Читать книгу Royal Assassin - Робин Хобб - Страница 10

The oldest reference to the mythical Elderlings in the Buckkeep library is a battered scroll. Vague discoloration upon the vellum suggests that it came from a parti-coloured beast, one mottled in a way unfamiliar to any of our hunters. The lettering ink is one derived from squid ink and bell root. It has stood the test of time well, much better than the coloured inks that originally supplied illustrations and illuminations for the text. These have not only faded and bled, but in many places have drawn the attentions of some mite that has gnawed and stiffened the once supple parchment, making parts of the scroll too brittle to unroll.

Unfortunately, the damage is concentrated at the innermost parts of the scroll, which deal with portions of King Wisdom’s quest that were not recorded elsewhere. From these fragmented remains, one can glean that sore need drove him to seek the homeland of the Elderlings. His troubles are familiar ones; ships raided his coastline mercilessly. Tatters hint that he rode off toward the Mountain Kingdom; but unfortunately the final stages of his journey and his encounter with the Elderlings seem to have been richly illustrated, for here the parchment is reduced to a lacy web of tantalizing word bits and body parts. We do not know anything of this first encounter. Nor have we even an inkling as to how he induced the Elderlings to become his allies. Many songs, rich in metaphor, tell how the Elderlings descended, like ‘storms’, like ‘tidal waves’, like ‘vengeance gone gold’, and ‘wrath embodied in flesh of stone’ to drive the Raiders away from our shores. Legend also tells us that they swore to Wisdom that if ever the Six Duchies had need of their aid, they would rise again to our defence. One may conjecture; many have, and the variety of legends that surround this alliance are proof of that. But King Wisdom’s scribe’s recounting of the event has been lost to mildew and worms for ever.

My chamber had a single tall window that looked out over the sea. In winter a wooden shutter closed out the storm winds, and a tapestry hung over that gave my room an illusion of cosy warmth. So I awakened to darkness, and for a time lay quietly finding myself. Gradually the subtle sounds of the keep filtered in to me. Morning sounds. Very early morning sounds. Home, I realized. Buckkeep. And in the next instant, ‘Molly,’ I said aloud to the darkness. My body was weary and aching still. But not exhausted. I clambered from my bed into the chill of my room.

I stumbled to my long disused hearth and kindled a small fire. I needed to bring up more firewood soon. The dancing flames lent the room a fickle yellow light. I took clothing from the chest at the foot of my bed, only to find the garments oddly ill-fitting. My long illness had wasted the muscle from my frame, but I had still somehow managed to grow longer in the legs and arms. Nothing fitted. I picked up my shirt from the day before, but a night in clean bedding had refreshed my nose. I could no longer abide the smell of the travel-stained garment. I dug in my clothes chest again. I found one soft brown shirt that had once been too long in the sleeve for me, and now just fitted. I put it on with my green quilted mountain trousers and buskins. I had no doubt that as soon as I encountered the Lady Patience or Mistress Hasty, I would be attacked and the situation remedied. But not, I hoped, before breakfast and a trip into Buckkeep Town. There were several places there where I might get word of Molly.

I found the castle stirring but not yet fully awake. I ate in the kitchen as I had when a child, finding that there, as always, the bread was freshest and the porridge sweetest. Cook exclaimed to see me, one minute commenting on how much I had grown, and the next lamenting how thin and worn I looked. I surmised that before the day was out I would be heartily sick of these observations. As traffic in the kitchen increased, I fled, carrying off a thick slice of bread well buttered and laden with rosehip preserves. I headed back towards my room to get a winter cloak.

In every chamber I passed through, I found more and more evidence of Kettricken’s presence. A sort of tapestry, woven of different coloured grasses and representing a mountain scene, now graced the wall of the Lesser Hall. There were no flowers to be had this time of year, but in odd places I encountered fat pottery bowls full of pebbles, and these held bare but graceful branches, or dried thistles and cat tails. The changes were small but unmistakable.

I found myself in one of the older sections of Buckkeep, and then climbing the dusty steps to Verity’s watch-tower. It commanded a wide view of our sea-coast, and from its tall windows Verity kept his summer vigil for raiding ships. From here he worked the Skill magic that kept the raiders at bay, or at least gave us some warning of their coming. It was a thin defence at times. He should have had a coterie of underlings trained in the Skill to assist him. But I myself, despite my bastard blood, had never been able to control my random Skill abilities. Galen our Skillmaster had died before he had trained more than a handful in the Skill. There was no one to replace him, and those he had trained lacked a true communion with Verity. So Verity Skilled alone against our enemies. It had aged him before his time. I worried that he would overspend himself upon it, and succumb to the addicting weakness of those who Skilled too much.

By the time I reached the top of the spiralling tower steps, I was winded and my legs ached. I pushed at the door and it gave easily on oiled hinges. From long habit, I stepped quietly as I entered the room. I had not really expected to find Verity or anyone else there. The sea storms were our watchmen in winter, guarding our coasts from raiders. I blinked in the sudden grey light of morning that was flooding in from the unshuttered tower windows. Verity was a dark silhouette against a dark storm sky. He did not turn. ‘Shut the door,’ he said quietly. ‘The draught up the stairs makes this room as windy as a chimney.’

I did so, and then stood shivering in the chill. The wind brought the scent of the sea with it, and I breathed it in as if it were life itself. ‘I had not expected to find you here,’ I said.

