by Robin Hobb
He shook his head. ‘Don’t take titles to yourself. Only I am the Fool. And the Fool is always only what I am. Especially that day, with that song, before all those people.’
‘You made me doubt our friendship,’ I said bluntly.
‘Ah, good. For doubt not that others must always doubt our friendship if we are to remain doughty friends.’
‘I see. Then it was your end to sow rumours of strife between us. I understand, then. But I still must go.’
‘Farewell, then. Have fun playing at axes with Burrich. Try not to be dumb-struck with all he teaches you today.’ He put two logs onto my failing fire, and made a great show of settling himself before it.
‘Fool,’ I began uncomfortably. ‘You are my friend, I know. But I like not to leave you here, in my room, while I am gone.’
‘I like it not when others enter my room when I am not there,’ he pointed out archly.
I flushed miserably. ‘That was long ago. And I apologized for my curiosity. I assure you, I have never done it again.’
‘Nor shall I, after this. And when you come back, I shall apologize to you. Shall that do?’
I was going to be late. Burrich was not going to be amused. No help for it. I sat down on the edge of the rumpled bed. Molly and I had lain here. Suddenly, it was a personal area. I tried to be casual as I tugged the quilts up over the featherbeds. ‘Why do you want to stay in my room? Are you in danger?’
‘I live in danger, Fitzy-fitz. As do you. We are all in danger. I should like to stay here for part of the day, and try to find a way out of that danger. Or at least a way to lessen it.’ He shrugged significantly toward the scatter of scrolls.
‘Verity entrusted those to me,’ I said uneasily.
‘Obviously because he feels you are a man whose judgement he trusts. So, perhaps you shall judge it safe to entrust them to me?’
It is one thing to trust a friend with one’s own possessions. It is another to allow him those another has put in your safekeeping. I found I had no doubt of my own trust of the Fool. But. ‘Perhaps it would be wiser to ask Verity first,’ I offered.
‘The less connection between Verity and me, the better it is for both of us.’ The Fool spoke flatly.
‘You do not care for Verity?’ I was startled.
‘I am the King’s Fool. He is the King-in-Waiting. Let him wait. When he is king, I shall be his. If he does not get us all killed before then.’
‘I will hear nothing spoken against Prince Verity,’ I told him softly.
‘No? Then you must walk about with your ears closely stoppered these days.’
I walked to the door, set my hand to the latch. ‘We must leave now, Fool. I am already late.’ I kept my voice steady. His sneer at Verity had cut me as deeply as if aimed at me.
‘Do not be the Fool, Fitz. That is my role. Think. A man can serve only one master. No matter what your lips may say, Verity is your king. I fault you not for that. Do you fault me that Shrewd is mine?’
‘I do not fault you. Nor do I make mock of him before you.’
‘Nor do you come to visit him, no matter how many times I have urged it.’
‘I was at his door just yesterday. I was turned away. They said he was not well.’
‘And if that were to happen at Verity’s door, would you take it so meekly?’
That made me stop and think. ‘No. I don’t suppose I would.’
‘Why do you give him up so easily?’ The Fool spoke softly, like a man grieved. ‘Why does not Verity bestir himself for his father, instead of luring away Shrewd’s men to his side?’
‘I have not been lured away. Rather Shrewd has not seen fit to see me. As for Verity, well, I cannot speak for him. But all know it is Regal that Shrewd favours of his sons.’
‘Do all know that? Then do all know as well where Regal’s heart is truly set?’
‘Some do,’ I said briefly. This was dangerous talk.
‘Reflect on this. Both of us serve the king we love best. Yet there is another that we love least. I do not think we have a conflict of loyalty, Fitz, while we are united in who we love least. Come. Confess to me that you have scarce had time to set your eyes upon the scrolls, and I shall remind you that the time you have not had has fled us all too swiftly. This is not a task that can wait upon your convenience.’
I teetered on the decision. The Fool came suddenly closer. His eyes were always hard to meet and harder to read. But the set of his mouth showed me his desperation. ‘I will trade with you. I offer you a bargain you will find nowhere else. A secret I hold, promised to you, after you have let me search the scrolls for a secret which may not even be there.’
