by Robin Hobb
Unlike traditional coteries that selected their own membership and leader, Galen created his from hand-picked students and during his life retained a tremendous amount of control over them. August, the nominal head of the coterie, had his talent blasted from him in a Skill mishap while on a mission to the Mountain Kingdom. Serene, who next assumed leadership following Galen’s death, perished along with another member, Justin, during the riot that followed the discovery of King Shrewd’s murder. Will was next to assume the leadership of what has come to be known as Galen’s Coterie. At that time but three members remained: Will himself, Burl and Carrod. It seems likely that Galen had imprinted all three with an unswerving loyalty to Regal, but this did not prevent rivalry among them for Regal’s favour.
By the time dusk fell, I had explored the outer grounds of the royal estate rather thoroughly. I had discovered that anyone might stroll the lower walks freely, enjoying the fountains and gardens, the yew hedges and the chestnut trees, and there were a number of folk in fine clothes doing just that. Most looked at me with stern disapproval, a few with pity and the one liveried guard I encountered reminded me firmly that no begging was allowed within the King’s Gardens. I assured him that I had come only to see the wonders I had so often heard of in tales. In turn, he suggested that tales of the gardens were more than sufficient for my ilk, and pointed out to me the most direct path for leaving the gardens. I thanked him most humbly and walked off. He stood watching me leave until the path carried me around the end of a hedge and out of his sight.
My next foray was more discreet. I had briefly considered way-laying one of the young nobles strolling amongst the flowers and herbaceous borders and availing myself of his clothes, but had decided against it. I was unlikely to find one lean enough for his clothes to fit me properly, and the fashionable apparel they were wearing seemed to require a lot of lacing up with gaily-coloured ribbons. I doubted I could get myself into any of the shirts without the assistance of a valet, let alone get an unconscious man out of one. The tinkling silver charms stitched onto the dangling lace at the cuffs were not conducive to an assassin’s quiet work anyway. Instead, I relied on the thick plantings along the low walls for shelter and made my way gradually up the hill.
Eventually I encountered a wall of smooth, worked stone that encircled the crown of the hill. It was only slightly higher than a tall man could reach at a jump. I did not think it had been intended as a serious barrier. There were no plantings along it, but stubs of old trunks and roots showed that once it had been graced with vines and bushes. I wondered if Regal had ordered it cleared. Over the wall I could see the tops of numerous trees, and so dared to count on their shelter.
It took me most of the afternoon to make a full circuit of the wall without coming out into the open. There were several gates in it. One fine main one had guards in livery greeting carriages of folk as they came and went. From the number of carriages arriving some sort of festivity was scheduled for the evening. One guard turned, and laughed harshly. The hair stood up on my neck. For a time I stood frozen, staring from my place of concealment. Had I seen his face before? It was difficult to tell at my distance, but the thought roused a strange mixture of fear and anger in me. Regal, I reminded myself. Regal was my target. I moved on.
Several lesser gates for delivery folk and servants had guards lacking in lace, but making up for it in their militant questioning of every man or woman who went in and out. If my clothes had been better I would have risked impersonating a serving-man but I dared not attempt it in my beggar’s rags. Instead, I positioned myself out of sight of the guards on the gate and began to beg of the tradefolk coming and going. I did so mutely, simply approaching them with cupped hands and a pleading expression. Most of them did what folk do when confronted with a beggar. They ignored me and continued their conversations. And so I learned that tonight was the night of the Scarlet Ball, that extra servants, musicians and conjurers had been brought in for the festivity, that merrybud had replaced mirthweed as the King’s favourite smoke, and that the King had been very angry with the quality of the yellow silk one Festro had brought him, and had threatened to flog the merchant for even bringing him such poor stuff. The ball was also a farewell to the King, before he embarked on the morrow for a trip to visit his dear friend Lady Celestra at Amber Hall on the Vin River. I heard a great deal more, besides, but little that related to my purpose. I ended up with a handful of coppers for my time as well.
I returned to Tradeford. I found a whole street devoted to the tailoring of clothes. At the back door of Festro’s shop, I found an apprentice sweeping out. I gave him several coppers for some scraps of yellow silk in various shades. I then sought out the humblest shop on the street, where every coin I possessed was just sufficient to purchase loose trousers, a smock and a head kerchief such as the apprentice had been wearing. I changed my clothes in the shop, braided my warrior’s tail up and concealed it under the kerchief, donned my boots and emerged from the shop a different person. My sword now hung down my leg inside the trousers. It was uncomfortable, but not overly noticeable if I affected a loping stride. I left my worn clothes and the rest of my bundle, save for my poisons and other pertinent tools, in a patch of nettles behind a very smelly backhouse in a tavern yard. I made my way back to Tradeford’s keep.