He kept his eyes on the water. ‘Didn’t you? Then why did you come?’ There was amusement in his voice.

It jolted me. ‘I don’t really know. I headed back to my room …’ My voice dwindled away as I tried to recall why I had come here.

‘I Skilled you,’ he said simply.

I stood silent and thought. ‘I felt nothing.’

‘I didn’t intend that you should. It is as I told you a long time ago. The Skill can be a soft whisper in a man’s ear. It doesn’t have to be a shout of command.’

He turned slowly to face me, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, my heart leaped with joy at the change I saw in the man. When I had left Buckkeep at harvest time, he had been a withered shadow, worn thin by the weight of his duties and his constant watchfulness. His dark hair was still salted with grey, but there was muscle once more on his stocky frame, and vitality snapped in his dark eyes. He looked every bit a king.

‘Marriage seems to agree with you, my prince,’ I said inanely.

That flustered him. ‘In some ways,’ he conceded, as a boyish flush rose on his cheeks. He turned back quickly to his window. ‘Come and see my ships,’ he commanded.

It was my turn to be baffled. I stepped to the window beside him and looked out over the harbour, and then over the sea itself. ‘Where?’ I asked in bewilderment. He took me by the shoulders and turned me toward the shipyard. A long barn of a building of new yellow pine had been erected there. Men were coming and going from it as smoke rose from chimneys and forges there. Dark against the snow were several of the immense timbers that had been Kettricken’s bride-offering to him.

‘Sometimes, when I stand up here on a winter morning, I look out to sea and I can almost see the Red Ships. I know they must come. But sometimes, too, I can see the ships we shall have to meet them. They will not find their prey so helpless this spring, my boy. And by next winter I intend to teach them what it is to be raided.’ He spoke with a savage satisfaction that would have been frightening, had I not shared it. I felt my grin mirror his as our eyes met.

And then his look changed. ‘You look terrible,’ he offered. ‘As bad as your clothes. Let’s go somewhere warmer and find you some mulled wine and something to eat.’

‘I’ve eaten,’ I told him. ‘And I’m much better than I was a few months ago, thank you.’

‘Don’t be prickly,’ he admonished me. ‘And don’t tell me what I already know. Nor lie to me. The climb up the stair has exhausted you, and you’re shivering as you stand there.’

‘You’re using the Skill on me,’ I accused him, and he nodded.

‘I’ve been aware of your approach for some days now. I tried several times to Skill to you, but could not make you aware of me. I was concerned when you left the road, but I understand Burrich’s concern. I am pleased that he has looked after you so well; not just in bringing you home safe, but in all that went on at Jhaampe. I am at a loss as to how to reward him. It would have to be subtle. Given who was involved, a public recognition would not do. Have you any suggestions?’

‘Your word of thanks would be all he would accept. He would bridle that you thought he needed more. My own feelings are that no object you gave him would be a match for what he did for me. The way to handle him is to tell him to take his pick of the likely two-year-olds, for his horse is growing old. He’d understand that.’ I considered it carefully. ‘Yes. You might do that.’

‘Might I?’ Verity asked me dryly. There was an acid edge to the amusement in his voice.

I was suddenly amazed at my own boldness. ‘I forgot myself, my prince,’ I said humbly.

A smile curved his lips and his hand fell on my shoulder in a heavy pat. ‘Well, I asked you, did I not? For a moment I would have sworn it was old Chivalry instructing me in handling my men, rather than my young nephew. Your trip to Jhaampe has quite changed you, boy. Come. I meant what I said about a warmer spot and a glass of something. Kettricken will be wanting to see you later in the day. And Patience, too, I imagine.’

My heart sank as he heaped the tasks before me. Buckkeep Town pulled at me like a lodestone. But this was my King-in-Waiting. I bowed my head to his will.

We left the tower and I followed him down the stairs, speaking of inconsequential things. He told me to tell Mistress Hasty I needed new clothes; I asked after Leon, his wolfhound. He stopped a lad in the corridor and asked him to bring wine and meat pies to his study. I followed him, not up to his chambers, but to a lower room at once familiar and strange. The last time I had been in it, Fedwren the scribe had been using it to sort and dry herbs and shells and roots for the making of his inks. All signs of that had been cleared from it. A fire burned low in the small hearth. Verity poked this up and added wood as I looked around. There was a large carved oak table and two smaller ones, a variety of chairs, a scroll rack, and a battered shelf littered with miscellaneous objects. Spread out on the table was the beginnings of a map of the Chalced States. The corners of it were weighted with a dagger and three stones. Various scraps of parchment that littered the table top were covered with Verity’s hand and preliminary sketches with notes scratched across them. The friendly litter that covered the two smaller tables and several of the chairs seemed familiar. After a moment I recognized it as the layer of Verity’s possessions that had previously been scattered about his bedchamber. Verity rose from awakening the fire and smiled ruefully at my raised eyebrows. ‘My Queen-in-Waiting has small patience with clutter. “How,” she asked me, “Can you hope to create precise lines in the midst of such disorder?” Her own chamber has the precision of a military encampment. So, I hide myself away down here, for I quickly found that in a clean and sparse chamber I could get no work done at all. Besides, it gives me a place for quiet talk, where not all know to seek me.’

