Fool's Quest - Страница 126

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Nettle covered her shock and Kettricken said simply that there was no way either of them could have known. Neither woman offered any rebuke or advice. They allowed her to weep herself clean, and when she fell asleep in the big cushioned chair in the room, Nettle simply covered her and left her there while Kettricken went on with her yarn tasks.

FitzVigilant did not, however, take the revelation that he and Shine were siblings in stride. To my surprise, he did not discard his bastard’s name to take Chade’s surname. He subjected us all to several weeks of morose quiet. When seated near Shine at table, he kept his eyes on his food and contributed nothing to conversation. I was grateful that Chade took most of his meals in his room and that Shine frequently joined him there, for the old Chade would have quickly discerned Lant’s discomfort. The looks he sent after her when they passed in the corridors were too transparent for my comfort. I dreaded stepping in but just when I was certain I must, Riddle intervened.

One evening he steered Lant firmly to a seat between us and demanded he discuss the virtues of his favorite taverns in Buckkeep Town. That led to a late-night expedition to visit three of them. At the end of the night, all three of us staggered back to Buckkeep Castle together. At one point as we all but groped our way up the dark and icy road, Lant burst out with a wail of “But no one understands what happened or how I feel!” Riddle rounded on him and said bluntly, “And that is the most fortunate thing that can befall you, or any of those you care about. Put it behind you, and think about it again in twenty years. Whatever it was, you can’t change it. So stop clinging to it, and let time and distance do their work.”

I trudged along beside them in the dark. The night was cold enough that my face felt a stiff mask. I tried to think, but then Riddle began singing the old song about the woodcutter’s son, and after the second verse both Lant and I joined in. When Lant came to the table the next night, he announced he had spent the day fishing in an open boat and had caught a flatfish the size of a small child. I was unendingly pleased when I saw Nettle give Riddle a very special smile over Lant’s bent head as he set upon his food with an appetite we had not seen since Winterfest.

So the slow moons of winter ticked past us all. I was more alone than I had ever been in my life and it suited me. It was a solitude that I cultivated. I let nothing touch me too deeply. Alone, I made my plans. With a hunter’s heart, I waited for winter to fade and better traveling weather to come. I wrote several very long letters, one for Hap, one for Kettricken, and another to Nettle and Riddle. I considered writing one to my unborn grandchild and decided I was wallowing in sentiment. The one to Chade was hardest, for I wondered if he would ever read it with a whole mind. Like Verity, I signed and secured my missives and set them by.

I endured each day, waiting, as slowly broken things began to heal. My Skill came back to me, in tickles of chance thought and then in whispers. I used it as little as possible at first, respecting my daughter’s advice and wishes in that regard. Then I exercised it, but rigorously, in tight sendings to Thick, or a general comment to Nettle. I became aware of the various coteries within Buckkeep, and shamelessly listened in when their sendings were careless. I built my Skill-discipline as systematically as I rebuilt the muscles of my body and my fighting skills. By day, I took my bruises in the practice yard, and by night I practiced throwing knives and materializing poison from my cuff. I watched for the weather to grow kinder for travel and I waited for myself to grow deadlier.

Every creature entrusted to my care, I settled into safekeeping. The crow was a jocund addition to the Fool’s chamber, for Perseverance brought her daily to see him. She was company for the Fool in a way no human could be, and at times I almost wondered if they did not share a thread of the Wit. She picked up words from him as a pigeon pecks up corn. Despite his blindness, he endeavored to teach her tricks, and I was never so astonished as I was on the day when he told her to “take Fitz’s spoon” and she promptly hopped across the table and stole it for him. Motley did not seem to respond to my Wit, but her language and responsiveness were those of a Wit-bonded animal. She puzzled me.

As for Fleeter, I had little use for a horse while I lived in the castle. I still visited her sporadically in the stables. Several times, I found Patience leaning on the door of her stall, apparently admiring the horse. So I was not surprised on the day that Fleeter swung her head toward me.

My boon?

Ask it.

I’ve found my partner. See that I stay with her.

Done.