‘What secret?’ I asked reluctantly.
‘My secret.’ He turned aside from me and stared at the wall. ‘The mystery of the Fool. Whence comes he and why?’ He cast me a sidelong glance and said no more.
The curiosity of a dozen years leaped in me. ‘Freely given?’ I asked.
‘No. Offered as a bargain, as I said.’
I considered. Then, ‘I’ll see you later. Latch the door when you leave.’ And I slipped out.
There were serving-folk moving about in the corridors. I was grievously late. I forced myself into a creaking trot, and then to a run. I did not slow for the stairs to Verity’s tower, but rushed up their full length, knocked once and then entered.
Burrich turned to me, greeting me with a frown. The spartan furnishings of the room had already been pushed to one wall, save for Verity’s window chair. Verity was already ensconced in it. He turned his head to me more slowly, with eyes still full of distance. There was a drugged look to his eyes and mouth, a laxness painful to see when one knew what it meant. The Skill hunger gnawed at him. I feared that what he wished to teach me would only feed it and increase it. Yet how could either of us say no? I had learned something yesterday. It had not been a pleasant lesson, but once learned it could not be undone. I knew now that I would do whatever I must to drive the Red Ships from my shore. I was not the king, I would never be the king. But the folk of the Six Duchies were mine, just as they were Chade’s. I understood now why Verity spent himself so recklessly.
‘I beg pardon that I am late. I was detained. But I am ready to begin now.’
‘How do you feel?’ The question came from Burrich, asked with genuine curiosity. I turned to find him regarding me as sternly as before, but also with some puzzlement.
‘Stiff, sir. A bit. The run up the stairs warmed me up some. Sore, from yesterday. But otherwise I am all right.’
A bit of amusement quirked at his face. ‘No tremors, FitzChivalry? No darkening at the edge of your vision, no dizzy spells?’
I paused to think for a moment. ‘No.’
‘Be damned.’ Burrich gave a snort of amusement. ‘Evidently the cure has been to beat it out of you. I’ll remember that the next time you need a healer.’
Over the next hour, he seemed intent on applying his new theory of healing. The heads of the axes were blunt ones, and he had bundled them both in rags for this first lesson, but that did not prevent bruises. To be honest, most of them I earned with my own clumsiness. Burrich was not trying to land any blows that day, but only to teach me to use the whole weapon, not just the head of it. To keep Verity with me was effortless, for he remained in the same room with us. He was silent within me that day, offering no counsels or observations or warnings, but merely riding with my eyes. Burrich told me that the axe was not a sophisticated weapon, but was a very satisfactory one if used correctly. At the end of the session, he pointed out to me that he had been gentle with me, in consideration of the wounds I already bore. Verity dismissed us, and we both went down the stairs rather more slowly than I had come up.
‘Be on time tomorrow,’ Burrich charged me as we parted at the kitchen door, he going back to his stables, and I to find breakfast. I ate as I had not in days, with a wolf’s appetite, and wondered at the source of my own sudden vitality. Unlike Burrich, I did not put it down to any beating I had re
ceived. Molly, I thought, had healed with a touch what all the herbs and rest in a year could never have put to rights. The day suddenly stretched long in front of me, full of unbearable minutes of unendurable hours before nightfall and the kindly dark allowed us to be together again.
I set her resolutely from my mind and resolved to fill the day with tasks. A dozen immediately leapt to mind. I had been neglecting Patience. I had promised my aid with Kettricken’s garden. An explanation was owed to Brother Nighteyes. A visit was owed King Shrewd. I tried to order them in importance. Molly kept moving to the top of the list.
I resolutely set her to last. King Shrewd, I decided. I gathered my crockery from the table and took it back to the kitchen. The bustle was deafening. It puzzled me for a moment, until I recalled that tonight was the first night of Winterfest. Old Cook Sara looked up from the bread she was kneading and motioned me over. I went and stood beside her as I often had as a child, admiring the deft way her fingers shaped handfuls of dough into rolls and set them to rise. She was flour to her dimpled elbows, and flour smudged one cheek as well. The racket and rush of the kitchen created a strange sort of privacy. She spoke quietly through the clatter and chatter, and I had to strain to hear her.