He had scarcely finished speaking before the door opened to admit Charim with a tray. I nodded to Verity’s serving-man who not only seemed unsurprised to see me, but had added to Verity’s request a certain type of spice bread that I had always enjoyed. He moved about the room briefly, making perfunctory tidying motions as he shifted a few books and scrolls to free a chair for me, and then vanished again. Verity was so accustomed to him he scarce seemed to notice him, save for the brief smile they exchanged as Charim left.

‘So,’ he said, as soon as the door was fairly shut. ‘Let’s have a full report. From the time you left Buckkeep.’

This was not a simple recounting of my journey and the events of it. I had been trained by Chade to be a spy as well as an assassin. And since my earliest days, Burrich had always demanded that I be able to give a detailed account of anything that went on in the stables in his absence. So as we ate and drank, I gave Verity an accounting of all I had seen and done since I had left the keep. This was followed by my summation of what I had concluded from my experiences, and then by what I suspected from what I had learned. By then, Charim had returned with another meal. While we consumed this, Verity limited our talk to his warships. He could not conceal his enthusiasm for them. ‘Mastfish has come down to supervise the building. I went up to High-downs myself to fetch him. He claimed to be an old man now. “The cold would stiffen my bones; I can’t build a boat in winter any more,” that was the word he sent me. So I set the apprentices work, and I myself went to fetch him. He could not refuse me to my face. When he got here, I took him down to the shipyards. And I showed him the heated shed, big enough to house a warship, built so he might work and not be cold. But that was not what convinced him. It was the white oak that Kettricken brought me. When he saw the timber, he could not wait to put a drawknife to it. The grain is straight and true throughout. The planking is well begun already. They will be lovely ships, swan-necked, sinuous as snakes upon the water.’ Enthusiasm spilled from him. I could already imagine the rising and falling of the oars, the bellying of the square masts when they were underway.

Then the dishes and oddments were pushed to one side, and he began to quiz me upon events in Jhaampe. He forced me to reconsider each separate incident from every possible perspective. By the time he was finished with me, I had relived the entire episode and my anger at my betrayal was fresh and vivid once more.

Verity was not blind to it. He leaned back in his chair to reach for another log. He flipped it onto the fire, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. ‘You have questions,’ he observed. ‘This time, you may ask them.’ He folded his hands quietly into his lap and waited.

I tried to master my emotions. ‘Prince Regal, your brother,’ I began carefully, ‘is guilty of the highest treason. He arranged the killing of your bride’s elder brother, Prince Rurisk. He attempted a plot that would have resulted in your death. His aim was to usurp both your crown and your bride. As little more than a spice, he twice tried to kill me. And Burrich.’ I paused to breathe, forcing my heart and voice back to calmness.

‘You and I both accept those things as true. They would be difficult for us to prove,’ Verity observed mildly.

‘And he relies upon that!’ I spat out, and then turned my face aside from Verity until I could master my anger. The very intensity of it frightened me, for I had not allowed myself to feel it until now. Months ago, when I was using all my wits to stay alive, I had pushed it aside to keep my mind clear. There had followed the wasting months of convalescence as I recovered from Regal’s botched poisoning attempt. Not even to Burrich had I been able to tell all, for Verity had made it clear that he wished no one to know any more about the situation than could be helped. Now I stood before my prince, and trembled with the force of my own anger. My face spasmed suddenly in a violent series of twitches. That dismayed me enough that I was able to force calm upon myself once more.

‘Regal relies upon it,’ I said more quietly. All this while Verity had not budged nor changed expression despite my outburst. He sat gravely at his end of the table, his work-scarred hands composed before him, watching me with dark eyes. I looked down at the tabletop and traced with a fingertip the carved scrollwork on the corner. ‘He does not admire you, that you keep the laws of the kingdom. He sees it as a weakness, as a way to circumvent justice. He may try to kill you again. Almost certainly, he will make an attempt upon me.’

‘Then we must be careful, we two, mustn’t we?’ Verity observed mildly.

I lifted my eyes to look him in the face. ‘That is all you say to me?’ I asked tightly, choking down my outrage.

‘FitzChivalry. I am your prince. I am your King-in-Waiting. You are sworn to me, as much as to my father. And, if it comes to it, you are sworn to my brother as well.’ Verity rose suddenly, to take a pace around the room. ‘Justice. There’s a thing we shall ever thirst after, and ever be parched. No. We content ourselves with law. And this is only more true, the higher a man’s rank rises. Justice would put you next in line for the throne, Fitz. Chivalry was my elder brother. But law says you were born outside of wedlock, and hence can never make any claim to the crown. Some might say I had snatched the throne from my brother’s son. Should I be shocked that my younger brother should want to grab it from me?’

I had never heard Verity speak like this, his voice so even but so fraught with emotion. I kept silent.

‘You think I should punish him. I could. I need not prove his wrongdoing to make life unpleasant for him. I could send him as emissary to Cold Bay, on some contrived errand, and keep him there, in uncomfortable conditions, far from court. I could all but banish him. Or I could keep him here at court, but so load him with unpleasant duties that he has no time for that which amuses him. He would understand he was being punished. So would every noble with half a wit. Those who sympathize with him would rally to his defence. The Inland Duchies could contrive some emergency in his mother’s land that demanded the presence of her son. Once there, he could build further support for himself. He might very well be able to foment the civil unrest he sought before, and found an inland kingdom loyal only to him. Even if he did not achieve that end, he could cause enough unrest to steal the unity I must have if I am to defend our kingdom.’

