Fool's Quest (3 page)

Kettricken was probably responsible for the two sensible linen nightgowns draped over the chair. Two pairs of loose trousers in the same weave were with them. Lamb's-wool bed stockings were neatly rolled into balls. I smiled, considering it quite possible that the former queen had raided her own wardrobe for these soft things. I gathered the clothing and set it on the foot of the Fool's bed.

The garments left on the second chair were more puzzling. A sky-blue dress, with dagged sleeves and dozens more buttons than were required to close any garment, was on the chair back. On the seat of the chair, almost-sensible trousers of black wool terminated in cuffs of blue-and-white stripes. The slippers beside them resembled a pair of small boats, with pointed, upturned toes and a thick heel. I thought they were too large for the Fool even if he had been well enough to walk around Buckkeep.

I had been aware of his deep and steady breathing since I entered the chamber. It was good that he still slept, and I suppressed my boyish impulse to wake him and ask him how he felt. Instead, I found paper and sat down at Chade's old worktable to compose my note to Bee. I was full of words, managed a greeting, and then stared at the paper for a time. There was so much I needed to say, from reassurances that I would quickly return to advice for dealing with FitzVigilant and Shun. Could I be certain that hers would be the only eyes to read what I wrote? I hoped so, and yet my old training came to the fore and I decided not to commit to paper any words that could create ill feeling toward her. So I wrote only that I hoped she would enjoy these small things. As I had long promised, there was a knife for her belt, which I trusted she would use wisely. I reminded her that I would return home as soon as I could, and that I hoped she would use her time well while I was gone. I did not command her to study hard with her new tutor. In truth, I rather hoped that between my absence and the winter holiday, they would set lessons aside for a time. But I did not commit that thought to paper, either. Instead I closed my message by hoping that she had enjoyed Winterfest and noting that I missed her terribly. Then I sat for a time promising myself that at least Revel would be sure that there was some festivity for the holiday. I had intended to find some minstrels that fated day in Oaksbywater. Cook Nutmeg had proposed a menu that Revel had embellished. It was somewhere on my desk at home.

I had to do better by my daughter, and so I would. But there was little I could do about it until I returned home. The gifts would have to suffice until I could be there for Bee.

I spindled my note and tied it with some of Chade's twine. I found his sealing wax, melted a bit onto the knot, and imprinted the blob with my signet ring. No charging buck for FitzChivalry Farseer, only the badger's footprint that belonged to Holder Tom Badgerlock. I stood and stretched. I'd need to find a courier.

My Wit prickled. My nostrils flared, trying to find a scent. I did not move, but I let my gaze rove about the room. There. Behind a heavy tapestry of hounds pursuing a deer that concealed one of the secret entryways to the chamber, someone breathed. I centered myself in my body. My own breathing was silent. I did not reach for a weapon but I shifted my weight so that I could stand, move, leap, or drop to the floor in an instant. I waited.

“Don't attack me, sir, please.” A boy's voice. The words had a country lad's drawn-out vowels.

“Come in.” I made no promises.

He hesitated. Then, very slowly, he pushed the tapestry to one side and stepped out into the dim light of the chamber. He showed me his hands, the right one empty, the left holding a scroll. “A message for you, sir. That's all.”

I assessed him carefully. Young, perhaps twelve. His body had not yet turned the corner to manhood. Bony, with narrow shoulders. He'd never be a large man. He wore the Buckkeep blue of a page. His hair was brown and as curly as a water dog's, and his eyes were brown as well. And he was cautious. He'd shown himself but not stepped far into the room. He had sensed danger and announced himself to me, which raised him in my estimation.

“A message from whom?” I asked.

The tip of his tongue wet his lips. “A man who knew to send it to you here. A man who taught me the way to come here.”

“How do you know I'm the one it's for?”

“He said you'd be here.”

“But anyone might be here.”

He shook his head but didn't argue with me. “Nose broken a long time ago and old blood on your shirt.”

“Bring it to me, then.”

He came like a fox thinking of stealing a dead rabbit from a snare; he walked lightly and did not take his eyes from me. When he reached the table's edge, he set the scroll down and stepped back.

“Is that all?” I asked him.

