Assassin's Quest (UK)

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Assassin's Quest (UK) Page 66

by Robin Hobb


  I was still won­der­ing at the mar­vel­lous sim­pli­city of Nighteyes’ solu­tion when Kettle awoke. With a grin she asked me if I had solved it yet. In an­swer, I took a black stone from the pouch and made the moves the wolf had sug­ges­ted. Kettle’s face went slack with as­ton­ish­ment. Then she looked up at me in awe. ‘No one has ever figured it out that rap­idly,’ she told me.

  ‘I had help,’ I ad­mit­ted sheep­ishly. ‘It’s the wolf’s game, not mine.’

  Kettle’s eyes grew round. ‘You are jest­ing with an old wo­man,’ she re­buked me care­fully.

  ‘No. I am not,’ I told her, as I seemed to have hurt her feel­ings. ‘I thought about it for most of the night. I be­lieve I even dreamed about game strategies. But when I woke, it was Nighteyes who had the solu­tion.’

  She was si­lent for a time. ‘I had thought that Nighteyes was … a clever pet. One who could hear your com­mands even if you did not speak them aloud. But now you say he can com­pre­hend a game. Will you tell me he un­der­stands the words I speak?’

  Across the tent, Starling was propped up on one el­bow, listen­ing to the con­ver­sa­tion. I tried to think of a way to dis­semble, then re­jec­ted it fiercely. I squared my shoulders as if I were re­port­ing to Ver­ity him­self and spoke clearly. ‘We are Wit-bound. What I hear and un­der­stand, he com­pre­hends as I do. What in­terests him, he learns. I do not say he could read a scroll, or re­mem­ber a song. But if a thing in­trigues him, he thinks on it, in his own way. As a wolf, usu­ally, but some­times al­most as any­one might …’ I struggled to try and put in words some­thing I my­self did not un­der­stand per­fectly. ‘He saw the game as a pack of wolves driv­ing game. Not as black and red and white mark­ers. And he saw where he would go, were he hunt­ing with that pack, to make their kill more likely. I sup­pose that some­times I see things as he sees them … as a wolf. It is not wrong, I be­lieve. Only a dif­fer­ent way of per­ceiv­ing the world.’

  There was still a trace of su­per­sti­tious fear in Kettle’s eyes as she glanced from me to the sleep­ing wolf. Nighteyes chose that mo­ment to let his tail rise and fall in a sleepy wag to in­dic­ate he was fully cog­niz­ant that we spoke of him. Kettle gave a shiver. ‘What you do with him … is it like Skilling from hu­man to hu­man, only to a wolf?’

  I star­ted to shake my head, but then had to shrug. ‘The Wit be­gins more as a shar­ing of feel­ings. Es­pe­cially when I was a child. Fol­low­ing smells, chas­ing a chicken be­cause it would run, en­joy­ing food to­gether. But when you have been to­gether as long as Nighteyes and I have, it starts to be some­thing else. It goes bey­ond feel­ings, and it’s never really words. I am more aware of the an­imal that my mind lives in­side. He is more aware of …’

  Think­ing. Of what comes be­fore and after choos­ing to do an ac­tion. One be­comes aware that one is al­ways mak­ing choices, and con­siders what the best ones are.

  Ex­actly. I re­peated his words aloud for Kettle. By now Nighteyes was sit­ting up. He made an elab­or­ate show of stretch­ing and then sat look­ing at her, his head cocked to one side.

  ‘I see,’ she said faintly. ‘I see.’ Then she got up and left the tent.

  Starling sat up and stretched. ‘It gives one an en­tirely dif­fer­ent out­look on scratch­ing his ears,’ she ob­served. The Fool answered her with a snort of laughter, sat up in his bed­ding, and im­me­di­ately reached to scratch Nighteyes be­hind the ears. The wolf fell over on him in ap­pre­ci­ation. I growled at both of them and went back to mak­ing tea.

  We were not as swift to be packed and on our way. A thick layer of damp snow over­lay everything, mak­ing break­ing camp that much more dif­fi­cult. We cut up what was left of the boar and took it with us. The jep­pas were roun­ded up; des­pite the storm, they had not wandered far. The secret seemed to be in the bag of sweetened grain that Kettricken kept to lure the leader. When we were loaded and fi­nally ready to leave, Kettle an­nounced that I must not be al­lowed to walk on the road, and that someone must al­ways be with me. I bristled a bit at that, but they ig­nored me. The Fool vo­lun­teered quickly to be my first part­ner. Starling gave him an odd smile and a shake of her head over that. I ac­cep­ted their ri­dicule by sulk­ing man­fully. They ig­nored that, too.