He stopped speaking. He lifted his eyes and glanced around the room. I followed his gaze. The walls were hung with his maps. There was Bearns, there was Shoaks and here was Rippon. On the opposite wall, Buck, Farrow and Tilth. All done in Verity’s precise hand, every river blue inked, every town named. Here were his Six Duchies. He knew them as Regal never would. He had ridden those roads, helped set the markers of those boundaries. Following Chivalry, he had treated with the folk who bordered our lands. He had swung a sword in defence of it, and known when to set down that sword and negotiate a peace. Who was I to be telling him how to rule at home?

‘What will you do?’ I asked quietly.

‘Keep him. He is my brother. And my father’s son.’ He poured himself more wine. ‘My father’s most cherished, youngest son. I have gone to my father the King, and suggested that Regal might be more content with his lot if he had more to do with the running of the kingdom. King Shrewd has consented to this. I expect to be much occupied with defending our land from the Red Ships. So to Regal will fall the task of raising the revenues we shall need, and he will also be dealing with any other internal crises that may arise. With a circle of nobles to assist him, of course. He is full welcome to deal with their bickering and dissensions.’

‘And Regal is content with this?’

Verity smiled a thin smile. ‘He cannot say he is not. Not if he wishes to keep the image of a young man adept at ruling and but waiting for opportunity to prove himself.’ He lifted his wine glass and turned to stare into the fire. The only sound in the room was the snapping of the flames as they consumed the wood. ‘When you come to me tomorrow,’ he began.

‘Tomorrow I must have for myself,’ I told him.

He set down his wine glass and turned to look at me. ‘Must you?’ he asked in an odd tone.

I looked up and met his eyes. I swallowed. I brought myself to my feet. ‘My prince,’ I began formally. ‘I would ask your kind permission to be excused from duties tomorrow, that I may … pursue errands of my own.’

He let me stand for a moment. Then, ‘Oh, sit down, Fitz. Petty. I suppose that was petty of me. Thinking of Regal puts me in such a frame of mind. Certainly you can have the day, boy. If anyone asks, you are on my business. Might I ask what this urgent errand is?’

I looked into the fire at the leaping flames. ‘My friend was living in Siltbay. I need to find out …’

‘Oh, Fitz.’ There was more sympathy in Verity’s voice than I could stand.

A sudden wave of weariness washed over me. I was glad to sit again. My hands began to tremble. I put them below the table and clasped them to still them. I still felt the tremors, but at least no one could see my weakness now.

He cleared his throat. ‘Go to your room and rest,’ he said kindly. ‘Do you want a man to ride with you to Siltbay tomorrow?’

I shook my head dumbly, suddenly and miserably certain of what I would discover. The thought made me sick. Another shudder went through me. I tried to breathe slowly, to calm myself and edge back from the fit that threatened. I could not abide the thought of shaming myself that way before Verity.

‘Shame to me, not you, to have ignored how ill you have been.’ He had risen silently. He set his glass of wine before me. ‘The damage you took was taken for me. I am appalled by what I allowed to befall you.’

I forced myself to meet Verity’s eyes. He knew all that I tried to conceal. Knew it, and was miserable with guilt.

‘It is not often this bad,’ I offered.

He smiled at me, but his eyes did not change. ‘You are an excellent liar, Fitz. Do not think your training has gone awry. But you cannot lie to a man who has been with you as much as I have, not just these last few days, but often during your illness. If any other man says to you, “I know just how you feel,” you may regard it as a politeness. But from me accept it as truth. And I know that with you it is as it is with Burrich. I shall not offer you the pick of the colts a few months hence. I do offer you my arm, if you wish it, to get back to your room.’

‘I can manage,’ I said stiffly. I was aware of how he honoured me, but also of how plainly he saw my weakness. I wanted to be alone, to hide myself.

He nodded, understanding. ‘Would that you had mastered the Skill. I could offer you strength, just as I have too often taken it from you.’

‘I could not,’ I muttered, unable to mask how distasteful I would find the drawing off of another man’s strength to replace my own. I instantly regretted the moment of shame I saw in my prince’s eyes.

‘I, too, could once speak with such pride,’ he said quietly. ‘Go get some rest, boy.’ He turned slowly aside from me. He busied himself setting out his inks and his vellum once more. I left quietly.

We had been closeted for the whole day. Outside, it was full dark. The castle had the settled air of a winter’s evening. The tables cleared, the folk would be gathered about the hearths in the Great Hall. Minstrels might be singing, or a puppeteer moving his gangly charges through a story. Some folk would watch while fletching arrows, some would be plying needles, children would be spinning tops or matching markers or drowsing against their parents’ knees or shoulders. All was secure. Beyond the walls the winter storms blew and kept us safe.

I walked with a drunkard’s caution, avoiding the common areas where folk had gathered for the evening. I folded my arms and hunched my shoulders as if chilled, and so stilled the trembling in my arms. I climbed the first flight of stairs slowly, as if lost in thought. On the landing I permitted myself to pause for a count of ten, then forced myself to begin the next flight.