I did not permit myself to hesitate. I went directly to the tradefolks’ gate and stood in line with the others seeking admittance. My heart hammered inside my ribs but I affected a calm demeanour. I spent my time studying what I could see of the house through the trees. It was immense. Earlier I had been amazed that so much arable land had been given over to decorative gardens and walks. Now I saw that the gardens were simply the setting for a dwelling that both sprawled and towered in a style of house completely foreign to me. Nothing about it spoke of fortress or castle; all was comfort and elegance. When it came my turn, I showed my swatches of silk and said I came bearing Festro’s apologies and some samples that he hoped would be more to the King’s liking. When one surly guard pointed out that Festro usually came himself, I replied, somewhat sulkily, that my master thought stripes would better become my back than his, if the samples did not please the King. The guards exchanged grins and admitted me.
I hastened up the path until I was on the heels of a group of musicians who had come in before me. I followed them around to the back of the manorhouse. I knelt to refasten my boot as they asked directions and then straightened up just in time to follow them inside. I found myself in a small entry hall, cool and almost dark after the heat and light of the afternoon sun. I trailed them down a corridor. The minstrels talked and laughed among themselves as they hastened on. I slowed my steps and dropped back. When I passed a door that was ajar on an empty room, I stepped into it and shut the door quietly behind me. I drew a deep breath and looked around.
I was in a small sitting room. The furniture was shabby and ill-matched, so I surmised it was for servants or visiting craftsmen. I could not count on being alone there for long. There were, however, several large cupboards along the wall. I chose one that was not in direct view of the door should it open suddenly, and quickly rearranged its contents in order to sit inside it. I ensconced myself with the door slightly ajar for some light and went to work. I inspected and organized my vials and packets of poisons. I treated both my belt knife and m
y sword’s edge with poison, then resheathed them carefully. I arranged my sword to hang outside my trousers. Then I made myself comfortable and settled down to wait.
Days seemed to pass before dusk gave way to full dark. Twice folk briefly entered the room, but from their gossip I gathered that every servant was busy preparing for the gathering tonight. I passed the time by imagining how Regal would kill me if he caught me. Several times I almost lost my courage. Each time I reminded myself that if I walked away from this, I would have to live with the fear forever. Instead, I tried to prepare myself. If Regal were here, then his coterie would surely be close by. I put myself carefully through the exercises Verity had taught me to shield my mind from other Skilled ones. I was horribly tempted to venture out with a tiny touch of the Skill, to see if I could sense them. I refrained. I doubted I could sense them without betraying myself. And even if I could so detect them, what would it tell me that I did not already know? Better to concentrate on guarding myself from them. I refused to allow myself to think specifically of what I would do, lest they pick up traces of my thoughts. When finally the sky outside the window was full black and pricked with stars, I slipped out from my hiding place and ventured out into the hallway.
Music drifted on the night. Regal and his guests were at their festivities. I listened for a moment to the faint notes of a familiar song about two sisters, one of whom drowned the other. To me, the wonder of the song was not a harp that would play by itself, but a minstrel who would find a woman’s body, and be inspired to make a harp of her breastbone. Then I put it out of my mind and concentrated on business.
I was in a simple corridor, stone-floored and panelled with wood, lit with torches set at wide intervals. Servants’ area, I surmised; it was not fine enough for Regal or his friends. That did not make it safe for me, however. I needed to find a servants’ stair and get myself to the second floor. I crept along the hall. I went from door to door, pausing to listen outside each one. Twice I heard folk within, women talking together in one, the clack of a weaving frame being used in another. The quiet doors that were not locked, I opened briefly. They were workrooms for the most part, with several given over to weaving and sewing. In one, a suit of fine blue fabric was pieced out on a table, ready for sewing. Regal apparently still indulged his fondness for fine clothing.
I came to the end of the corridor and peered around the corner. Another hallway, much finer and wider. The plastered ceiling overhead had been imprinted with fern shapes. Again I crept down a corridor, listening outside doors, cautiously peeping into some of them. Getting closer, I told myself. I found a library, with more vellum books and scrolls than I had ever known existed. I paused in one room where brightly-plumed birds in extravagant cages dozed on their perches. Slabs of white marble had been set to hold ponds of darting fishes and water lilies. There were benches and cushioned chairs set about gaming tables there. Small cherrywood tables scattered about held Smoke censers. I had never even imagined such a room.
I eventually came to a proper hall with framed portraits along the walls and a floor of gleaming black slate. I drew back when I spotted the guard and stood silent in an alcove until his bored pacing carried him past me. Then I slipped out to flit past all those mounted nobles and simpering ladies in their sumptuous frames.
