by Robin Hobb
‘You are leaving, then?’ I asked stupidly.
‘Right after we eat,’ he said quietly.
We should go with him.
It was the most direct thought the wolf had shared with me in days. It startled me, and I looked towards him, as did the Fool. ‘But what of Hap?’ I asked him.
Nighteyes only looked at me in reply, as if I should already know his answer. I did not. ‘I have to stay here,’ I said to both of them. Neither one looked convinced. It made me feel sedate and staid to refuse them both, and I did not care for either sensation. ‘I have responsibilities here,’ I said, almost angrily. ‘I cannot simply go off and allow the boy to come back to an empty home.’
‘No, you cannot,’ the Fool agreed quickly, yet even his agreement stung, as if he said it only to mollify me. I found myself suddenly in a surly mood. Breakfast was grim and when we rose from the table, I suddenly hated the sticky bowls and porridge pot. The reminders of my daily, mundane chores suddenly seemed intolerable.
‘I’ll saddle your horse,’ I told the Fool sullenly. ‘No sense in getting your fine clothes dirty.’
He said nothing as I rose abruptly from the table and went out of the door.
Malta seemed to sense the excitement of the journey to come, for she was restive, though not difficult. I found myself taking my time with her, so that when she was ready, her coat gleamed as did her tack. I almost soothed myself, but as I led her out, I saw the Fool standing by the porch, one hand on Nighteyes’ back. Discontent washed through me again, and childishly I blamed him for it. If he had not come to see me, I would never have recalled how much I missed him. I would have continued to pine for the past, but I would not have begun to long for a future.
I felt soured and old as he came to embrace. Knowing there was nothing admirable about my attitude did nothing to improve it. I stood stiffly in his farewell clasp, barely returning it. I thought he would tolerate it, but when his mouth was by my ear, he muttered mawkishly, ‘Farewell, Beloved.’
Despite my irritation, I had to smile. I gave him a hug and released him. ‘Go safely, Fool,’ I said gruffly.
‘And you,’ he replied gravely as he swung up into the saddle. I stared up at him. The aristocratic young man on a horse bore no resemblance to the Fool I had known as a lad. Only when his gaze met mine did I see my old friend there. For a time we stood looking at one another, not speaking. Then, with a touch of the rein and a shift of his weight, he wheeled his horse. With a toss of her head, Malta asked for a free head. He gave it to her, and she sprang forwards eagerly into a canter. Her silky tail floated on the wind of her passage like a pennant. I watched him go, and even when he was out of sight, I watched the dust hanging in the lane.
When I finally went back into the cabin, I found he had cleaned all the dishes and the pot and put them away. In the centre of my table, where his pack had concealed it, a Farseer Buck was graven deep, his antlers lowered to charge. I ran my fingers over the carved figure and my heart sank in me. ‘What do you want of me?’ I asked of the stillness.
Days followed that one, and time passed for me, but not easily. Each day seemed possessed of a dull sameness, and the evenings stretched endless before me. There was work to fill the time, and I did it, but I also marked that work only seemed to beget more work. A meal cooked meant only dishes to clean, and a seed planted only meant weeding and watering in the days to follow. Satisfaction in my simple life seemed to elude me.
I missed the Fool, and realized that all those years I had missed him as well. It was like an old injury wakened to new complaint. The wolf was no help in enduring it. A deep thoughtfulness had come upon him, and evenings often found us trapped in our individual ponderings. Once, as I sat mending a shirt by candlelight, Nighteyes came to me and rested his head on my knee with a sigh. I reached down to fondle his ears and then scratch behind them. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked him.
It would not be good for you to be alone. I’m glad the Scentless One returned to us. I’m glad that you know where to find him.
Then, with a groan, he lifted his chin from my knee and went to curl on the cool earth by the front porch.
The final heat of summer closed down on us like a smothering blanket. I sweltered as I hauled water for the garden twice a day. The chickens stopped laying. All seemed too hot and too dull to survive it. Then, in the midst of my discontent, Hap returned. I had not expected to see him again until the month of full harvest was over, but one evening, Nighteyes lifted his head abruptly. He arose stiffly and went to the door, to stare down the lane. After a moment I set aside the knife I was sharpening and went to stand beside him. ‘What is it?’ I asked him.