But as I set my foot to the first step, Lacey came bounding down. A plump woman more than a score of years older than myself, she still moved down the steps with a child’s skipping gait. As she reached the bottom, she seized me with a cry of ‘There you are!’ as if I were a pair of shears she’d misplaced from her sewing basket. She clutched my arm firmly and turned me toward the hall. ‘I’ve been up and down those stairs a dozen times today if I’ve been once. My, you’ve got taller. Lady Patience has not been at all herself and it’s your fault. At first she expected you to tap on the door any moment. She was so pleased you were finally home.’ She paused to look up at me with her bright bird eyes. ‘That was this morning,’ she confided. Then, ‘You have been ill! Such circles under your eyes.’

Without giving me a chance to reply, she went on, ‘By early afternoon, when you hadn’t arrived, she began to be insulted and a bit cross. By dinner she was in such a temper over your rudeness she could scarcely eat. Since then, she’s decided to believe the rumours about how sick you’ve been. She’s sure that you’ve either collapsed somewhere, or that Burrich has kept you down in the stables cleaning up after horses and dogs despite your health. Now here we are, in you go. I have him, my lady.’ And she whisked me into Patience’s chambers.

Lacey’s chatter had an odd undertone to it, as if she avoided something. I entered hesitantly, wondering if Patience herself had been ill or if some misfortune had befallen her. If either were so, then it hadn’t affected her living habits at all. Her chambers were much as they always were. All her greenery had grown and twined and dropped leaves. A new layer of sudden interests overlay all the discarded ones in the room. Two doves had been added to her menagerie. A dozen or so horseshoes were scattered about the room. A fat bayberry candle burned on the table, giving off a pleasant scent, but dripping wax onto some dried flowers and herbs on a tray beside it. Some oddly carved little sticks in a bundle were also threatened. They appeared to be fortune telling sticks such as the Chyurda used. As I entered, her tough little terrier bitch came up to greet me. I stooped to pat her, then wondered if I could stand again. To cover my delay, I carefully picked up a tablet from the floor. It was a rather old one, and probably rare, on the use of the fortune telling sticks. Patience turned away from her loom to greet me.

‘Oh, get up and stop being ridiculous,’ she exclaimed at seeing me crouch. ‘Going down on one knee is idiocy. Or did you think it would make me forget how rude you’ve been in not coming to see me right away. What’s that you’ve brought me? Oh, how thoughtful! How did you know I’d been studying them? You know, I’ve searched all the castle’s libraries and not found much on the predicting sticks at all!’

She took the tablet from my hand and smiled up at me at the supposed gift. Over her shoulder, Lacey winked at me. I gave a minuscule shrug in return. I glanced back at Lady Patience, who set the tablet upon a teetering stack of tablets. She turned back to me. For a moment she regarded me warmly, then she called up a frown to her face. Her brows gathered over her hazel eyes, while her small straight mouth held a firm line. The effect of her reproving look was rather spoiled by the fact that she came just to my shoulder now, and that she had two ivy leaves stuck in her hair. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, and boldly plucked them from the unruly dark curls. She took them from my hand seriously, as if they were important and set them on top of the tablet.

‘Where have you been, all these months, when you were needed here?’ she demanded. ‘Your uncle’s bride arrived months ago. You’ve missed the formal wedding, you’ve missed the feasting and the dancing and the gathering of the nobles. Here I am, expending all my energies to see that you are treated as the son of a prince, and there you are, avoiding all your social obligations. And when you do get home, you don’t come to see me, but go all about the keep where anyone else might talk to you, dressed like a ragged tinker. Whatever possessed you to cut your hair like that?’ My father’s wife, once horrified to discover that he had sired a bastard before they were wed, had gone from abhorring me to aggressively bettering me. Sometimes that was more difficult to deal with than if she had ostracized me. Now she demanded, ‘Had you no thought that you might have social duties here that were more important than gallivanting about with Burrich looking at horses?’

‘I am sorry, my lady.’ Experience had taught me never to argue with Patience. Her eccentricity had delighted Prince Chivalry. It drove me to distraction on a good day. Tonight I felt overwhelmed by it. ‘For a time, I was ill. I did not feel well enough to travel. By the time I recovered, the weather delayed us. I am sorry to have missed the wedding.’

‘And that was all? That was the sole reason for your delay?’ She spoke sharply, as if suspecting some heinous deception.

‘It was.’ I answered gravely. ‘But I did think of you. I have something for you, out in my packs. I haven’t brought them up from the stable yet, but I will tomorrow.’

‘What is it?’ she demanded, curious as a child.

I took a deep breath. I desperately wished for my bed. ‘It’s a sort of a herbal. A simple one, for they are delicate, and the more ornate ones would not have stood up to the trip. The Chyurda don’t use tablets or scrolls for teaching herbs as we do. Instead, this is a wooden case. When you open it, you will discover tiny wax models of the herbs, tinted to the correct colours and scented with each herb to make it easier to learn them. The lettering is in Chyurda, of course, but I still thought you would enjoy it.’

‘It sounds quite interesting,’ she said, and her eyes shone. ‘I look forward to seeing it.’

‘Shall I bring him a chair, my lady? He does look as if he has been ill,’ Lacey interjected.

‘Oh, of course, Lacey. Sit down, boy. Tell me, what was your illness?’

‘I ate something, one of the foreign herbs, and had a strong reaction to it.’ There. That was truthful. Lacey brought me a small stool and I sat gratefully. A wave of weariness passed through me.

‘Oh. I see.’ She dismissed my illness. She took a breath, glanced about, then suddenly demanded, ‘Tell me. Have you ever considered marriage?’

