Assassin's Quest (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  ‘Tassin,’ I greeted her quietly, and then turned to look back at my sheep. After a mo­ment, she came down the slope to stand a few steps away from me. I turned slightly and looked up at her without speak­ing. She pushed her hood back from her face and con­fron­ted me, chal­lenge in her eyes and stance.

  ‘You’re him, aren’t you?’ she de­man­ded breath­lessly. There was a very slight edge of fear in her voice.

  It was not what I’d ex­pec­ted her to say. I didn’t have to pre­tend sur­prise. ‘I’m him? I’m Tom the shep­herd if that’s the him you mean.’

  ‘No, you’re him, that Wit Bas­tard the King’s Guard is seek­ing. Drew the team­ster told me what they were say­ing in town, after Starling told that tale last night.’

  ‘Drew told you I was a Wit Bas­tard?’ I spoke care­fully, as if baffled by her tum­bling words. A ter­rible cold fear was welling up in­side me.

  ‘No.’ A trace of an­ger mixed with her fear. ‘Drew told me what the King’s Guard said of him. A broken nose and a scar on the cheek and a white streak in his hair. And I saw your hair that night. You’ve a white streak in it.’

  ‘Any man who’s been hit on the head can have a white streak in his hair. It’s an old scar.’ I tilted my head and looked at her crit­ic­ally. ‘I’d say your face is heal­ing well.’

  ‘You’re him, aren’t you?’ She soun­ded even an­grier that I’d tried to change the sub­ject.

  ‘Of course not. Look. He’s got a sword-slash on his arm, hasn’t he? Look at this.’ I bared my right arm for her in­spec­tion. The knife-slash I’d given my­self was down the back of my left fore­arm. I was gambling that she’d know a slash taken de­fend­ing my­self should have been on my sword-arm.

  She scarcely glanced at my arm. ‘Do you have any coin?’ she asked me sud­denly.

  ‘If I’d had any coin, why would I have stayed in camp when the oth­ers went to town? Be­sides. Why would you care?’

  ‘I wouldn’t. But you would. You could use it to buy my si­lence. Oth­er­wise, I might go to Madge with what I sus­pect. Or the team­sters.’ She lif­ted her chin de­fi­antly at me.

  ‘Then they could look at my arm, as eas­ily as you’ve done,’ I said wear­ily. I turned away from her to look back over my sheep. ‘You’re be­ing a silly little girl, Tassin, let­ting Starling’s ghost tales get you all stirred up. Go back to bed.’ I tried to sound dis­gus­ted with her.

  ‘You’ve a scratch on your other arm. I saw it. Some might take it for a sword-slash.’

  ‘Prob­ably the same ones that would take you for in­tel­li­gent,’ I said de­ris­ively.

  ‘Don’t make mock of me,’ she warned me in a voice gone flat with ugli­ness. ‘I won’t be made fun of.’

  ‘Then don’t say stu­pid things. What’s the mat­ter with you, any­way? Is this some sort of re­venge? Are you angry be­cause I wouldn’t bed you? I told you, it’s noth­ing to do with you. You’re pretty to look at, and I don’t doubt there’d be pleas­ure in touch­ing you. But not for me.’

  She spat sud­denly on the ground be­side me. ‘As if I’d have let you. I was amus­ing my­self, shep­herd. No more than that.’ She made a small sound in her throat. ‘Men. How can you look at your­self and think any­one would want you for your own sake? You stink of sheep, you’re skinny and your face looks like you’ve lost every fight you’ve ever been in.’ She turned on her heel, then seemed to ab­ruptly re­mem­ber why she’d come. ‘I won’t tell any of them. Yet. But when we get to Blue Lake, your mas­ter must pay you some­thing. See you bring it to me, or I’ll have the whole town seek­ing you out.’

  I sighed. ‘Whatever amuses you, I’m sure you’ll do. Cre­ate all the fuss you wish. When it comes to naught and folk laugh about it, it will prob­ably give Dell one more reason to beat you.’

  She turned away from me and went stalk­ing off down the hill­side. She lost her foot­ing in the moon­light’s un­cer­tainty and nearly took a tumble. But she re­covered her­self and then glared back at me, as if dar­ing me to laugh. I had no such in­clin­a­tion. Des­pite my de­fi­ance of her, my stom­ach was clenched up un­der my throat. A hun­dred gold coins. Spread a ru­mour of it, and that much money was enough to start a riot. After I was dead, they’d prob­ably de­cide they had the wrong man.