‘I just wanted you to know,’ she grunted as she folded and pushed a new batch of dough, ‘that I know when a rumour is nonsense. And I speak it so when anyone tries to tell it here in my kitchen. They can gossip all they like in the laundry court, and tattle tales as much as they wish while they spin, but I’ll not have ill said of you here in my kitchen.’ She glanced up at me with snapping black eyes. My heart stood still with dread. Rumours? Of Molly and me?
‘You’ve et at my tables, and often enough, stood aside me and stirred a pot while we chatted when you were small. I think that maybe I know you better than most. And them what says you fight like a beast because you’re more than a half beast are talking evil nonsense. Them bodies was tore up bad, but I’ve seen worse done by men in a rage. When Sal Flatfish’s daughter was raped, she cut up that beast with her fish-knife, chop, chop, chop, right there in the market, just like she was cutting bait to set her lines. What you done was no worse than that.’
I knew an instant of dizzying terror. More than half beast … It wasn’t so long ago or far away that folk with the Wit were burned alive. ‘Thank you,’ I said, fighting for a calm voice. I added a modicum of truth when I said, ‘Not all of that was my doing. They were fighting over … their prey when I came on them.’
‘Ginna’s daughter. You need not hide words from me, Fitz. I’ve children of my own, growed now, but if any was to attack them, why, I’d pray there’d be one like to you to defend them, no matter how. Or avenge them, if that’s all you could do.’
‘I’m afraid it was, Cook.’ The shudder that ran over me was not feigned. I saw again the lines of blood trickled over a fat little fist. I blinked, but the image stayed. ‘I’ve got to hurry off now. I’m to wait on King Shrewd this day.’
‘Are ye? Well, there’s a spot of good news, then. You just run these up with you, then.’ She trundled over to a cupboard, to take out a covered tray of small pastries baked rich with soft cheese and currants. She set a pot of hot tea beside them, and a clean cup. She arranged the pastries lovingly. ‘And you see he eats them, Fitz. His favourites, they are, and if he tastes one, I know he’ll eat them all. And do him good, too.’
Mine, too.
I jumped as if poked with a pin. I tried to cover it with a cough, as if I had suddenly choked, but Cook still looked at me oddly. I coughed again, and nodded at her. ‘I’m sure he’ll love them,’ I said in a choked voice, and bore the tray out of the kitchen. Several sets of eyes followed me. I smiled pleasantly and tried to pretend I didn’t know why.
I didn’t realize you were still with me, I told Verity. A tiny part of me was reviewing every thought I’d had since I left his tower, and was thanking Eda that I had not decided to seek out Nighteyes first, even as I pushed such thoughts aside, unsure how private they were.
I know. I didn’t intend to be spying on you. Only to show you that when you do not focus so tightly on this, you are able to do it.
I groped after his Skilling. More your effort than mine, I pointed out as I climbed the stairs.
You’re annoyed with me. Beg pardon. From now on, I shall be sure you are aware of me whenever I am with you. Shall I leave you to your day?
My own surliness had left me feeling embarrassed. No. Not yet. Ride with me a bit more while I visit King Shrewd. Let’s see how far we can carry this.
I sensed his assent. I paused before Shrewd’s door, and balanced the tray with one hand as I hastily smoothed my hair back and tugged my jerkin straight. My hair had begun to be a problem lately. Jonqui had cut it short during one of my fevers in the mountains. Now that it was growing out, I didn’t know whether to tie it back in a tail as Burrich and the guardsmen did, or keep it at my shoulders as if I were a page still. I was much too old to wear it in the half-braid of a child.
Tie it back, boy. I’d say you’d earned the right to wear it as a warrior, as much as any guardsman. Just don’t start fussing about it and twining it into oiled curls as Regal does.
I fought the smirk off my face and knocked at the door.
I waited a bit, then knocked again, more loudly.
Announce yourself and open it, Verity suggested.
‘It’s FitzChivalry, sire. I’ve brought you something from Cook.’ I set my hand to the door. It was latched from within.