He glanced around the room, at the firewood and the food. “And whatever else you might wish me to fetch for you, sir.”

“And your name is …?”

Again he hesitated. “Ash, sir.” He waited, watching me.

“There's nothing else I need, Ash. You may go.”

“Sir,” he replied. He stepped back, not turning nor taking his eyes from me. One slow step after another, he retreated until his hands touched the tapestry. Then he whisked himself behind it. I waited, but did not hear the scuff of his steps on the stairs.

After a moment, I rose silently and ghosted toward the tapestry. But when I snatched it back, empty air met my gaze. He was gone as if he'd never been there. I permitted myself a nod. On his third try, Chade seemed to have found himself a worthy apprentice. I wondered how much of the training he did, or if Lady Rosemary taught the boy, and where they had found him … and then I set it firmly out of my thoughts. None of my business. And if I were wise, I'd ask few questions and become as little involved in the current state of assassinations and politics at Buckkeep as I could. My life was complicated enough already.

I was hungry, but thought I'd wait a bit longer to see if the Fool would wake and eat with me. I went back to the worktable and drew Chade's scroll toward me. Within the first two lines, I felt the webs of Buckkeep intrigue tightening around me again. “As you are here, with little to do other than wait for his health to improve, perhaps you are willing to make yourself useful? Clothing has been provided, and the expectation has been planted that the court will be visited by Lord Feldspar of Spiretop, a small but well-established holding in the far northwest corner of Buck. Lord Feldspar is as stony as his name, fond of drink, and there is a rumor that a copper mine on his holding has recently begun to produce very fine-grade ore. Thus he has come to Buckkeep to be a party to the current trade negotiations.”

There was more. I was never once addressed by name, the handwriting was not recognizably Chade's, but, oh, the game clearly was. I finished reading the scroll and went to consider the outlandish dress that had been left for me. I sighed. I had some time yet before I would be expected to join them for an evening meal and conversation in the Great Hall. I knew my role. Talk little, listen a great deal, and report back to Chade all details as to who sought to make me an offer and how rich the offer was. I could not imagine what the greater game was. I knew that Chade would have decided what I needed to know and given me exactly that much. Weaving his webs as he ever did.

And yet despite my annoyance, I felt a stirring of the old excitement as well. It was Winterfest eve. The castle kitchen would have outdone itself, there would be music and dancing and folk from all over the Six Duchies. With my new identity and in clothes that would both draw attention to me and mark me as a stranger, I would once more spy for Chade as I had when I was a youth.

I held the dress up against me. No. Not a dress, a fussy and foppish long jacket, to go with the impractical shoes. The buttons were dyed bone, carved into little blue posies, and they were not just on the front but on the long cuffs as well. Lots of buttons. Buttons that did no buttoning but were mere ornamentation. The fabric was soft, a kind I had not seen before, and when I held the garment by the shoulders it proved far heavier than I had expected. I frowned, then quickly realized that the secret pockets had already been loaded for me.

I found a very nice set of small burglary picks and a tiny fine-tooth saw blade. In another pocket was an extremely sharp blade of the sort favored by cutpurses. I doubted I was deft enough to ply that trade. The few times I'd done it for Chade, it had been not for the coins but to see what love-notes were in Regal's purse, or which servant seemed to possess far more wages than an honest servingman would carry. Years ago. So many years ago.

I heard a low moan from the Fool's bed. I slung the jacket over my arm and hastened to his side. “Fool. Are you awake?”

His brow was lined, his eyes tightly closed, but at my voice something almost like a smile bent his mouth. “Fitz. It's a dream, isn't it?”

“No, my friend. You're here at Buckkeep. And safe.”

“Oh, Fitz. I am never safe.” He coughed a bit. “I thought I was dead. I became aware, but then there wasn't any pain, and I wasn't cold. So I thought I was dead, finally. Then I moved, and all the pains woke up.”