  I wondered how well I’d do at cross­ing the rest of the Far­row plains alone. I could leave right after Creece re­lieved me on watch. I’d go to the wagon and get my things quietly and sneak away into the night. How much farther could it be to Blue Lake any­way? I was pon­der­ing that as I watched yet an­other fig­ure slip away from the camp­site and come up the slope to­ward me.

  Starling came quietly, but not stealth­ily. She lif­ted a hand to me in greet­ing be­fore she sat down com­pan­ion­ably at my side. ‘I hope you didn’t give her any money,’ she greeted me af­fably.

  ‘Umph,’ I said, let­ting her take it how­ever she wished.

  ‘Be­cause you’re at least the third man who’s sup­posedly got her preg­nant on this trip. Your mas­ter had the hon­our of be­ing the first ac­cused. Madge’s son was the second. At least I think he was. I don’t know how many fath­ers she’s se­lec­ted for this pos­sible child.’

  ‘I haven’t been with her, so she could scarcely ac­cuse me of that,’ I said de­fens­ively.

  ‘Oh? Then you’re prob­ably the only man in the cara­van who hasn’t.’

  That jol­ted me a bit. Then I thought about it and wondered if I would ever reach a place in which I ceased find­ing out how stu­pid I could be. ‘So you think she’s with child and is look­ing for a man to buy her out of her ap­pren­tice­ship?’

  Starling snorted. ‘I doubt she’s with child at all. She wasn’t ask­ing to be mar­ried, only for coin to buy herbs to shake the child loose. I think Madge’s boy might have ac­tu­ally given her some. No. I don’t think she wants a hus­band, just some money. So she looks for ways that al­low her a bit of a tumble, and a man who might pay her for it af­ter­wards.’ She shif­ted, tossed aside an of­fend­ing stone. ‘So. If you haven’t got her preg­nant, what have you done to her?’

  ‘I told you. Noth­ing.’

  ‘Ah. That ex­plains why she speaks so ill of you then. But only in the last day or so, so I sup­posed you “nothinged” her the night the rest of us went to town.’

  ‘Starling,’ I began warn­ingly, and she raised a pla­cat­ing hand.

  ‘I shan’t say a word about whatever you didn’t do to her. Not an­other word. That’s not what I came up here to speak to you about any­way.’

  She paused, and when I re­fused to ask the ques­tion, she did. ‘What do you plan to do after we get to Blue Lake?’

  I glanced at her. ‘Col­lect my pay. Have a beer and a de­cent meal, a hot bath and a clean bed for one night at least. Why? What do you plan?’

  ‘I thought I might go on to the Moun­tains.’ She gave me a side­ways glance.

  ‘To seek your song­worthy event there?’ I tried to keep my ques­tion cas­ual.

  ‘Songs are more likely to be found cling­ing to a man than bound to a place,’ she sug­ges­ted. ‘I thought you might be go­ing to the Moun­tains as well. We could travel to­gether.’

  ‘You’ve still that idi­otic no­tion that I’m the Bas­tard,’ I ac­cused her flatly.

  She grinned. ‘The Bas­tard. The Wit­ted one. Yes.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ I said flatly. ‘And even if you were right, why fol­low him to the Moun­tains? I’d take the chance for a big­ger profit, and sell him to the King’s Guard. With a hun­dred gold pieces, who’d need to make songs?’

  Starling made a small sound of dis­gust. ‘You’ve more ex­per­i­ence of the King’s Guard than I have, I’m sure. But even I’ve enough to know that a min­strel who tried to claim that re­ward would prob­ably be found float­ing in the river a few days later. While some guards­men be­came sud­denly very wealthy. No. I’ve told you. I’m not after gold
, Bas­tard. I’m after a song.’

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ I warned her sharply. She shrugged and turned away. After a mo­ment she twitched as if I’d poked her and then turned back to me with a grin widen­ing across her face.

  ‘Ah. I be­lieve I’ve worked it out. That’s how Tassin was squeez­ing you, isn’t it? Ask­ing for money to still her tongue.’

  I made no reply.

  ‘You’re smart to re­fuse her. Give her any and she’ll think she’s right. If she truly be­lieved you were the Bas­tard, she’d be hold­ing her secret to sell to the King’s Guard. Be­cause she’s had no ex­per­i­ence of them, and would be­lieve she might ac­tu­ally get to keep the gold.’ Starling stood, stretch­ing leis­urely. ‘Well. I’m back to bed while I may. But keep my of­fer in mind. I doubt you’ll find a bet­ter one.’ She swirled her cloak about her­self the­at­ric­ally, then bowed to me as if I were the King. I watched her stroll away from me down the hill, sure-footed as a goat even in the moon­light. She re­minded me briefly of Molly.