  In a short time the wo­men and the jep­pas were mov­ing eas­ily up the road, while the Fool and I scrabbled along­side on the berm that marked the edge of it. Kettle turned to shake her walk­ing stick. ‘Get him fur­ther away than that!’ she scol­ded the Fool. ‘Get to where you can just see us to fol­low us. Go on, now. Go on.’

  So we obed­i­ently edged back into the woods. As soon as we were out of sight of the oth­ers, the Fool turned to me and ex­citedly de­man­ded, ‘Who is Kettle?’

  ‘You know as much as I do,’ I poin­ted out shortly. And ad­ded a ques­tion of my own, ‘What is between you and Starling now?’

  He lif­ted his eye­brows at me and winked slyly.

  ‘I doubt that very much,’ I re­tor­ted.

  ‘Ah, not all are as im­mune to my wiles as you are, Fitz. What can I tell you? She pines for me, she yearns for me in the depths of her soul, but knows not how to ex­press it, poor thing.’

  I gave it up as a bad ques­tion. ‘What do you mean by ask­ing me, “Who is Kettle?”’

  He gave me a pity­ing glance. ‘It is not so com­plex a ques­tion, princeling. Who is this wo­man who knows so much of what troubles you, who sud­denly fishes out of a pocket a game I have only seen men­tioned once in a very old scroll, who sings for us “Six Wise Men Went to Jhaampe-Town” with two ad­di­tional verses I’ve never heard any­where. Who, oh light of my life, is Kettle, and why does so an­cient a wo­man choose to spend her last days hik­ing up a moun­tain with us?’

  ‘You’re in fine spir­its this morn­ing,’ I ob­served sourly.

  ‘Aren’t I?’ he agreed. ‘And you are al­most as ad­ept at avoid­ing my ques­tion. Surely, you must have some mus­ings on this mys­tery to share with a poor Fool?’

  ‘She doesn’t give me enough in­form­a­tion about her­self to base any won­der­ing on,’ I re­turned.

  ‘So. What can we sur­mise about one who guards her tongue as closely as all that? About someone who seems to know some­thing of the Skill as well? And the an­cient games of Buck, and old po­etry? How old do you sup­pose she is?’

  I shrugged. ‘She didn’t like my song about Cross­fire’s co­terie,’ I offered sud­denly.

  ‘Ah, but that could eas­ily have been just your singing. Let’s not grasp at straws, here.’

  In spite of my­self, I smiled. ‘It has been so long since your tongue has had an edge to it, it’s al­most a re­lief to hear you mock me.’

  ‘Had I known you missed it, I would have been rude to you much sooner.’ He grinned. Then he grew more ser­i­ous. ‘FitzChiv­alry, mys­tery hov­ers about that wo­man like flies on … spilt beer. She ab­so­lutely reeks of omens and portents and proph­ecies com­ing into fo­cus. I think it is time one of us asked her a few dir­ect ques­tions.’ He smiled at me. ‘Your best chance will be when she is shep­herd­ing you along this af­ter­noon. Be subtle, of course. Ask her who was king when she was a girl. And why she was ex­iled.’

  ‘Ex­iled?’ I laughed aloud. ‘There’s a leap of the ima­gin­a­tion.’

  ‘Do you think so? I don’t. Ask her. And be sure to tell me whatever she doesn’t say.’

  ‘And in re­turn for all this, you will tell me what is truly go­ing on between you and Starling?’

  He gave me a side­ways glance. ‘Are you sure you want to know? The last time we made such a trade, when I gave you the secret you’d bar­gained for, you found you did not want it.’

  ‘Is this such a secret?’

  He arched one eye­brow at me. ‘You know, I am hardly cer­tain of the an­swer to that my­self. Some­times you sur­prise me, Fitz. More of­ten, you don’t, of course. Most of­ten I sur­p
rise my­self. Such as when I vo­lun­teer to slog through loose snow and dodge trees with some bas­tard when I could be parad­ing up a per­fectly straight av­enue with a string of charm­ing jep­pas.’

  I got as little in­form­a­tion from him the rest of the morn­ing. When af­ter­noon came, it was not Kettle, but Starling who was my walk­ing com­pan­ion. I ex­pec­ted that to be un­com­fort­able. I still had not for­got­ten that she had bar­gained her know­ledge of my child in or­der to be part of this ex­ped­i­tion. But some­how in the days since we had be­gun our jour­ney, my an­ger had be­come a weary war­i­ness to­ward her. I knew now there was no bit of in­form­a­tion she would scruple to use against me, and so I guarded my tongue, resolv­ing to say noth­ing at all of Molly or my daugh­ter. Not that it would do much good now.

