by Robin Hobb
"What do you think I should do?"
Chade pursed his lips, sipped his wine, and thought. "For now, Patience has given you good advice. Ignore or avoid Molly, but not obviously. Treat her as if she were a new scullery maid; courteously, if you encounter her, but not familiarly. Do not seek her out. Devote yourself to the Queen-in-Waiting. Verity will be glad of your distracting her. Kettricken will be glad of a friendly face. And if your intent is to win permission to marry Molly, the Queen-in-Waiting could be a powerful ally. As you divert Kettricken, watch over her as well. Bear in mind there are those whose interests do not support Verity having an heir. Those same ones who would not be enthused about your having children. So be wary and alert. Keep your guard up."
"Is that all?" I asked, daunted.
"No. Get some rest. Deadroot was what was used on you, by Regal?" I nodded and he shook his head, narrowing his eyes. Then he looked me squarely in the face. "You are young. You may be able to recover, mostly. I've seen one other man survive it. But he trembled the rest of his life. I see the small signs of it on you yet. It will not show much, except to those who know you well. But do not overtire yourself. Weariness will bring on tremblings and blurred vision. Push yourself, and you will have fits. You do not want anyone to know you have a weakness. The best course is to conduct your life in such a way that the weakness never shows."
"Was that why there was elfbark in the tea?" I asked needlessly.
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Tea?"
"Perhaps it was the Fool's doing. I awoke to food and tea in my room ...."
"And if it had been Regal's doing?"
It took a moment for the realization to dawn. "I could have been poisoned."
"But you weren't. Not this time. No, it was neither I nor the Fool. It was Lacey. There is someone deeper than you credit. The Fool discovered you, and something possessed him to tell Patience. While she was flustering, Lacey quietly ordered it all done. I think that privately she considers you as scatterbrained as her mistress. Give her the slightest opening, and she will move in and organize your life. Good as her intentions are, you cannot allow that, Fitz. An assassin needs privacy. Get a latch for your door."
"Fitz?" I wondered aloud.
"It is your name. FitzChivalry. As it seems to have lost its sting with you, I will use it now. I was beginning to weary of boy."
I bowed my head. We went on to talk of other things. It was an hour or so until morning when I left his windowless chambers and returned to my own. I went back to bed, but sleep eluded me. I had always stifled the hidden anger I felt at my position at court. Now it smoldered within me, so I could not rest. I threw off my blankets and dressed in my outgrown clothes, left the Keep, and walked down into Buckkeep Town.
The brisk wind off the water blew damp cold like a wet slap in the face. I pulled my cloak more tightly around myself and tugged up my hood. I walked briskly, avoiding icy spots on the steep roadway down to town. I tried not to think, but I found that the brisk pumping of my blood was warming my anger more than my flesh. My thoughts danced like a reined-in-horse.
When I had first come to Buckkeep Town, it had been a busy, grubby little place. In the last decade it had grown and adopted a veneer of sophistication, but its roots were only too plain. The town clung to the cliffs below Buckkeep Castle, and when those cliffs gave way to the rocky beaches, the warehouses and sheds were built out on docks and pilings. The good deep anchorage that sheltered below Buckkeep attracted merchant vessels and traders. Farther to the north, where the Buck River met the sea, there were gentler beaches, and the wide river to carry trading barges far inland to the Inland Duchies. The land closest to the river mouth was susceptible to flooding, and the anchorage unpredictable as the river shifted in its course. So the folk of Buckkeep Town lived crowded together on the steep cliffs above the harbor like the birds on Egg Bluffs. It made for narrow, badly cobbled streets that wound back and forth across the steepness as they made their way down to the water. The houses, shops, and inns clung humbly to the cliff face, endeavoring to offer no resistance to the winds that were almost constant there. Higher up the cliff face, the more ambitious homes and businesses were of timber, with their foundations cut into the stone of the cliffs themselves. But I knew little of that stratum. I had run and played as a child among the humbler shops and sailors inns that fronted almost on the water itself.