And that was it. After that, Fleeter disdained me completely. Perseverance bridled a bit when I asked the girl to take over Fleeter’s exercise and grooming, but I refused to be moved. I saw the light in the Patience’s eyes when I gave her the duty and knew that she would enjoy the horse with an open heart I could not offer. I visited the stables less and less often, and as I saw Fleeter bond to her, I did not intervene. The beautiful partner I had spurned lavished herself on another. I deserved the regret that stung me. It was too late to change it, and I would not if I could have.

The Fool continued to heal but very slowly. The evening that he came to join me at the hearth in the Great Hall, I felt a lift of relief. Ash had obviously chosen his garments: I saw him admire the effect from a distance. The Fool wore a long robe of black in a style half a century old, spangled with moons and stars cut from other fabric and quilted onto the garment. He wore the slouch hat that had once belonged to Lord Feldspar, now adorned with green buttons and charms of brass and tin. His walking stick carved with serpents and dragons was his own handiwork, and I was glad to see he had taken up his old pastime. Motley rode on his shoulder and contributed to his peculiar appearance. Ash guided him to a seat beside me, and to those who greeted him, he introduced himself as Gray, a traveler from far Satine. He claimed no title of lord, but presented himself as a foreign mage come to Buckkeep to study the legendary magic of the Farseers. His garments and accoutrements were peculiar enough that his gold eyes and scarred face seemed appropriate to them. That first evening he did not stay long but, as winter passed he began to move about Buckkeep Castle. He courted no new friends as Mage Gray but did begin to call on those who had known him. I saw him taking a small pleasure in this new role, and both Ash and Spark seemed to take great enjoyment in assisting him in it. The two youngsters, I thought, would care well for my old friend. So even from the Fool, I caged my feelings and thoughts.

I watched Nettle grow heavier with the child she carried, and Riddle became ever more solicitous of her. Kettricken and Elliania could not contain their joy for her. I took comfort that she was surrounded by their love even as I kept a careful distance. If I let no one depend on me, I could fail no one.

On most nights, sleep eluded me. I did not really care. In the dark of night, the libraries of Buckkeep were empty save for me and my lamp. I began a careful combing of them. At one time, Chade had developed a fascination with what he had called the religion of the White Prophet. I found the scrolls he had collected. Some I translated afresh, and others I renewed with painstaking pen-work. Here I finally found the references I sought. Clerres was distant, farther away than ever I had been. The accounts of traveling there were old and sometimes contradictory. I discussed my work with no one. The slow gathering of information consumed me.

I made time to go down to Buckkeep Town, and to frequent several of the taverns where the sailors gathered. I sought out those who had come farthest to Buckkeep’s port and asked of them for any news of a place called Clerres. Three had heard of the place, but only one claimed to have ever visited that far port. He’d been a boy, on one of his earliest voyages. The garrulous old man did his best to tell me of nearby ports, but time, a harsh life, and much rum had eroded his memory. “Go to the Spice Isles,” he told me. “There’s folk there that trade with the White Island Servants. They’ll put you on the right tack.” A tiny clue but one that gave shape to the journey to come.

I was relieved that my assassin’s skills no longer belonged to my king. I even told Dutiful how relieved I was, at a private dinner one evening in Chade’s rooms. My old mentor picked listlessly at his food as our king explained his decisions to move us into open view. “I know it was uncomfortable for you, Fitz, but your status demanded appropriate chambers. And a son of the Farseer reign should not be lurking in hidden passageways and spying on his people.” He set down his fork with sigh and gave me a weary smile. “Fitz, I am finished with secrets. Look where they have brought us. Consider how they twisted childhood for Shine and Lant, let alone yourself. And the near-disaster of their meeting when they were unaware of their kinship.”

I chewed slowly, my eyes on my food, wondering how he had acquired that bit of insight and hoping that the meaning had slipped past Chade.

“Think of your crown and my father’s last letter to you, hidden for years and known only to Chade. If he had perished in the Red-Ship Wars, none would have known of Verity’s wishes for you. I look at Chade as he is now, smiling and nodding, and I wonder what else he knew and has now forgotten, what key bits of Farseer history will never be revealed by him.”

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