The boy returns.
So soon? But as I framed the thought, I knew it was not soon at all. The months he had spent with Starling had devoured the spring. He’d shared high summer with me, but been gone all the month of early harvest and part of full harvest. Only a moon and a half had passed, and yet it still seemed horribly long. I caught a glimpse of a figure at the far end of the lane. Both Nighteyes and I hastened to meet him. When he saw us coming, he broke into a weary trot to meet us halfway. When I caught him in my arms in a hug, I knew at once that he had grown taller and lost weight. And when I let him go and held him at arm’s length to look at him, I saw both shame and defeat in his eyes. ‘Welcome home,’ I told him, but he only gave a rueful shrug.
‘I’ve come home with my tail between my legs,’ he confessed, and then dropped down to hug Nighteyes. ‘He’s gone all to bone!’ Hap exclaimed in dismay.
‘He was sick for a while, but he’s on the mend now,’ I told him. I tried to make my voice hearty and ignore the jolt of worry I felt. ‘The same could be said of you,’ I added. ‘There’s meat on the platter and bread on the board. Come eat, and then you can tell us how you fared out in the wide world.’
‘I can tell you now as we go, in few words,’ he returned as we trudged back to the cabin. His voice was deep as a man’s and the bitterness was a man’s, also. ‘Not well. The harvest was good, but wherever I went, I was last hired, for always they wanted to hire their cousin first, or their cousin’s friends. Always I was the stranger, put to the dirtiest and heaviest of the labour. I worked like a man, Tom, but they paid me like a mouse, with crumbs and cut coins. And they were suspicious of me too. They didn’t want me sleeping within their barns, no, nor talking to their daughters. And between jobs, well, I had to eat, and all cost far more than I thought it should. I’ve come home with only a handful more of coins than when I left. I was a fool to leave. I would have done as well to stay home and sell chickens and salt fish.’
The hard words rattled out of him. I said nothing, but let him get all of them said. By then we were at the door. He doused his head in the water barrel I had filled for the garden while I went inside to set out food on the table. He came into the cabin and as he glanced around, I knew without his saying it that it had grown smaller in his eyes. ‘It’s good to be home,’ he said. And in the next breath, he went on, ‘But I don’t know what I’m going to do for an apprentice fee. Hire out another year, I suppose. But by then, some might think me too old to learn well. Already one man I met on the road told me that he had never met a master craftsman who hadn’t begun his training before he was twelve. Is that honey?’
‘It is.’ I put the pot on the table with the bread and the cold meat, and Hap fell to as if he had not eaten for days. I made tea for us, and then sat across the table from my boy, watching him eat. Ravenous as he was, he still fed bits of his meat to the wolf beside his chair. And Nighteyes ate, not with appetite, but both to please the boy and for the sake of sharing meat with a pack member. When the fowl was down to bones with not even enough meat left to make soup, he sat back in his chair with a sigh. Then he leaned forwards abruptly, his eager fingers tracing the charging buck on the tabletop. ‘This is beautiful! When did you learn to carve like this?’
‘I didn’t. An old friend came by and spent part of his visit decorating the c
abin.’ I smiled to myself. ‘When you’ve a moment, take a look at the rain barrel.’
‘An old friend? I didn’t think you had any save Starling.’
He did not mean the observation to sting, but it did. His fingers traced again the emblem. Once, FitzChivalry Farseer had worn that charging buck as an embroidered crest. ‘Oh, I’ve a few. I just don’t hear from them often.’
‘Ah. What about new friends? Did Jinna stop in on her way to Buckkeep?’
‘She did. She left us a charm to make our garden grow better, as thanks for a night’s shelter.’