The abrupt change in subject was so like Patience that I had to smile. I tried to put my mind to the question. For a moment I saw Molly, her cheeks reddened with the wind that teased her dark hair loose. Molly. Tomorrow, I promised myself. Siltbay.

‘Fitz! Stop that! I won’t have you staring through me as if I were not here. Do you hear me? Are you well?’

With an effort I called myself back. ‘Not really,’ I answered honestly. ‘It’s been a tiring day for me …’

‘Lacey, fetch the boy a cup of elderberry wine. He does look worn. Maybe this isn’t the best time for talk,’ Lady Patience decided falteringly. For the first time, she really looked at me. Genuine concern grew in her eyes. ‘Perhaps,’ she suggested softly, after a moment, ‘I do not know the full tale of your adventures.’

I looked down at my padded mountain buskins. The truth hovered inside me, then fell and was drowned in the danger of her knowing all that truth. ‘A long journey. Bad food. Dirty inns with sour beds and sticky tables. That sums it up. I don’t think you really want to hear all the details.’

An odd thing happened. Our eyes met, and I knew she saw my lie. She nodded slowly, accepting the lie as necessary, and looked aside. I wondered how many times my father had told her similar lies. What did it cost her to nod?

Lacey put the cup of wine into my hand firmly. I lifted it, and the sweet sting of the first sip revived me. I held it in both hands and managed to smile at Patience over it. ‘Tell me,’ I began, and despite myself, my voice quavered like an old man’s. I cleared my throat to steady it. ‘How have you been? I imagine that having a queen here at Buckkeep has made your life much busier. Tell me of all I have missed.’

‘Oh,’ she said, as if pricked with a pin. Now it was Patience’s turn to look aside. ‘You know what a solitary creature I am. My health is not always strong. To stay up late, dancing and talking leaves me abed for two days afterward. No. I have presented myself to the Queen and sat at table with her a time or two. But she is young and busy and caught up in her new life. And I am old and odd, and my life is full of my own interests …’

‘Kettricken shares your love of growing things,’ I ventured. ‘She would probably be most interested …’ A sudden tremor rattled my bones and my teeth chattered to stillness. ‘I am just … a bit cold,’ I excused myself and lifted my wine cup again. I took a gulp instead of a sip I had intended. My hands shook and wine sloshed over my chin and down my shirt front. I jumped up in dismay and my traitorous hands let go the cup. It struck the carpet and rolled away leaving a trail of dark wine like blood. I sat down again abruptly and clasped my arms around myself to try to still my shaking. ‘I am very tired,’ I attempted.

Lacey came at me with a cloth and dabbed at me until I took it from her. I wiped my chin and blotted most of the wine from my shirt. But when I crouched down to mop up what had spilled, I almost pitched forward onto my face.

‘No, Fitz, forget the wine. We can tidy up. You are tired, and half sick. Just take yourself up to bed. Come and see me when you’ve rested. I’ve something serious to discuss with you, but it will keep another night. Now off you go, boy. Off to bed.’

I stood, grateful for the reprieve, and made my cautious courtesies. Lacey saw me as far as the door, and then stood watching after me anxiously as far as the landing. I tried to walk as if the walls and floors weren’t wavering. I paused at the stairs to give her a small wave, and then started up them. Three steps up and out of her sight, I stopped to lean on the wall and catch my breath. I lifted my hands to shield my eyes from the brilliant candlelight. Dizziness was washing over me in waves. When I opened my eyes, my vision was wreathed in rainbow fogs. I closed them tight and pressed my hands to them.

I heard a light step coming down the stairs towards me. It paused two steps above me. ‘Are you all right, sir?’ someone asked uncertainly.

‘A bit too much to drink,’ I lied. Certainly the wine I had dumped over myself made me smell like a drunk. ‘I’ll be fine in a moment.’

‘Let me help you up the stairs. A stumble here might be dangerous.’ There was starched disapproval in the voice now. I opened my eyes and peered through my fingers. Blue skirts. Of the sensible fabric that all the servants wore. No doubt she’d had to deal with drunks before.

I shook my head, but she ignored that, just as I would have in her position. I felt a strong hand grip my upper arm firmly, while her other arm encircled my waist. ‘Let’s just get you up the stairs,’ she encouraged me. I leaned on her, not wanting to, and stumbled up to the next landing.

‘Thank you,’ I muttered, thinking she would leave me now, but she kept her grip.

‘Are you sure you belong on this level? The servants’ quarters are the next flight up, you know.’

I managed a nod. ‘Third door. If you don’t mind.’

She was silent for longer than a moment. ‘That’s the Bastard’s room.’ The words were flung like a cold challenge.

I did not flinch to the words as I would have once. I did not even lift my head. ‘Yes. You may go now.’ I dismissed her as coldly.

Instead she stepped closer. She seized my hair, jerked my head up to face her. ‘Newboy!’ she hissed in fury. ‘I should drop you right here.’

I jerked my head up. I could not make my eyes focus on her eyes, but all the same, I knew her, knew the shape of her face and how her hair fell forward on her shoulders, and her scent, like a summer afternoon. Relief crashed over me like a wave. It was Molly, my Molly the candle-maker. ‘You’re alive!’ I cried out. My heart leaped in me like a hooked fish. I took her in my arms and kissed her.

