodded silent commiseration to one talkative fellow who was regaling the night with his woes. He began a long tale of a woman, the warmest and most willing woman imaginable, who would wait in vain for him at a Buckkeep Town tavern tonight. I was content to sit my horse beside him and let him talk. Others congregated about us. In the gathering dark and swirling snow, indistinct riders huddled in their cloaks and hoods. Scarves and darkness swathed our faces.

The sun was down and the night dark before Heffam appeared. He seemed as disgruntled as his men, and announced brusquely that we’d ride swiftly to First Ford, relieve the guard there tonight, and begin our regular tour of patrol of the highways in the morning. His men seemed very familiar with this duty. We fell in behind him in two ragged lines. I took care to take a place well to the back. Then he led us out of the gate and into the night and storm. For a time, our road led us steeply downward. Then we turned and took the river road that would lead us east along the Buck River.

When we had left the lights of Buckkeep far behind us, I began to hold Myblack in. She was not pleased with the weather or the dark, and was just as glad to go more slowly. At one point I pulled her in completely and dismounted on the pretext of tightening a cinch. The patrol rode on without me into the cloaking storm. I mounted again and rejoined it, now the last man of the troop. As we travelled, I held my horse back, letting the distance between us and the rest of the troop gradually lengthen. When at last a bend in the road took them out of sight, I pulled Myblack to a halt. I dismounted and again began to fuss with saddle straps. I waited, hoping that my absence would go unnoticed in the foul weather. When no one returned to see why I tarried, I turned my cloak, remounted Myblack and headed her back the way we had come.

As Chade had bid me, I hastened, yet there were inevitable delays. I had to wait for the dawn ferry across the Buck River, and then the winds of the storm and the ice that coated the lines and the decks slowed our loading and passage. On the other side, I discovered that the road was wider and better tended, as well as more travelled, than I recalled. A prosperous little market town clustered alongside it, the taverns and houses built on pilings to be beyond the reach of both ordinary and storm tides. By midday I had left it far behind.

My journey back to my home was uneventful in the ordinary sense. I rested several times in smaller, nondescript inns along the way. At only one was my night’s rest disturbed. At first the dream was peaceful. A warm fireside, the sounds of a family at their evening tasks.

‘Umph. Off my lap, girl. You’re far too big to sit on me now.’

‘I’ll never be too big for my papa’s lap.’ There was laughter in her voice. ‘What are you making?’

‘I’m mending your mother’s shoe. Or trying to. Here. Thread this for me. The firelight makes the needle’s eye dance until I cannot find it. Younger eyes will do better.’

And that was what had awakened me. A sudden wash of dismay that Papa was admitting his sight was failing. I tried not to think of that as I fell back into a guarded sleep.

No one seemed to remark my passage. I had time with Myblack to improve her manners; we tested each other’s wills in any number of small ways. The weather continued foul. The nights were blowing snow and sleet. When the storm did let up briefly during the day, the watery sun only melted enough snow to turn the roads into mud and slush that became dirty treacherous ice by the next morning. It was not pleasant travelling weather.

Yet part of the cold that assailed me through this journey had nothing to do with the weather. No wolf ranged ahead of me to see if the road was clear nor circled back to see if we were followed. My own senses and my own sword were all I could rely on for protection. I felt naked and incomplete.

The sun broke through the clouds on the afternoon when I reached the lane to my cabin. The snow had paused, and the day’s brief warmth was turning the most recent fall into heavy wet mush. Irregular ‘thumps’ from the forest were the sounds of trees dropping their heaped burdens. The lane to my cottage was smooth and undisturbed save with rabbit tracks and pits from fallen loads of snow. I doubted that any had passed here since the snow had begun falling. That was reassuring.

Yet when I reached my cabin, all of my uneasiness returned. It was obvious that someone had been here, and recently. The door stood open. Uneven lumps beneath the snow were the rounded shapes of furniture and possessions thrown out into the yard in a heap. Fragments of vellum thrust up from the snow that here was trampled and uneven beneath the smoothness of the most recent fall. The pole fence around the kitchen garden had been torn down, as had Jinna’s charm on its post. I sat my horse a time in silence, trying to be impassive as my eyes and ears gathered information. Then I dismounted silently and approached the cabin.

No one was inside. It was cold and dark. It reminded me of something, and then a prickling of foreboding helped me seize the memory; it reminded me of when I had returned to a cabin that had been raided by Forged Ones. The failing daylight showed me the muddy tracks of a pig’s trotters on the floor. Several curious animals had investigated the cabin. There were muddy boot-tracks as well, a criss-crossing passage that indicated someone had made many trips in and out.

Everything portable and useful had been taken. The blankets from the beds, the smoked and preserved foods from the rafters, the pots from the cooking hearth; all were gone. Some scrolls had been used to kindle a fire in the hearth. Someone had eaten here, probably enjoying the supplies Hap and I had laid in for the winter. There was a scatter of fish bones still on the hearth. I felt I knew who had come here. The pig tracks were my best clue.

My desk still remained; my unlettered neighbour would have little use for a writing desk. In my little study, inkpots had been overset, scrolls opened and then tossed aside. This gave me concern. In the current disorder, it was impossible for me to tell if any scrolls had been carried off. I could not tell if Piebalds had scavenged here as well as my pig-keeper neighbour. Verity’s map still hung crookedly on the wall; I was shocked at how my heart leapt with relief to find it intact. I had not realized I valued it so. I took it down and rolled it up, carrying it about with me as I explored the plundering of my home. I forced myself to make a careful survey of each room, and the stable and chicken house as well, before I allowed myself to gather what I would take away with me.