He gave me a sideways glance. ‘She stayed the night, then. She’s nice, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is.’ He waited for me to say more but I refused. He ducked his head and tried to smother a grin in his hand. I reached across the table and cuffed him affectionately. He fended off the mock-blow, then suddenly caught my hand in his. His grin ran away from his face to be replaced by anxiety. ‘Tom, Tom, what am I going to do? I thought it would be easy and it wasn’t. And I was willing to work hard for a fair wage, and I was civil and put in a fair day, and still they all treated me poorly. What am I going to do? I can’t live here at the edge of nowhere for all my life. I can’t!’
‘No. You can’t.’ And in that moment I perceived two things. First, that my isolated life style had ill prepared the boy to make his own way, and second, that this was what Chade must have felt when I had declared that I would not be an assassin any more. It is strange to know that when you gave a boy what you thought was the best of yourself you actually crippled him. His frantic glance left me feeling small and shamed. I should have done better by him. I would do better by him. I heard myself speak the words before I even knew I had thought them. ‘I do have old friends at Buckkeep. I can borrow the money for your apprenticeship fee.’ My heart lurched at the thought of what form the interest on such a loan might take, but I steeled myself. I would go to Chade first, and if what he asked of me in return was too dear, I would seek out the Fool. It would not be easy to humbly ask to borrow money, but –
‘You’d do that? For me? But I’m not even really your son.’ Hap looked incredulous.
I gripped his hand. ‘I would do that. Because you’re as close to a son as I’m ever likely to get.’
‘I’ll help you pay the debt, I swear.’
‘No, you won’t. It will be my debt, taken on freely. I’ll expect you to pay close attention to your master and devote yourself to learning your trade well.’
‘I will, Tom. I will. And I swear, in your old age, you shall lack for nothing.’ He spoke the words with the devout ardency of guileless youth. I took them as he intended them, and ignored the glowing amusement in Nighteyes’ gaze.
See how edifying it is when someone sees you as tottering towards death?
I never said you were at your grave’s edge.
No. You just treat me as if I were brittle as old chicken bones.
Aren’t you?
No. My strength returns. Wait for the falling of the leaves and cooler weather. I’ll be able to walk you until you drop. Just as I always have.
But what if I have to journey before then?
The wolf lowered his head to his outstretched forepaws with a sigh. And what if you jump for a buck’s throat and miss? There’s no point to worrying about it until it happens.
‘Are you thinking what I am?’ Hap anxiously broke the seeming silence of the room.
I met his worried gaze. ‘Perhaps. What were you thinking?’
He spoke hesitantly. ‘That the sooner you speak to your friends at Buckkeep, the sooner we will know what to expect for the winter.’
I replied slowly. ‘Another winter here would not suit you, would it?’
‘No.’ His natural honesty made him reply quickly. Then he softened it with, ‘It isn’t that I don’t like it here with you and Nighteyes. It’s just that …’ he floundered for a moment. ‘Have you ever felt as if you could actually feel time flowing away from you? As if life was passing you by and you were caught in a backwater with the dead fish and old sticks?’
You can be the dead fish. I’ll be the old stick.
I ignored Nighteyes. ‘I seem to recall I’ve had such a feeling, a time or two.’ I glanced at Verity’s incomplete map of the Six Duchies. I let out my breath and tried not to make it a sigh. ‘I’ll set out as soon as possible.’
‘I could be ready by tomorrow morning. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be –’
‘No.’ I cut him off firmly but kindly. I started to say that the people I must see, I must see alone. I caught myself before I could leave him wondering. Instead, I tipped a nod towards Nighteyes. ‘There are things here that will want looking after while I am gone. I leave them in your care.’
Instantly he looked crestfallen, but to his credit he took a breath, squared his shoulders and nodded.
Beside the table, Nighteyes rolled to his side, and then onto his back. Here’s the dead wolf. Might as well bury him, all he’s fit for is to lie about in a dusty yard and watch chickens he’s not permitted to kill. He paddled his paws vaguely at the air.
Idiot. The chickens are why I’m asking the boy to stay, not you.
Oh? So, if you woke up tomorrow and they were all dead, there would be no reason we could not set out together?
You had better not, I warned him.