By the time I reached this area of Buckkeep Town, I was ironically reflecting that both Molly and I would have been better off had we never become friends. I had compromised her reputation, and if I continued my attentions, she would most likely become a target for Regal's malice. As for myself, the anguish I had felt at believing she had blithely left me for another was but a scratch compared with the bleeding now at knowing she thought I had deceived her.
I came out of my bleak thoughts to realize that my traitorous feet had carried me to the very door of her chandlery. Now it was a tea-and-herb shop. Just what Buckkeep Town needed; another tea-and-herb shop. I wondered what had become of Molly's beehives. It gave me a pang to realize that for Molly the sense of dislocation must be ten times-no, a hundred times worse. I had so easily accepted that Molly had lost her father, and with him her livelihood and her prospects. So easily accepted the change that made her a servant in the Keep. A servant. I clenched my teeth and kept walking.
I wandered the town aimlessly. Despite my bleak mood, I noticed how much it had changed in the last six months. Even on this cold winter day, it bustled. The construction of the ships had brought more folk, and more folk meant more trade. I stopped in a tavern where Molly, Dirk, Kerry, and I had used to share a bit of brandy now and then. The cheapest blackberry brandy was usually what we got. I sat by myself and drank my short beer in silence, but around me tongues wagged and I learned much. It was not just the ship construction that had bolstered Buckkeep Town's prosperity. Verity had put out a call for sailors to man his warships. The call had been amply answered, by men and women from all of the Coastal Duchies. Some came with a grudge to settle, to avenge those killed or Forged by the Raiders. Others came for the adventure, and the hope of booty, or simply because in the ravaged villages, they had no other prospects. Some were from fisher or merchant families, with sea time and water skills. Others were the former shepherds and farmers of ravaged villages. It mattered little.
All had come to Buckkeep Town, eager to shed Red-Ship blood.
For now, many were housed in what had once been warehouses. Hod, the Buckkeep weaponsmaster, was giving them weapons training, winnowing out those she thought might be suitable for Verity's ships. The others would be offered hire as soldiers. These were the extra folk that swelled the town and crowded the inns and taverns and eating places. I heard complaints, too, that some of those who came to man the warships were immigrant Outislanders, displaced from their own land by the very Red-Ships that now menaced our coasts. They, too, claimed to be eager for revenge, but few Six Duchies folk trusted them, and some businesses in town would not sell to them. It gave an ugly charged undercurrent to the busy tavern. There was a snickering discussion of an Outislander who had been beaten on the docks the day before. No one had called the town patrol. When the speculation became even uglier, that these Outislanders were all spies and that burning them out would be a wise and sensible precaution, I could no longer stomach it, and left the tavern. Was there nowhere I could go to be free of suspicions and intrigues, if only for an hour?
I walked alone through the wintry streets. A storm was blowing up. The merciless wind prowled the twisting streets, promising snow. The same angry cold twisted and churned inside me, switching from anger to hatred to frustration and back to anger again, building to an unbearable pressure. They had no right to do this to me. I had not been born to be their tool. I had a right to live my life freely, to be who I was born to be. Did they think they could bend me to their will, use me however they would, and I would never retaliate? No. A time would come. My time would come.
A man hurried tow
ard me, face shrouded in his hood against the wind. He glanced up and our eyes met. He blanched and turned aside, to hurry back the way he had come. Well, and so he might. I felt my anger building to an unbearable heat. The wind whipped at my hair and sought to chill me, but I only strode faster, and felt the strength of my hatred grow hotter. It lured me and I followed it like the scent of fresh blood.
I turned a corner and found myself in the market. Threatened by the coming storm, the poorer merchants were packing up their goods from their blankets and mats. Those with stalls were fastening their shutters. I strode past them. People scuttled out of my way. I brushed past them, not caring how they stared.