  I con­sidered slip­ping away from the camp and go­ing on to Blue Lake on my own. I de­cided that if I did, Tassin and Starling would only be­come cer­tain that they had guessed cor­rectly. Starling might try to fol­low and find me. Tassin would try to find a way to col­lect the re­ward. I wanted neither of those things. Bet­ter to stick it out and plod along as Tom the shep­herd.

  I lif­ted my eyes to the night sky. Clear and cold it arched above me. The dead of the night had a nasty chill to it of late. By the time I got to the Moun­tains, winter would be more than just a threat. If only I hadn’t wasted those early months of sum­mer be­ing a wolf, I’d be in the Moun­tains by now. But that was an­other use­less thought. The stars were close and bright to­night. It made the world seem a smal­ler place to have the sky so close. I felt sud­denly that if I just opened up and reached for Ver­ity, I would find him there, right at my fin­ger­tips. Loneli­ness swelled so sud­denly in­side me that I felt it would tear its way out of me. Molly and Burrich were no farther away than the clos­ing of my eyes. I could go to them, could trade the hun­ger of not know­ing for the pain of be­ing un­able to touch. The Skill walls, clutched so closely every wak­ing mo­ment since I had left Trade­ford, now felt suf­foc­at­ing rather than shield­ing. I bowed my head to my drawn-up knees and hugged my­self against the chill empti­ness of the night.

  After a time, the hun­ger passed. I lif­ted my head and looked out over the peace­ful sheep, the cart and wag­ons, the mo­tion­less camp. A glance at the moon told me my watch was well over. Creece was never good about rous­ing him­self to take his turn. So I stood and stretched and went down the hill to poke him from his warm blankets.

  The next two days passed un­event­fully, save that the weather grew colder and win­dier. On the even­ing of the third, just as we had settled for the night and I had taken up my first watch of the even­ing, I saw a dust cloud on the ho­ri­zon. I thought little of it at first. We were on one of the more trav­elled cara­van routes, and had stopped at a wa­ter­ing place. A wagon full of a tinker fam­ily had already been there. I as­sumed that who­ever was rais­ing the dust would also be seek­ing a wa­ter-place to rest for the night. So I sat and watched the dust get closer as the even­ing darkened. Slowly the dust re­solved into fig­ures on horse­back, rid­ing in an or­derly form­a­tion. The closer they came, the more cer­tain I be­came. King’s Guards. The light was too weak for me to see the gold and brown of Regal’s col­ours, but I knew.

  It was all I could do to keep my­self from leap­ing up and flee­ing. Cold lo­gic told me that if they were seek­ing me spe­cific­ally, it would only take them a few minutes to ride me down. This vast plain offered me no near hid­ing places. And if they were not seek­ing me, to flee would only at­tract their at­ten­tion, and make both Tassin and Starling cer­tain in their sus­pi­cions. So I grit­ted my teeth and re­mained where I was, sit­ting with my stick across my knees watch­ing the sheep. The riders by­passed me and the sheep and went dir­ec­tly to the wa­ter. I coun­ted as they went past. Six of them. I re­cog­nized one of the horses, a buck­skin colt Burrich had said would be a good courser someday. See­ing him re­minded me too vividly of how Regal had plundered Buck­keep of every valu­able thing be­fore he left it to fend for it­self. A tiny spark of an­ger ig­nited in me, one that some­how made it easier to sit and bide my time.

  After a while, I de­cided that they were just on their way as we were, and had stopped only to wa­ter and rest for the night. Then Creece came lum­ber­ing out to find me. ‘You’re wanted in the camp,’ he told me with ill-con­ceived ir­rit­ab­il­ity. Creece al­ways liked to sleep as soon as he’d eaten. I asked him what had changed our sched­ule as he settled down in my place.

  ‘King’s Guards,’ he huffed an­grily. ‘Push­ing every­body about, de­mand­ing to see every mem­ber of our cara­van. They searched all the wag­ons, too.’

  ‘What are they look­ing for?’ I asked idly.

  ‘Damned if I know. Didn’t care to get a fist in the face for ask­ing, either. But you suit your­self about find­ing out.’

  I took my staff with me as I walked back into the camp. My short sword still hung at my side. I thought of con­ceal­ing it, then de­cided against it. Any­one might carry a sword, and if I needed to draw it, I didn’t want to be wrest­ling with my trousers.