  But to my sur­prise, Starling was af­fable and chatty. She plied me with ques­tions, not about Molly, but about the Fool, to the point at which I began to won­der if she had con­ceived a sud­den af­fec­tion for him. There had been a few times at court when wo­men had taken an in­terest in him and pur­sued him. To those who were at­trac­ted by the nov­elty of his ap­pear­ance, he had been mer­ci­lessly cruel in ex­pos­ing the shal­low­ness of their in­terest. There had been one gardener maid who was im­pressed with his wit so much that she was tongue-tied in his pres­ence. I heard kit­chen gos­sip that she left bou­quets of flowers for him at the base of his tower stairs, and some sur­mised that she had oc­ca­sion­ally been in­vited to as­cend those steps. She had had to leave Buck­keep Castle to care for her eld­erly mother in a dis­tant town, and that had been where it ended, as far as I knew.

  Yet as slight as this know­ledge of the Fool was, I kept it from Starling, turn­ing aside her ques­tions with banal­it­ies that the two of us were child­hood friends whose du­ties had left us very little time for so­cial­iz­ing. This was ac­tu­ally very close to the truth, but I could see it both frus­trated and amused her. Her other ques­tions were as odd. She asked if I had ever wondered what his true name was. I told her that not be­ing able to re­call the name my own mother had given me had left me chary of ask­ing oth­ers such ques­tions. That quieted her for a time, but then she de­man­ded to know how he had dressed as a child. My de­scrip­tions of his sea­sonal mot­leys did not suit her, but I truth­fully told her that un­til Jhaampe I had never seen him dressed in other than his jester’s clothes. By af­ter­noon’s end, her ques­tions and my an­swers had more of spar­ring in them than con­ver­sa­tion. I was glad to join the oth­ers in a camp, pitched at quite a dis­tance from the Skill road.

  Even so, Kettle kept me busy, let­ting me do her chores as well as my own for the sake of oc­cupy­ing my mind. The Fool con­cocted a re­spect­able stew from our sup­plies and the pork. The wolf con­ten­ted him­self with an­other leg off the an­imal. When the meal things were fi­nally cleared away, Kettle im­me­di­ately set out the game cloth and pouch of stones. ‘Now we shall see what you have learned,’ she prom­ised me.

  But half a dozen games later, she squin­ted up at me with a frown. ‘You were not ly­ing!’ she ac­cused me.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About the wolf de­vis­ing the solu­tion. Had you mastered that strategy your­self, you would play a dif­fer­ent game now. Be­cause someone gave you the an­swer rather than your dis­cov­er­ing it your­self, you don’t fully un­der­stand it.’

  At the mo­ment the wolf rose and stretched. I weary of stones and cloth, he in­formed me. My hunt­ing is more fun, and of­fers real meat at the end of it.

  So you are hungry?

  No. Bored. He nosed the flap of the tent open and slipped out into the night.

  Kettle watched him go with pursed lips. ‘I was about to ask if you could not team to­gether to play this game. It would in­terest me to see how you played.’

  ‘I think he sus­pec­ted that,’ I muttered, a bit dis­gruntled that he had not in­vited me to join him.

  Five games later, I grasped the bril­li­ant sim­pli­city of Nighteyes’ noose tac­tic. It had lain be­fore me all that time, but sud­denly it was as if I saw the stones in mo­tion rather than rest­ing on the ver­tices of the cloth’s pat­tern. In my next move, I em­ployed it to win eas­ily. I won the next three games hand­ily, for I saw how it could be em­ployed in a re­verse situ­ation as well.

  At the third win, Kettle cleared the cloth of stones. Around us the oth­ers had already sunk into sleep. Kettle ad­ded a hand­ful of twigs to the bra­zier to give us one last burst of light. Rap­idly her knot­ted old fin­gers set out the stones on the cloth. ‘Again, this is your game, and it is your move,’ she in­formed me. ‘But this time, you have only a white stone to place. A little weak white stone, but it can win for you. Think well on this one. And no cheat­ing. Leave the wolf out of it.’