I came to the animal vendor's stall, and stood face-to-face with myself. He was gaunt, with bleak dark eyes. He glared at me balefully, and the waves of hatred pulsing out from him washed over me in greeting. Our hearts beat to the same rhythm. I felt my upper lip twitch, as if to snarl up and bare my pitiful human teeth. I straightened my features, battered my emotion back under control. But the caged wolf cub with the dirty gray coat stared up at me, and lifted his black lips to reveal all his teeth. I hate you. All of you. Come, come closer. I'll kill you. I'll rip out your throat after I hamstring you. I'll feast on your entrails. I hate you.
"You want something?"
"Blood," I said quietly. "I want your blood."
"What?"
I jerked my eyes from the wolf up to the man. He was greasy and dirty. He stank, by El, how he reeked. I could smell sweat and rancid food and his own droppings on him. He was swaddled in poorly cured hides, and the stench of them hung about him as well. He had little ferret eyes, and cruel dirty hands, and an oak stick bound in brass that hung at his belt. It was all I could do to keep from seizing that hated stick and splattering his brains out with it. He wore thick boots on his kicking feet. He stepped too close to me and I gripped my cloak to keep from killing him.
"Wolf," I managed to get out. My voice sounded guttural, choking. "I want the wolf."
"You certain, boy? He's a mean one." He nudged the cage with his foot and I sprang at it, clashing my teeth against the wooden bars, bruising my muzzle again, but I didn't care, if I could get just one grip on his flesh, I'd tear it loose or never let go.
No. Get back, get out of my head. I shook my head to clear it. The merchant regarded me strangely. "I know what I want." I spoke flatly, refusing the wolf's emotions.
"Do you, eh?" The man stared at me, judging my worth. He'd charge what he thought I could afford. My outgrown clothes didn't please him, nor my youth. But I surmised he'd had the wolf for a while. He'd hoped to sell him as a cub. Now, with the wolf needing more food and not getting it, the man would probably take whatever he could get. As well for me. I didn't have much. "What do you want him for?" the man asked casually.
"Pits," I said nonchalantly. "He's scrawny, but there might be a bit of sport left in him."
The wolf suddenly flung himself against the bars, jaws wide, teeth flashing. I'll kill them, I'll kill them all, rip their throats out, tear their bellies open ....
Be silent, if you want your freedom. I mentally gave him a push and the wolf leaped back as if stung by a bee. He retreated to the far corner of his cage and cowered there, teeth bared, but tail down between his legs. Uncertainty flooded him.
"Dog fights, eh? Oh, he'll put up a good fight." The merchant nudged at the cage again with a thick boot, but the wolf didn't respond. "He'll win you a lot of coin, this one will. He's meaner than a wolverine." He kicked the cage, harder. The wolf cowered smaller.
"Oh, he certainly looks as if he will," I said disdainfully. I turned aside from the wolf as if I'd lost interest. I studied the caged birds behind him. The pigeons and doves looked as if they were cared for, but two jays and a crow were crowded into a filthy cage littered with rotting scraps of meat and bird droppings. The crow looked like a beggar man in black tatters of feathers. Pick at the bright bug, I suggested to the birds. Perhaps you'll find a way out. The crow perched wearily where he was, head sunk deep in his feathers, but one jay fluttered to a higher perch and began to tap and tug at the metal pin that held the cage fastened. I glanced back at the wolf.
"I hadn't intended to fight him anyway. I was only going to throw him to the dogs to warm them up. A bit of blood primes them for a fight."
"Oh, but he'd make you a fine fighter. Here, look at this. This is what he done to me but a month gone. And me trying to give him food when he went for me."
He rolled back a sleeve to bare a grimy wrist striped with livid slashes, but half-healed still.
I leaned over as if mildly interested. "Looks infected. Think you'll lose your hand?"
"'S not infected. Just slow healing, that's all. Look here, boy, a storm's coming up. I got to put my wares in my cart and haul off before it hits. Now, you going to make me an offer for that wolf? He'll make you a fine fighter."