  The camp was like a stirred hor­nets’ nest. Madge and her folk looked both ap­pre­hens­ive and angry. The guards­men were cur­rently har­ass­ing the tinker. One guards­wo­man kicked over a stack of tin pots with a fine clat­ter and then shouted some­thing about search­ing any­thing she pleased, any way she pleased. The tinker stood by his wagon, his arms crossed on his chest. He looked as if he’d already been knocked down once. Two guards­men had his wife and young­sters backed up against the tail of the wagon. The wife had a trickle of blood com­ing from her nose. She still looked ready to fight. I drif­ted into camp as si­lent as smoke and took a place be­side Da­mon as if I’d al­ways been there. Neither of us spoke.

  The leader of the guards turned away from his con­front­a­tion with the tinker, and a shiver went up my back. I knew him. It was Bolt, fa­voured by Regal for his skill with his fists. I’d last seen him in the dun­geon. He was the one who had broken my nose. I felt the beat­ing of my heart pick up speed and heard my pulse in my ears. Dark­ness threatened the edges of my vis­ion. I fought to breathe quietly. He paced to the centre of the camp and cast a dis­dain­ful eye over us. ‘This is every­one?’ he de­man­ded more than quer­ied.

  We all bobbed nods. He cast his gaze over us and I looked down to avoid it. I forced my hands to be still, to stay away from both knife and sword. I tried not to let my ten­sion show in my stance.

  ‘As sorry a lot of vag­a­bonds as I’ve ever seen.’ His tone dis­missed our im­port­ance. ‘Cara­van mas­ter! We’ve been rid­ing all day. Have your boy see to our horses. We’ll want food pre­pared, and more fuel gathered for the fire. And warm us some wa­ter for wash­ing.’ He ran his glance over us again. ‘I want no trouble. The men we were look­ing for aren’t here, and that’s all we re­quired to know. Just do as we ask, and there won’t be any prob­lems. You can go about your nor­mal busi­ness.’

  There were a few mut­ters of agree­ment, but mostly si­lence greeted this. He snorted his dis­dain for us, then turned to his riders and spoke quietly to them. Whatever or­ders he was giv­ing did not seem to sit well with them, but the two that had cornered the tinker-wo­man came to heel at his words. They took over the fire Madge had built earlier, for­cing the folk of our cara­van to move off from it. Madge spoke quietly to her help, send­ing two off to care for the guards’ horses, and an­other to fetch wa­ter and set it to warm. She her­self strode heav­ily past our cart to­ward her own wagon and the food stores.

  An un­easy semb­lance of or­der re­turned to the camp. Starling kindled a second, smal­ler fire. The pup­pet­eer’s tro
upe, the min­strel and the team­sters re­settled next to it. The horse owner and her hus­band went quietly off to bed. ‘Well, seems to have settled down,’ Da­mon ob­served to me, but I no­ticed that he still twis­ted his hands nervously. ‘I’m off to bed. You and Creece settle out the watches between you.’

  I star­ted to go back to my sheep. Then I paused and looked back around the camp. The guards were sil­hou­ettes around the fire now, loun­ging and talk­ing, while a single one of them stood slightly back of the group keep­ing a gen­eral watch. He was look­ing to­ward the other fire. I fol­lowed his gaze. I could not de­cide if Tassin was look­ing back at him, or simply star­ing off at the other guards about their fire. Either way, I sus­pec­ted I knew what was on her mind.

  I turned aside and went to the back of Madge’s wagon. She was scoop­ing out beans and peas from sacks and meas­ur­ing them into a soup kettle. I touched her lightly on the arm, and she jumped.

  ‘Beg par­don. Could you use some help with that?’

  She raised an eye­brow at me. ‘Why would I?’

  I glanced down at my feet and chose my lie care­fully. ‘I didn’t care for how they looked at the tinker-wo­man, ma’am.’

  ‘I know how to handle my­self among rough men, shep­herd. I couldn’t be a cara­van mas­ter if I didn’t.’ She meas­ured salt into the kettle, then a hand­ful of sea­son­ings.

  I nod­ded my head and said noth­ing. It was too ob­vi­ously true for me to protest. But I did not leave, either, and after a few mo­ments, she handed me a bucket and told me to fetch her some clean wa­ter. I obeyed her will­ingly, and when I brought it back, I stood hold­ing it un­til she took it from me. I watched her fill the soup kettle and stood at her el­bow un­til she told me with some as­per­ity to get out from un­der her feet. I apo­lo­gized and backed away, up­set­ting her wa­ter bucket as I did so. So I took it and fetched her more fresh wa­ter in it.