At least, I attempted to. She stiff-armed me away, saying gruffly, ‘I shall never kiss a drunk. That’s one promise I’ve made to myself and shall always keep. Nor be kissed by one.’ Her voice was tight.

‘I’m not drunk, I’m … sick,’ I protested. The surge of excitement had made my head spin more than ever. I swayed on my feet. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re here and safe.’

She steadied me. A reflex she had learned taking care of her father. ‘Oh. I see. You’re not drunk.’ Disgust and disbelief mingled in her voice. ‘You’re not the scriber’s boy, either. Nor a stable-hand. Is lying how you always begin with people? It seems to be how you always end.’

‘I didn’t lie,’ I said querulously, confused by the anger in her voice. I wished I could make my eyes meet hers. ‘I just didn’t tell you quite … it’s too complicated. Molly, I’m just so glad you’re all right. And here in Buckkeep! I thought I was going to have to search …’ She still gripped me, holding me on my feet. ‘I’m not drunk. Really. I did lie just now, because it was embarrassing to admit how weak I am.’

‘And so you lie.’ Her voice cut like a whip. ‘You should be more embarrassed to lie, Newboy. Or is lying permitted to a prince’s son?’

She let go of me and I sagged against a wall. I tried to get a grip on my whirling thoughts while keeping my body vertical. ‘I’m not a prince’s son,’ I said at last. ‘I’m a bastard. That’s different. And yes, that was too embarrassing to admit, too. But I never told you I wasn’t the Bastard. I just always felt, when I was with you, I was Newboy. It was nice, having a few friends who looked at me and thought, “Newboy” instead of “the Bastard”.’

Molly didn’t reply. Instead she grabbed me, much more roughly than before, by my shirtfront and hauled me down the hall to my room. I was amazed at how strong women were when they were angry. She shouldered the door open as if it were a personal enemy and propelled me toward my bed. As soon as I was close, she let go and I fell against it. I righted myself and managed to sit down. By clutching my hands tightly together and gripping them between my knees, I could control my trembling. Molly stood glaring at me. I couldn’t precisely see her. Her outline was blurred, her features a smear, but I could tell by the way she stood that she was furious.

After a moment, I ventured, ‘I dreamed of you. While I was gone.’

She still didn’t speak. I felt a bit braver. ‘I dreamed you were at Siltbay. When it was raided.’ My words came out tight with my effort to keep my voice from shaking. ‘I dreamed of fires, and Raiders attacking. In my dream, there were two children you had to protect. It seemed as if they were yours.’ Her silence held like a wall against my words. She probably thought I was ten kinds of an idiot, babbling about dreams. And why, oh why, of all the people in the world who could have seen me so unmanned, why did it have to be Molly? The silence had grown long. ‘But you were here, at Buckkeep and safe.’ I tried to steady my quavering voice. ‘I’m glad you’re safe. But what are you doing at Buckkeep?’

‘What am I doing here?’ Her voice was as tight as mine. Anger made it cold, but I thought it was hedged with fear, too. ‘I came looking for a friend.’ She paused and seemed to struggle for a bit. When she spoke again, her voice was artificially calm, almost kind. ‘You see, my father died and left me a debtor. So my creditors took my shop from me. I went to stay with relatives, to help with the harvest, to earn money to start again. In Siltbay. Though how you came to know of it, I cannot even guess. I earned a bit and my cousin was willing to loan me the rest. The harvest had been good. I was to come back to Buckkeep the next day. But Siltbay was raided. I was there, with my nieces …’ Briefly, her voice trailed away. I remembered with her. The ships, the fire, the laughing woman with the sword. I looked up at her and could almost focus on her. I could not speak. But she was looking off, over my head. She spoke on calmly.

‘My cousins lost everything they owned. They counted themselves lucky, for their children survived. I couldn’t ask them to loan me money still. Truth was, they couldn’t even have paid me for the work I had done, if I had thought to ask. So I came back to Buckkeep, with winter closing in, and no place to stay. And I thought, I’ve always been friends with Newboy. If there’s anyone I could ask to loan me money to tide me over, it would be him. So I came up to the keep, and asked for the Scriber’s boy. But everyone shrugged and sent me to Fedwren. And Fedwren listened as I described you, and frowned, and sent me to Patience.’ Molly paused significantly. I tried to imagine that meeting, but shuddered away from it. ‘She took me on as a lady’s maid,’ Molly said softly. ‘She said it was the least she could do, after you had shamed me.’

‘Shamed you?’ I jerked upright. The world rocked around me and my blurry vision dissolved into sparks. ‘How? How shamed you?’

Molly’s voice was quiet. ‘She said you had obviously won my affections, and then left me. Under my false assumption that you would someday be able to marry me, I’d let you court me.’

‘I didn’t …’ I faltered, and then: ‘We were friends. I didn’t know you felt any more than that …’

‘You didn’t?’ She lifted her chin; I knew that gesture. Six years ago, she would have followed it with a punch to my stomach. I still flinched. But she just spoke more quietly when she said, ‘I suppose I should have expected you to say that. It’s an easy thing to say.’

It was my turn to be nettled. ‘You’re the one who left me, with not even a word of farewell. And with that sailor, Jade. Do you think I don’t know about him? I was there, Molly. I saw you take his arm and walk away with him. Why didn’t you come to me, then, before leaving with him?’