I blundered out into an antechamber. There were hangings on the wall and small tables supporting statuary and vases of flowers. Even the torch sconces here were more ornate. There were small portraits in gilt frames to either side of a fireplace with an elaborate mantel. Chairs were set close together for intimate talk. The music was louder here, and I could hear laughter and voices as well. Despite the lateness of the hour, the merriment went on. On the opposite wall were two tall carved doors. They led to the gathering hall where Regal and his nobles danced and laughed. I pulled myself back around the corner as I saw two servants in livery enter from a door to my far left. They bore trays carrying an assortment of incense pots. I surmised they were to replace ones that had burned out. I stood frozen, listening to their footsteps and conversation. They opened the tall doors and the music of harps spilled out more loudly and the narcotic scent of Smoke. Both were quenched by the closing doors. I ventured to peep out again. All was clear before me, but behind me –
‘What do you here?’
My heart fell into my boots, but I forced a sheepish smile to my face as I turned to face the guard who had entered the room behind me. ‘Sir, I’ve lost my way in this great maze of a house,’ I said guilelessly.
‘Have you? That doesn’t explain why you wear a sword within the King’s walls. All know weapons are forbidden save to the King’s own guard. I saw you sneaking about just then. Did you think with the merrymaking going on, you could just slip about and fill your pockets with whatever you found, thief?’
I stood frozen with terror, watching the man approach me. I am sure he believed he had discovered my purpose from the stricken look on my face. Verde would never have smiled so if he thought he advanced on a man he had helped beat to death in a dungeon. His hand rested carelessly on the hilt of his own blade and he grinned confidently. He was a handsome man, very tall and fair as many of the Farrow folk were. The badge he wore was Mountwell of Farrow’s golden oak, with the Farseer buck overleaping it. So Regal had modified his coat of arms as well. I but wished he’d left the buck off it.
A part of me noticed all these things as another part relived the nightmare of being dragged to my feet by my shirt front and stood up, so that this man could strike me and drive me once more to the floor. He was not Bolt, the one who had broken my nose. No, Verde had followed him, beating me insensible a second time, after Bolt had left me too battered to stand on my own. He had towered over me then and I had cowered and flinched away from him, tried vainly to scrabble away from him over the cold stone floor that was already spattered with my blood. I remembered the oaths he had laughingly uttered each time he had had to haul me to my feet so he could hit me again. ‘By Eda’s tits,’ I muttered to myself, and with the words, fear died in me.
‘Let’s see what you have in that pouch,’ he demanded, and came closer.
I could not show him the poisons in my pouch. No way to explain those away. No amount of smooth lying would let me escape this man. I would have to kill him.
Suddenly it was all so simple.
We were much too close to the gathering hall. I wished no sound to alarm or alert anyone. So I retreated from him, a slow step at a time, backing in a wide circle that took me into the chamber I had just left. The portraits looked down at us as I backed hesitantly away from the tall guardsman.
‘Stand still!’ he ordered, but I shook my head wildly in what I hoped was a convincing display of terror. ‘I said, stand still, you scrawny little thief!’ I glanced quickly over my shoulder, then back at him, desperate, as if I were trying to find the courage to turn and run from him. The third time I did so, he leaped for me.
I’d been hoping for that.
I sidestepped him and then drove my elbow savagely into the small of his back, adding just enough momentum to his charge that he went to his knees. I heard them smack bonily against the stone floor. He gave a wordless roar of both anger and pain. I could see how suddenly furious it made him for the scrawny thief to dare strike him. I silenced him sharply when I kicked him under the chin, clacking his mouth shut. I was grateful that I’d switched back to my boots. Before he could make another sound I had my knife out and across his throat. He gurgled his amazement and lifted both hands in
a vain attempt to contain that warm gushing of blood. I stood over him, looking down into his eyes. ‘FitzChivalry,’ I told him quietly. ‘FitzChivalry.’ His eyes widened in sudden understanding and terror, then lost all expression as life left him. Abruptly he was stillness and nothingness, as devoid of life as a stone. To my Wit sense, he had disappeared.
So quickly it was done. Vengeance. I stood looking down at him, waiting to feel triumph or relief, or satisfaction. Instead I felt nothing, felt as lost to all life as he was. He was not even meat I could eat. I wondered belatedly if there was somewhere a woman who had loved this handsome man, blonde children who depended on his wages for food. It is not good for an assassin to have such thoughts; they had never plagued me when I had carried out the King’s Justice for King Shrewd. I shook them from my head.