by Robin Hobb
‘I think I could do that myself,’ I said quietly.
‘No, Fitz. He knows your face. He may know from Thick that you are mine. Better you stay well away from him.’ He lifted his napkin to wipe his mouth. At a warning look from the Fool, he just patted his lips instead. He rose to leave, and then suddenly turned back to me. ‘The figurine from the Others’ Beach. You said the Prince believes it to be the Narcheska? Do you think such a thing is possible?’
I opened my hands and shrugged, ‘That beach seemed a very odd place to me. When I think back on all that happened there, my memories seem vague and fogged.’
‘That could have been from passing through the Skill-pillars, you said.’
I took a breath. ‘Perhaps. And yet, I think there is more to it. Perhaps the Others or some other being maintain a bewitchment on that place. When I look back, Chade, my decisions make no sense to me. Why didn’t I attempt to follow the path towards the forest? I remember looking at it and thinking that someone must have made it. Yet I had no inclination to even go look at it. No, it was even stronger than that. The woods seemed threatening to me, as no forest has ever seemed unwelcoming before.’ I shook my head. ‘I think that place has its own magic, neither Wit nor Skill. And it is one I would not willingly experience again. The Skill seemed exceptionally enticing there as well. And…’ I let the thought trail away. I was still not ready to speak of whatever-it-was that had plucked both Dutiful and myself from the Skill current and reassembled us. The experience was both too large and too personal.
‘A magic that could present the Prince with a figurine of his bride-to-be, not as she is but as she will be?’
I shrugged. ‘Once Dutiful said it, it did seem right to me. I know I’ve seen the Narcheska wear a blue ornament like the one the figurine has. But I’ve never seen her dressed that way, nor has she breasts yet.’
‘I seem to recall reading that there is some Outislander ceremony in which a girl presents herself thus to demand recognition of her womanhood.’
It sounded barbaric to me. I said so, and then added, ‘There is a resemblance to the Narcheska, but perhaps it is merely the resemblance that all Outislander women have to one another. I don’t think we should give it great consideration right now.’
Chade sighed. ‘There is too much of the Outislanders that we do not know. Well. I must hasten away. I have much to report to the Queen, and a number of questions that I must ask of other folk. Fitz, as soon as you know anything definite from Thick, get back to me. Send me a message from the Fool with the word “lavender” in it.’
My heart jolted in my chest. ‘I thought you said the word to use was “horse”.’ I said.
Chade paused at the door of my room. I knew I had rattled him, yet he tried to cover it. ‘Did I? But that seems too common a word, you know. Lavender suits me better. You’re far less likely to write that to me by accident. Farewell’
And he was gone, shutting my bedroom door behind him. I turned back to see if the Fool was as dismayed as I was by the old man’s lapse, but he was gone. He had ghosted out of the room, taking his paints and powders with him. I sighed to myself and went about the tasks of gathering up the breakfast things. The brief interlude with him in the morning made me more aware than ever of how much I missed him. It cut me deeply that he would be himself to humour Chade, but not me.
If, I reminded myself sourly, the Fool was indeed who he truly was.
EIGHTEEN
Pink Sugar Cake
Have the student lie on his back. He should not be on a comfortable bed nor on a bare surface. Either is a distraction. A blanket folded on the floor suffices. Have the student remove or loosen any clothing that binds. Some students will perform the exercise best if naked and undistracted by clothing touching them. Others will be too distracted by the vulnerability of their nakedness. Let each student decide, what is best for him, without comment.
Emphasize that the only movement of the body should be steady breathing. The eyes should be closed. Then, without moving any part of his body, ask the student to be aware of his body. He may need to be guided in this at first. Tell him to seek awareness of his middle toes without touching or moving them. Then have him think of his knees, but not flexing them. Proceed with the skin of his breast, of his forehead, the backs of his hands and continue as long as is necessary to name the boundaries of his flesh, until the student has been invited to truly consider the physical confines of the body he lives within. Thus prepared, ask him then to find the edges of his thoughts. Do they stop at the flesh of his brow? Can he feel them encased in his skull or trapped in his chest?