That’s peculiar. It has never been my father’s way to latch a door. Put a man on it, yes, but not latch it and ignore someone knocking. Can you slip it?
Probably. But let me try knocking again first. I all but pounded on the door.
‘A moment! A moment!’ someone hissed from inside. But it was considerably more than that before several latches were undone and the door opened a hand’s width. Wallace peered out at me like a rat from under a cracked wall. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded accusingly.
‘Audience with the King.’
‘He’s asleep. Or was before you came pounding and shouting. Be off with you.’
‘A moment.’ I shoved my booted foot into the closing door. With one free hand, I turned up the collar of my jerkin, to expose the red-stoned pin I was seldom without. The door was closed firmly on my foot. I put a shoulder against it, leaned as much as I could without dropping the tray I still carried. ‘This was given to me by King Shrewd a number of years ago. With it he gave the promise that whenever I showed it, I would be admitted to see him.’
‘Even if he’s asleep?’ Wallace asked snidely.
‘He placed no limitations on it. Do you?’ I glared at him through the cracked door. He considered a moment, then stepped back from it.
‘By all means, then, do come in. Come and see your king asleep, trying to get the rest he so badly needs in his condition. But do you disturb it, and I as his healer shall tell him to take away that pretty pin and see that you do not bother him again.’
‘You may recommend that as you wish. And if my king desires it, I shall not dispute it.’
He stood aside from me with an elaborate bow. I desperately wanted to knock that knowing sneer from his face, but I ignored it.
‘Wonderful,’ he elaborated as I passed him. ‘Sweet pastries to upset his digestion and tax him all the more. Thoughtful lad, aren’t you?’
I kept my temper. Shrewd was not in his sitting room. The bedchamber?
‘Will you truly bother him there? Well, why not? You’ve shown no other manners, why should I expect consideration now?’ Wallace’s voice was full of snide condescension.
I gripped my temper.
Don’t just accept that from him. Turn and face him down now. This was not advice from Verity, but a command. I set the tray down carefully upon a small table. I took a breath and turned to face Wallace. ‘Have you a dislike of me?’ I asked directly.
He took a step back but tried to keep his sneer in place. ‘A d
islike? Why should I, a healer, mind if someone comes to disturb an ill man when he is finally resting?’
‘This room reeks of Smoke. Why?’
Smoke?
A herb they use in the mountains. Seldom for medicine, save pains nothing else will halt. But more often the burning fumes are breathed for pleasure. Much as we use carris seed at Springfest. Your brother has a liking for it.
As did his mother. If it is the same herb. She called it mirthleaf.
Almost the same leaf, but the mountain plant grows taller with fleshier leaves. And thicker smoke.
My exchange with Verity had taken less than a blink of an eye. One can Skill information as fast as one can think it. Wallace was still pursing his lips over my question. ‘Are you claiming to be a healer?’ he demanded.
‘No. But I’ve a working knowledge of herbs, one that suggests Smoke is not appropriate to a sick man’s chambers.’
Wallace was still a moment as he formulated an answer. ‘Well. A king’s pleasures are not his healer’s area of concern.’
‘Perhaps they are mine, then,’ I offered, and turned away from him. I picked up the tray and pushed open the door to the King’s dimly-lit bedchamber.
The reek of Smoke was heavier here, the air thick and cloying with it. Too hot a fire was burning, making the room close and stuffy. The air was still and stale as if no fresh wind had blown through the room for weeks. My own breath seemed heavy in my lungs. The King lay still, breathing stertorously beneath a mound of feather quilts. I looked about for a place to set down the tray of pastries. The small table close to his bed was littered. There was a censer for Smoke; the drifting ash thick on its top, but the burner was out and cold. Beside it was a goblet of lukewarm red wine, and a bowl with some nasty grey gruel in it. I set the vessel on the floor, and brushed the table clean with my shirt sleeve before setting the tray down. As I approached the King’s bed, there was a fusty, foetid smell that became even stronger as I leaned over the King.
This is not like Shrewd at all.
Verity shared my dismay. He has not summoned me much of late. And I have been too busy to call upon him unless he bids me to. The last time I saw him was in his sitting room, in an evening. He complained of headaches, but this…