He opened his mouth and let his tongue hang to one side. The boy smiled down at him fondly. ‘I always think he looks as if he’s laughing when he does that.’
I didn’t leave the next morning. I was up long before the boy was. I pulled out my good clothes, musty from disuse, and hung them out to air. The linen of the shirt had yellowed with age. It had been a gift from Starling, long ago. I think I had worn it once on the day she gave it to me. I looked at it ruefully, thinking that it would appal Chade and amuse the Fool. Well, like so many other things, it could not be helped.
There was also a box, built years ago and stored up in the rafters of my workshop. I wrestled it down, and opened it. Despite the oily rags that had wrapped it, Verity’s sword was tarnished with disuse. I put on the belt and scabbard, noting that I’d have to punch a new notch in the belt for it to hang comfortably. I sucked in a breath and buckled it as it was. I wiped an oily rag down the blade, and then sheathed the sword at my hip. When I drew it, it weighed heavy in my hand, yet balanced as beautifully as ever. I debated the wisdom of wearing it. I’d feel a fool if someone recognized it and asked difficult questions. I would feel even stupider, however, if my throat were cut for lack of a weapon at my side.
I compromised by wrapping the jewelled grip with leather strips. The sheath itself was battered but serviceable. It looked appropriate to my station. I drew it again, and made a lunge, stretching muscles no longer accustomed to that reach. I resumed my stance and made a few cuts at the air.
Amusement. Better take an axe.
I don’t have one any more. Verity himself had given me this sword. But both he and Burrich had advised me that my style of fighting was more suited to the crudity of an axe than this graceful and elegant weapon. I tried another cut at the air. My mind remembered all Hod had taught me, but my body was having difficulty performing the moves.
You chop wood with one.
That’s not a battleaxe. I’d look a fool carrying that about with me. I sheathed the sword and turned to look at him.
Nighteyes sat in the doorway of the workshop, his tail neatly curled about his feet. Amusement glinted in his dark eyes. He turned his head to stare innocently into the distance. I think one of the chickens died in the night. Sad. Poor old thing. Death comes for all of us eventually.
He was lying, but he had the satisfaction of seeing me sheath the sword and hurry to see if it were so. All six of my biddies clucked and dusted themselves in the sun. The rooster, perched on a fence post, kept a watchful eye on his wives.
How odd. I would have sworn that fat white hen looked poorly yesterday. I’ll just lie out here in the shade an
d keep an eye on her. He suited his actions to his thought, sprawling in the dappling shade of the birches while staring at the chickens intently. I ignored him and went back into the cabin.
I was boring a new hole in the swordbelt when Hap woke up. He came sleepily to the table to watch me. He came awake when his eyes fell on the sword waiting in its sheath. ‘I’ve never seen that before.’
‘I’ve had it for a long time.’
‘I’ve never seen you wear it when we went to market. All you ever carried before was your sheath-knife.’
‘A trip to Buckkeep is a bit different from a trip to market.’ His question made me look at my own motives for taking the blade. When last I had seen Buckkeep, a number of people there wished me dead. If I encountered any of them and they recognized me, I wanted to be ready. ‘A city like that has a lot more rogues and scoundrels than a simple country market.’
I finished boring the new belt notch and tried it on again. Better. I drew the sword and heard Hap’s indrawn breath. Even with the handle wrapped in plain leather, there was no mistaking it for a cheap blade. This was a weapon created by a master.
‘Can I try it?’
I nodded permission and he picked it up gingerly. He adjusted his grip for the heft of it, and then fell into an awkward imitation of a swordsman’s stance. I had never taught Hap to fight. I wondered for an instant if that omission had been a bad decision. I had hoped he would never need the skills of a fighter. But not teaching them to him was no protection against someone challenging him.
Rather like refusing to teach Dutiful about the Skill.
I pushed that thought aside and said nothing as Hap swung the blade at the air. In a few moments he had tired himself. The hard muscles of a farming hand were not what a man used to swing a blade. The endurance to wield such a weapon demanded both training and constant practice. He set it down and looked at me without speaking.