All but the dullest students will swiftly realize that the body does not confine thoughts. They extend outside our flesh, even as our vision, hearing, touch, smelling and even taste are senses that link us to the outside world while remaining functions of the physical body. So our thoughts reach out, unbound by distance or even time. Ask the student, ‘Cannot you smell the wine that is opened across the room? Hear the shouts of sailors at work across the water? Then do not refuse to believe you can hear the thoughts of the man in the field that waft toward you.’
— Treeknee’s translation of Preparing the Students
I went first to Verity’s tower to see what luck the Prince had had in filling Thick’s list. I was surprised to find that not only had Dutiful obtained every item, but that he himself was waiting for me.
‘Won’t your friends remark on your absence?’ I asked as I surveyed the trove on the table.
He shook his head. ‘I made excuses. Sometimes my reputation for being slightly odd serves me well. No one questions that I have sudden needs for solitude.’
I nodded to myself as I sorted the items. I folded the red scarf and set it aside. ‘I’ve seen you wearing this. If I remark it, then others will also. If Thick were seen wearing it, people would assume that he had stolen it. Or that he had some special connection to you. Either would be bad for us. The same goes for this knife. I appreciate your willingness to part with it, but such a well-crafted blade would only raise questions for him.’ I set the knife on the folded scarf.
The little pink frosted cake was still slightly warm from the oven. A rich waft of almond rose from it. The peacock feather was long and nodded gracefully when I picked it up. There was an earthenware bowl full of plump raisins. Shelled nutmeats dipped in syrup and set aside to harden glistened among the raisins. ‘This is wonderful. Thank you.’
‘Thank you, Tom Badgerlock.’ Dutiful took a deeper breath and then asked, ‘Do you think Laudwine has come to kill you?’
‘I think that is possible. But Chade seems to think he might be part of a Witted delegation sent to treat with the Queen. So I’ve been ordered to keep my hands off until I’m given further directions.’
‘So you’ll do nothing for now.’
‘Oh, I’ll do a lot of things,’ I muttered. ‘I just won’t go out and immediately kill Laudwine.’
The Prince laughed aloud, and I suddenly realized how carelessly I had spoken before him. I was fortunate that he had assumed that I was joking. I forced a smile to my face. ‘I’ll take these things up to Thick and see what else he has to tell me. And you must remember to go about your day as normally as possible.’
He did not look pleased at that, but he conceded the necessity of it. I departed by way of the mantel door. As I climbed the uneven stairs and negotiated the narrow passages, I tried to think through for myself the significance of Laudwine’s presence in Buckkeep Town. Kettricken had called for the Witted to negotiate with her. As the head of the Piebald faction, it made sense that he would come forward to present their views. But as a man that had all but kidnapped the Prince, hoping to take over his life, I was amazed that he dared to stand before Kettricken. She might not hang him for being Witted, but he certainly deserved to die for how he had plotted against the Farseers. And yet, there was the rub. She could level no charges against him without revealing that her son was Witted. All the events around Dutiful’s di
sappearance had been hushed up or explained away. The nobles of his court believed he had simply gone away from them for a time to meditate. I wondered if Laudwine intended to use all those circumstances as a club against the Farseers. I sighed, and hoped there would be other, more moderate Old Blood folk who would also step forward. Laudwine, I felt, represented the worst and most extreme of our kind. His sort had made us hated and feared. If be stepped forward alone, claiming to represent all the Witted, that reputation would live on.
I pushed such thoughts aside as I reached Chade’s chamber. I entered to find Thick sitting disconsolately on the hearthstones before the dwindling fire. He stared into the flames, his tongue protruding from his mouth. ‘Did you think I’d forgotten?’ I asked him as I came in.