“I'm sorry, Fool.” I was to blame for his most recent injuries. I hadn't recognized him when I saw him clutching Bee. And so I had rushed to save my child from a diseased and possibly mad beggar, only to discover that the man I had stabbed half a dozen times was my oldest friend in the world. The swift Skill-healing I'd imposed had closed the knife wounds and kept him from bleeding to death. But it had weakened him as well, and in the course of that healing, I'd become aware of the multitude of old injuries and infections that still raged inside him. Those would kill him slowly, if I could not help him gain strength enough for a more thorough healing. “Are you hungry? There's beef cooked to tenderness by the hearth. And red wine, and bread. And butter.”

He was silent for a time. His blind eyes were a dull gray in the dim light of the room. They moved in his face as if he still strove to see out of them. “Truly?” he asked in a shaky voice. “Truly all that food? Oh, Fitz. I almost don't dare to move, lest I wake up and find the warmth and the blankets all a dream.”

“Shall I bring your food there, then?”

“No, no, don't do that. I spill so badly. It's not just that I can't see, it's my hands. They shake. And twitch.”

He moved his fingers and I felt ill. On one hand, all the soft pads of his fingers had been sliced away to leave thickly scarred tips. The knuckles of both hands were overly large on his bony fingers. Once he had had such elegant hands, such clever hands for juggling and puppetry and wood carving. I looked away from them. “Come, then. Let's take you back to the chair by the fireside.”

“Let me lead, and you only warn me of a disaster. I'd like to learn the room. I've become quite clever at learning rooms since they blinded me.”

I could think of nothing to say to that. He leaned heavily on my arm but I let him make his own groping way. “More to the left,” I cautioned him once. He limped, as if every step on his swollen feet pained him. I wondered how he had managed to come so far, alone and blinded, following roads he could not see. Later, I told myself. There would be time for that tale later.

His reaching hand touched the chair's back and then felt down it to the arm. It took him some time to maneuver himself into the chair and settle there. The sigh he gave was not one of contentment but of a difficult task accomplished. His fingers danced lightly on the tabletop. Then he stilled them in his lap. “The pain is bad, but even with the pain, I think I can manage the journey back. I will rest here, for a time, and heal a bit. Then, together, we will go to burn out that nest of vermin. But I will need my vision, Fitz. I must be a help to you, not a hindrance, as we make our way to Clerres. Together, we will bring them the justice they deserve.”

Justice.
The word soaked into me. Chade had always called our assassin's tasks
“quiet work,
” or
“the king's justice.
” If I took on this quest of his, what would it be? The Fool's justice. “Food in just a moment,” I said, letting his worry go unanswered for now.

I did not trust him to exercise restraint with how much food he took. I dished the food up for him, a small portion of meat cut into little bites and bread buttered and sliced into strips. I poured wine for him. I took his hand, thinking to guide it to the dish, but I had not warned him, and he jerked back as if I had burned him with a poker, nearly oversetting his dishes. “Sorry,” we exclaimed in unison. I grinned at that, but he did not.

“I was trying to show you where your food was,” I explained gently.

His head was bent as if he was looking down in shame. “I know,” he said quietly. Then, like timid mice, his crippled hands crept to the edge of the table, and ventured cautiously forward until he found the edge of his plate. His hands moved lightly over the dish, touching what was there. He picked up a piece of the meat and put it into his mouth. I started to tell him there was a fork at the side of his plate. I stopped myself. He knew that. I would not correct a tormented man as if he were a forgetful child. His hands crabbed over to the napkin and found it.

For a time, we ate together in silence. When he had finished what was on the plate, he asked softly if I would cut more meat and bread for him. As I did that, he asked suddenly, “So. How was your life while I was gone?”

For a moment, I froze. Then I transferred the cut meat to his plate. “It was a life,” I said, and was amazed at how steady my voice was. I groped for words: How does one summarize twenty-four years? How does one recount a courtship, a marriage, a child, and a widowing? I began.

“Well. That last time I left you? I became lost in the Skill-pillar on the way home. A passage that had taken but moments on my previous journeys took me months. When the pillar finally spat me out, I was near-senseless. And when I came to my wits, some days later, I found you had been and gone. Chade gave me your gift, the carving. I finally met Nettle. That did not go well, at first. I, uh, I courted Molly. We married.” My words ground to a halt. Even telling the tale in such bald terms, my heart broke over all I had had, and all I had lost. I wanted to say we had been happy. But I could not bear to put that in the past tense.