"He might make bear bait, but not much more than that. I'll give you, oh, six coppers." I had a grand total of seven.
"Coppers? Boy, we're talking silvers here, at least. Look, he's a fine animal. Feed him up a bit, he'll get bigger and meaner. I could get six coppers for his hide alone, right now."
"Then you'd best do it, before he gets any mangier. And before he decides to take your other hand off." I leaned closer to the cage, pushing as I did so, and the wolf cowered more deeply. "Looks sick to me. My master would be furious with me if I brought him in and the dogs got sick from killing him." I glanced up at the sky. "Storm is coming. I'd better be off."
"One silver, boy. And that's giving him to you."
At that moment the jay succeeded in pulling the pin. The cage door swung open and he hopped to the door's edge. I casually stepped between the man and the cage. Behind me, I heard the jays hop out to the top of the pigeons' cage. Door's open, I pointed out to the crow. I heard him rattle his pathetic feathers. I caught up the pouch at my belt, hefted it thoughtfully. "A silver? I don't have a silver. But it's no matter, really. I just realized I've no way to cart him home with me. Best I don't buy him."
Behind me, the jays took flight. The man blazed out a curse and lunged past me toward the cage. I managed to get entangled with him so that we both fell. The crow had made it as far as the cage door. I shook myself clear of the merchant and jumped to my feet, jarring the cage to spook the bird out into the free air. He beat his wings laboriously, but they carried him to the roof of a nearby inn. As the merchant lumbered to his feet the crow opened his threadbare wings and cawed derisively.
"There's a whole cageful of my wares gone!" he began accusingly, but I caught up my cloak and pointed to a tear in it. "My master's going to be angry over this!" I exclaimed, and matched him glare for glare.
He glanced up at the crow. The bird had huffed its feathers against the storm and sidled into the shelter of a chimney. He'd never catch that bird again. Behind me, the wolf whined suddenly.
"Nine coppers!" the merchant offered suddenly, desperately. He'd sold nothing that day, I'd wager.
"I told you, I've no way to take him home!" I countered. I tugged up my hood, glanced at the sky. "Storm's here," I announced as the thick wet flakes began to fall. This would be nasty weather, too warm to freeze, too cold to melt. By daylight, the streets would be shining with ice. I turned to go.
"Give me your six damned coppers, then!" the merchant bellowed in frustration.
I fumbled them out hesitatingly. "And will you cart him to where I live?" I asked as he snatched them out of my hand.
"Carry him yourself, boy. You've robbed me and you know it."
With that, he seized up his cage of doves and pigeons and heaved it into the cart. The empty crow's cage followed. He ignored my angry remonstrance as he climbed up on the seat and shook the pony's reins. The old beast dragged the creaking cart off, into the thickening snow and dusk. The market around us was abandoned. The only traffic now were folk hurrying home through the storm, collars and cloaks tight against the wet wind and blowing snow.
"Now what am I to do with you?" I asked the wolf.
Let me out. Free me.
I can't. Not safe. If I turned a wolf loose here in the heart of town, he'd never find his way to the woods alive. There were too many dogs that would pack up to bring him down, too many men who would shoot him for his hide. Or for being a wolf. I bent toward the cage, intending to heft it and see how heavy it was. He lunged at me, teeth bared.
Get back! I was instantly angry. It was contagious.
I'll kill you. You're the same as he was, a man. You'd keep me in this cage, would you? I'll kill you, I'll rip your belly out and tussle with your guts.
You'll get back! I pushed at him, hard, and he cowered away again. He snarled and whined his confusion at what I had done, but he shrank away from me into the corner of his cage. I seized the cage, lifted it. It was heavy, and the frantic shifting of his weight didn't make it any easier. But I could carry it. Not very far, and not for long. But if I took it in stages, I could get him out of the town. Full grown, he'd probably weigh as much as I did. But he was skinny, and young. Younger than I had guessed at first glance.