He turned to me and as his eyes lifted and he beheld the items I carried, a terrible wave of gratitude rushed out from him and enveloped me. He stood up, literally trembling with excitement. ‘Let’s put these things on the table,’ I suggested. He seemed struck dumb. He wiggled like an eager puppy as I pushed scrolls and inkpots carefully out of my way and set down the items one by one. ‘Prince Dutiful helped me get these things for you,’ I told him. ‘See, here is the pink sugar cake. It’s still warm from the oven. Here is a bowl of raisins for you, and candied nuts. He thought you might want to try the nuts. And the peacock feather, the feather with the eye in it. All for you.’
He didn’t try to touch any of it. He stood, staring, his hands clasping one another on top of his rounded belly. His mouth worked as he thought through what I had said. ‘Prince Dutiful?’ he said at last.
I pulled out a chair for him. ‘Sit down, Thick. Your prince sends you these things for you to enjoy.’
He sank slowly into the chair. His hands crept onto the table, and finally one finger dared to touch the edge of the feather. ‘My prince. Prince Dutiful.’
‘That’s right,’ I said.
I had expected him immediately to stuff his mouth with cake and raisins. Instead, he sat for a time with his one stubby finger just touching the shaft of the feather. Then he picked up the pink sugar cake and turned it over, looking at it from every angle. He set it carefully back on the table. Then he drew the bowl of raisins toward him. He took one raisin, looked at it, sniffed it, and then put it in his mouth. He chewed it very slowly, and swallowed it before he took another. I could feel the focus he put into this activity. It was as if he Skilled each raisin, comprehending completely what it was before he ate it.
I had plenty of time. Even so, the task of hauling water to the Fool’s chambers and then up into Chade’s room was laborious. Before I was done, the scar on my back ached abominably, and I well understood Thick’s distaste for the task. I poured the last bucket into the copper and set it to heat while I set up the washtub. Thick paid no attention to me. He was still consuming the raisins one at a time. The pink sugar cake sat on the table in front of him, untouched. His concentration was absolute. As I idly watched him eat, I realized that his teeth gave him problems. Chewing seemed difficult: as he ate the nuts, it became even more evident. I left him alone as he worked his slow way through them. When he had finished, I thought he would finally eat the sugar cake. Instead, he set it in front of himself and admired it. After some time had passed and the hot water began to steam, I asked him gently, ‘Aren’t you going to eat your cake, Thick?’
He frowned thoughtfully. ‘Eat it, and it’s gone. Like the raisins.’
I nodded slowly. ‘But you could get another one, perhaps. From the Prince.’
His gaze had reverted to a suspicious glare. ‘From the Prince?’
‘Of course. If you do good things that help your prince, he will probably give you good things in return.’ I let him ponder that for a time, and then asked, ‘Thick, do you have any other clothes?’
‘Other clothes?’
‘Different clothes from what you are wearing. Extra shirt and trousers.’
He shook his head. ‘Just these.’
Even I had never been so poorly provided for. I hoped it wasn’t true. ‘What do you wear when those clothes are being washed?’ I poured hot water into the tub.
‘Washed?’
I gave it up. I really didn’t want to know any more. ‘Thick, I brought you water and heated it for a bath.’ I went to a shelf and took down Chade’s sewing supplies. At least I could stitch up some of the worst rents.
‘A bath? Like, wash in the river?’
‘Sort of. But with hot water. And soap.’
He thought about it for a moment. Then, ‘I don’t do that.’ He went back to his contemplation of the sugar cake.
‘You might like to try it. It feels nice to be clean.’ I splashed my hand invitingly in the tub.
For a time he sat still, staring at me. Then he pushed back his chair and came over to the tub. He looked into the water. I splashed my hand in it again. Slowly he knelt down next to the tub. Holding tightly to the edge of the tub with one hand, he splashed with the other. He gave a grunt of amusement, and then said, ‘It’s warm.’
‘It’s nice to sit in it and be warm all over. And to smell nice afterwards.’
He made a sound, neither agreement nor denial. He thrust his hand deeper into the water. It soaked the ragged cuff of his shirt.