  I stared at the situ­ation to fix the game in my mind and then lay down to sleep. The game she had set out for me looked hope­less. I did not see how it could be won with a black stone, let alone a white one. I do not know if it were the stone game or our dis­tance from the road, but I sank quickly into a sleep that was dream­less un­til near dawn. Then I joined the wolf in his wild run­ning. Nighteyes had left the road far be­hind him and was joy­ously ex­plor­ing the sur­round­ing hill­sides. We came on two snow cats feed­ing off a kill, and for a time he taunted them, circ­ling just out of reach to make them hiss and spit at us. Neither would be lured from the meat and after a time we gave off the game to head back for the yurt. As we ap­proached the tent, we circled stealth­ily about the jep­pas, scar­ing them into a de­fens­ive bunch and then nudging them along to mill about just out­side the tent. When the wolf crept back into the tent, I was still with him as he poked the Fool rudely with an icy nose.

  It is good to see you have not lost all spirit and fun, he told me as I un­locked my mind from his and roused up in my own body.

  Very good, I agreed with him. And rose to face the day.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Sign­posts

  One thing I have learned well in my travels. The riches of one re­gion are taken for gran­ted in an­other. Fish we would not feed to a cat in Buck­keep is prized as a del­ic­acy in the in­land cit­ies. In some places wa­ter is wealth, in oth­ers the con­stant flood­ing of the river is both an an­noy­ance and a peril. Fine leather, grace­ful pot­tery, glass as trans­par­ent as air, exotic flowers … all of these I have seen in such plen­ti­ful sup­ply that the folk who pos­sess them no longer see them as wealth.

  So per­haps, in suf­fi­cient quant­ity, ma­gic be­comes or­din­ary. In­stead of a thing of won­der and awe, it be­comes the stuff of road­beds and sign­posts, used with a prof­lig­acy that astounds those who have it not.

  That day I trav­elled, as be­fore, across the face of a wooded hill­side. At first the flank of the hill was broad and gentle. I could walk in sight of the road and only slightly be­low it on the hill­side. The huge ever­greens held most of the bur­den of winter snow above me. The foot­ing was un­even and there were oc­ca­sional patches of deep snow but walk­ing was not too dif­fi­cult. By the end of that day, how­ever, the trees were be­gin­ning to dwindle in size and the slope of the hill was markedly steeper. The road hugged the hill­side, and I walked be­low it. When it came time to camp that night, my com­pan­ions and I were hard pressed to find a level place to pitch the tent. We scrabbled quite a way down the hill be­fore we found a place where it lev­elled. When we did have the yurt up, Kettricken stood look­ing back up at the road and frown­ing to her­self. She took out her map and was con­sult­ing it by the wan­ing day­light when I asked her what the mat­ter was.

  She tapped the map with a mittened fin­ger and then ges­tured to the slope above us. ‘By to­mor­row, if the road keeps climb­ing and the slopes get steeper, you won’t be able to keep pace with us. We’ll be leav­ing the trees be­hind us by even­ing to­mor­row. The coun­try is go­ing to be bare, steep and ro
cky. We should take fire­wood with us now, as much as the jep­pas can eas­ily carry.’ She frowned. ‘We may have to slow our pace to al­low you to match us.’

  ‘I’ll keep up,’ I prom­ised her.

  Her blue eyes met mine. ‘By the day after to­mor­row, you may have to join us on the road.’ She looked at me stead­ily.

  ‘If I do, then I’ll have to cope with it.’ I shrugged and tried to smile des­pite my un­eas­i­ness. ‘What else can I do?’

  ‘What else can any of us do?’ she muttered to her­self in reply.

  That night when I had fin­ished clean­ing the cook­ing pots, Kettle once again set out her cloth and stones. I looked at the spread of pieces and shook my head. ‘I haven’t worked it out,’ I told her.

  ‘Well, that is a re­lief,’ she told me. ‘If you, or even if you and your wolf had, I would have been too as­ton­ished for words. It’s a dif­fi­cult prob­lem. But we shall play a few games to­night, and if you keep your eyes open and your wits sharp, you may see the solu­tion to your prob­lem.’

  But I did not, and lay down to sleep with game­cloth and pieces scattered in my brain.

  The next day’s walk went as Kettricken had fore­told. By noon I was scrab­bling through brushy places and over tumbles of bared rock with Starling at my heels. Des­pite the breath­less ef­fort the ter­rain de­man­ded, she was full of ques­tions, and all about the Fool. What did I know of his par­ent­age? Who had made his cloth­ing for him? Had he ever been ser­i­ously ill? It had be­come routine for me to an­swer her by giv­ing her little or no in­form­a­tion. I had ex­pec­ted her to weary of this game, but she was as ten­a­cious as a bull-dog. Fi­nally, I roun­ded on her in ex­as­per­a­tion and de­man­ded to know ex­actly what it was about him that fas­cin­ated her so.

 

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