She drew herself up. ‘I had been a woman with prospects. Then I became, all unwittingly, a debtor. Do you imagine that I knew of the debts my father had incurred, and then ignored? Not till after he was buried did the creditors come knocking. I lost everything. Should I have come to you as a beggar, hoping you’d take me in? I’d thought that you’d cared about me. I believed that you wanted … El damn you, why do I have to admit this to you!’ Her words rattled against me like flung stones. I knew her eyes were blazing, her cheeks flushed. ‘I thought you did want to marry me, that you did want a future with me. I wanted to bring something to it, not come to you penniless and prospectless. I’d imagined us with a little shop, me with my candles and herbs and honey, and you with your scriber’s skills … And so I went to my cousin, to ask to borrow money. He had none to spare, but arranged for my passage to Siltbay, to talk to his elder brother Flint. I’ve told you how that ended. I worked my way back here on a fishing boat, Newboy, gutting fish and putting them down in salt. I came back to Buckkeep like a beaten dog. And I swallowed my pride and came up here that day, and found out how stupid I was, how you’d pretended and lied to me. You are a bastard, Newboy. You are.’

For a moment, I listened to an odd sound, trying to comprehend what it was. Then I knew. She was crying, in little catches of her breath. I knew if I tried to stand and go to her, I’d fall on my face. Or I’d reach her, and she’d knock me flat. So stupidly as any drunk, I repeated, ‘Well, what about Jade then? Why did you find it so easy to go to him? Why didn’t you come to me first?’

‘I told you! He’s my cousin, you moron!’ Her anger flared past her tears. ‘When you’re in trouble, you turn to your family. I asked him for help, and he took me to his family’s farm, to help out with the harvest.’ A moment of silence. Then, incredulously, ‘What did you think? That I was the type of woman who could have another man on the side?’ Icily. ‘That I would let you court me, and be seeing someone else?’

‘No. I didn’t say that.’

‘Of course you would.’ She said it as if it suddenly all made sense. ‘You’re like my father. He always believed I lied, because he told so many lies himself. Just like you. “Oh, I’m not drunk,” when you stink of it and you can barely stand. And your stupid story: “I dreamed of you at Siltbay.” Everyone in town knew I went to Siltbay. You probably heard the whole story tonight, while you were sitting in some tavern.’

‘No, I didn’t, Molly. You have to believe me.’ I clutched at the blankets on the bed to keep myself upright. She had turned her back on me.

‘No. I don’t! I don’t have to believe anyone any more.’ She paused, as if considering something. ‘You know, once, a long time ago, when I was a little girl. Before I even met you.’ Her voice was getting oddly calmer. Emptier, but calmer. ‘It was at Spring-fest. I remember when I’d asked my daddy for some pennies for the fair booths, he’d slapped me and said he wouldn’t waste money on foolish things like that. And then he’d kicked me in the shop and gone drinking. But even then I knew how to get out of the shop. I went to the fair booths anyway, just to see them. One was an old man telling fortunes with crystals. You know how they do. They hold the crystal to a candle’s light, and tell your future by how the colours fall across your face.’ She paused.

‘I know,’ I admitted to her silence. I knew the type of hedge wizard she meant. I’d seen the dance of coloured lights across a woman’s close-eyed face. Right now I only wished I could see Molly clearly. I thought if I could meet her eyes, I could make her see the truth inside me. I wished I dared stand, to go to her and try to hold her again. But she thought me drunk, and I knew I’d fall. I would not shame myself in front of her again.

‘A lot of the other girls and women were getting their fortunes told. But I didn’t have a penny, so I could only watch. But after a bit, the old man noticed me. I guess he thought I was shy. He asked me if I didn’t want to know my fortune. And I started crying, because I did, but I didn’t have a penny. Then Brinna the fish-wife laughed, and said there was no need for me to pay to know it. Everyone knew my future already. I was the daughter of a drunk, I’d be the wife of a drunk, and the mother of drunks.’ She whispered, ‘Everyone started laughing. Even the old man.’

‘Molly,’ I said. I don’t think she even heard me.

‘I still don’t have a penny,’ she said slowly. ‘But at least I know I won’t be the wife of a drunk. I don’t think I even want to be friends with one.’

‘You have to listen to me. You’re not being fair!’ My traitorous tongue slurred my words. ‘I –’

The door slammed.

‘– didn’t know you liked me that way,’ I said stupidly to the cold and empty room.

The shaking overtook me in earnest. But I wasn’t going to lose her that easily again. I rose and managed two strides before the floor rocked beneath me and I went to my knees. I remained there a bit, head hanging like a dog. I didn’t think she’d be impressed if I crawled after her. She’d probably kick me. If I could even find her. I crawled back to my bed instead, and clambered back onto it. I didn’t undress, but just dragged the edge of my blanket over me. My vision dimmed, closing in black from the edges, but I didn’t sleep right away. Instead, I lay there and thought what a stupid boy I had been last summer. I had courted a woman, thinking that I was walking out with a girl. Those three years difference in age had mattered so much to me, but in all the wrong ways. I had thought she had seen me as a boy, and despaired of winning her. So I had acted like a boy, instead of trying to make her see me as a man. And the boy had hurt her, and yes, deceived her, and in all likelihood, lost her forever. The dark closed down, blackness everywhere but for one whirling spark.

She had loved the boy, and foreseen a life together for us. I clung to the spark and sank into sleep.