I stood up and walked away, leaving him alone by the water. It took him quite a while to investigate the water completely. When his sleeves were both soaking wet, I suggested that he should take his shirt off. The water had cooled substantially before he decided he would risk taking off his shoes and trousers and getting into the tub. He had no smallclothes. He was very suspicious when I tried to add more hot water, but after thinking it over, he allowed it. He played with the soap and washing cloth. As the warm water reached him, he gradually relaxed. Persuading him not only to wash his face, but also to rub soap in his hair and then rinse it out was not an easy task.
In scraps of conversation, I learned he had not washed at all since Springfest. No one told him to after his mother died. It made me realize how recent his bereavement was. When I asked him how he had come to work in the castle, he could not really tell me. I suspected he had wandered in one day, and with the general influx of people for Springfest and the betrothal ceremony, the folk of the keep had simply assumed he had belonged to someone. I would have to ask Chade how he had come to be his personal servant, I decided.
As Thick experimented with the water and soap, I hastily stitched up what I could of his clothing. Where seams had given out, the work was fairly easy despite the grime crusted onto the fabric. He had simply worn through his clothes at the knees and elbows, and with nothing to use for a patch, I had to leave them as they were.
When his fingers began to wrinkle, I found him a towel and told him to stand before the fire. I tossed his clothes into the silty water and gave them a quick scrubbing. When I wrung them out and hung them on the chair backs, they were not clean, but they were better than they had been.
Persuading him to sit down and let me work the knots out of his hair was just as difficult as coaxing him into the bath had been. He was suspicious of the comb, even when I let him hold the looking glass and watch what I was doing. I had not had such a demanding task since I had first taken Hap in and emphasized that nits and lice were not an ordinary part of one’s hair.
Scrubbed and dried, his hair combed, Thick sat lethargically before the fire wrapped in one of Chade’s quilts. I think the warm bath had worn him out. I turned one of his cracked shoes in my hand. This was something I knew how to do from Burrich’s tutelage. ‘I can make you some new shoes as soon as I go to town and buy some leather,’ I told him. He nodded sleepily, no longer shocked by this largesse, I moved his clothing closer to the hearth to dry. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do about clothes for you right now. My sewing skills are limited to repair rather than construction. But we’ll think of something.’ He nodded again. I thought for a time, then went to Chade’s old wardrobe in the corner of the chamber. A number of his old wool w
orkrobes were still in it. One was scorched, and almost all the others had blotches and stains of various kinds on them. I doubted that he had worn any of them in recent years. Even so, they were cleaner and in better repair than Thick’s rags. I took one out, held it up to gauge the length of it, marked it, and then ruthlessly sheared it off short. ‘This will give you something to wear until we can get more clothes made for you.’ He barely nodded as he stared, half-dozing, into the fire. As he relaxed, the music of his spilling Skill became more expansive. I started to firm my walls against it. Then, instead of that, I opened myself to it.
I settled myself, robe, needle and thread in the other chair. Thick looked almost asleep. I threaded the needle and began a new hem for the robe as I asked him, very quietly, ‘So. They call me a stinking dog, do they?’
‘Erhm.’ The music changed slightly. Sharper notes. The ringing of a smith’s hammer on hot iron. The slamming of a door. Somewhere a goat bleated and another answered it. I let his music into my mind, and let it carry my thoughts with it as I watched my needle dive into and then surface from the fabric of the robe.
‘Thick. Do you remember the first time you met them? The ones who call me “stinking dog”? Please, show me. I let the Skill request float with my quiet words and the rhythmic motion of my needle. I listened to the quiet rip of the thread as it moved through the fabric, and the soft crackling of the fire, making those small sounds.
For a time Thick was silent save for the Skill-music that flowed from him. Then, I heard the sounds of my needle and the fire creep into his music.
‘He said, “Put down that bucket and come with me”.’
‘Who said?’ I asked too avidly.