The small store of grain and all the tools had been taken from the shed in the stable. My work-shed was a jumble of rejected plunder. It seemed unlikely that was the work of Piebalds. My suspicion of an unpleasant neighbour who lived in the next valley was all but certain now. He kept pigs, and had once accused me of stealing piglets from him. When I had so hastily left here, I had directed Hap to take our chickens to the man, not out of kindness to the neighbour but knowing that he would feed and keep them for the sake of the eggs. That had seemed a better course than letting predators slaughter them. But, of course, it would have let him know that we expected to be gone for an extended period. I stood with my fists clenched, looking about the small stable. I doubted that I would ever return here. Even if the tools had been here still, I would have left without them. What use had I now for a mattock or a hoe? But the theft was a violation that was hard to ignore. I ached for revenge even as I told myself that I had no time for it, that the thief had perhaps done me a favour in ransacking my home before Piebalds could.

I put Myblack in the stable and gave her what poor hay had been left. I hauled her a bucket of water as well. Then I began my salvage and destruction.

The heap of possessions under the snow proved to be a bedstead, my table and chairs and several shelves. Probably he intended to come back with a cart for them. I’d burn them. I knocked some of the snow from the heap, gazed regretfully on the charging buck that the Fool had carved into my table for me, and then went into the cabin for tinder to start the fire. The straw-stuffed mattress from my bed, discarded inside, worked admirably. In a very short time, I had a nice blaze going.

I tried to be methodical. While daylight served me, I painstakingly gathered every scattered scroll that had been flung into the yard. Some were hopelessly ruined with damp, others torn and trampled with muddy hooves, and some were no more than fragments. Mindful of Chade’s words, some I tried to smooth and roll up, even when they were but fragments, but most I ruthlessly consigned to the fire. I kicked through the snow until I was as certain as I could possibly be that no writing of mine remained in the yard.

Dusk was deep by then. Inside the cabin, I kindled a fire in the hearth, for light as well as heat. I began on the inside of the cabin. Most of my possessions went straight into the fire. Old work clothes, my writing tools, my bootjack, and other clutter and possessions burned in the hearth. I was kinder to Hap’s things, knowing that a spinning top, long outgrown as a plaything, could still have meaning to him. I made a sack of an old cloak and filled it with those sorts of items. Then I sat down by the flames and painstakingly went through the scrolls from my rack. There were far more of them than I had expected, and far more than I could have carried back with me.

I chose first to save those I had not written myself. Verity’s map went into the case, of course, and was soon joined by scrolls I had acquired in my travels and some brought to me by Starling. A few of these were quite old and rare. I was grateful to find them intact and resolved to make copies of them when I returned to Buckkeep. But apart from those, my culling was fierce. Nothing that was the work of my pen was immune to my scrutiny. Scrolls of herbal knowledge with my meticulous illustrations fed the fire. That information was still in my head; if it was that important, I could write it down again. Into the bag, against my better judgment, went those scrolls that dealt not only with my time in the mountains, but with my personal musings on my own life. A swift perusal of some of those left my cheeks burning. Juvenile and mawkish, self-pitying and full of grand assumptions about my own significance and declarations of things that I would never do again were these treatises. I wondered who I had been when I wrote them.

My writing on the Skill and the Wit went into the bag, as did my lengthy account of our journey through the Mountain Kingdom and into the realm of the Elderlings and the rise of Verity-as-Dragon. My attempts at poetry about Molly went into the flames, to burn in a final burst of passion. Writing I had done to help Hap learn his letters and numbers went after them. I winnowed my writings, and still there were too many. They underwent a second, harsher culling, and finally the scroll case would close.

Then I stood, closed my eyes, and tried to think: were there any still unaccounted for? I told myself it was a hopeless task. Some scrolls I had had the sense to destroy within days of writing them. Others I had given Starling to carry back to Chade. I could not decide if any were missing. Let any man try to recall all he might have written down over fifteen years of his life, and there would doubtless be some gaps. Had I ever committed to paper an account of my time with Black Rolf and the Old Bloods? I was sure I had written of those months, but had they been in a separate scroll, or was I recalling bits that had interjected themselves into other writings? I wasn’t sure. And I could not know what scrolls the pig-keeper had used to kindle his cookfire. I sighed. Surrender it. I had done as much as I could. In the future, I would be far more careful of what I entrusted to letters.

I went back out into the yard, and flipped the ends of the burning furniture into the fire. The rising wind and falling snow would soon smother it, but the charging buck was scorched to obliteration. The rest of it little mattered. I walked again through the little cabin that had been my home for so many years. I had left intact no personal article of my own. My presence here was erased. I thought of burning the cabin itself, and decided against it. It had stood here before I had come; let it still stand after I was gone. Perhaps some other needy man might come to make use of it.

I saddled Myblack again and led her out of the paddock. I loaded onto her the scroll-case and Hap’s bundled possessions. The last items I included were two tightly stoppered pots, one of ground elfbark and the other of carryme. Then I mounted and rode away from that piece of my life. The fire of my burning past sent odd shadows snaking ahead of us as we made our way into the storm’s resurgence.