Fool's Quest - Страница 136

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I dragged my feet through the halls of Buckkeep, inventing and discarding a hundred ways of telling him that I was leaving him behind. I stood for a long time outside his door. At last I decided there was no good way to give him the news. Once more, I considered a coward’s way out: I simply would not tell him. I would just go.

But I was certain that Ash would be a party to the announcement of my departure, and what he knew, the Fool would know. I lifted my hand and knocked and waited. Spark opened the door to me. She smiled to see me, and I decided that perhaps they had made up their quarrel. “It’s Prince FitzChivalry, sir. Shall I admit him?” she called merrily over her shoulder.

“Of course!” He sounded hearty. I peered past Spark to see Lord Gray sitting at his table. Motley was there, among an assortment of small items. I guessed at the game they’d been playing. I was glad at how quickly he’d recovered his spirits and miserable that I would soon destroy his cheerfulness. But I had no choice.

No sooner was the door closed behind me than he demanded, “How soon do we leave?”

Just say it. “I leave in three days.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“I can’t take you with me.”

He cocked his head at me. Shock was replaced with a desperate smile. “And yet well you know you cannot find the way there without me.”

“I can.” I stepped around Spark and moved toward the table. I drew out the other chair and sat down opposite him. He opened his mouth. “No,” I said firmly. “Hear me out. I can’t take you, Fool. I make the first part of my journey by the stones, using the same ones that Bee did. I dare not try to take you through with me—”

“I dare!” he declared over the top of my words, but I kept speaking.

“You are still healing. It’s not just your body that needs time, as well we both know. It’s best you take that time here at Buckkeep, where you are warm, safe, and fed, among friends. It’s my hope that as your health improves, the King’s Own Coterie can attempt a fuller Skill-healing, perhaps even restore your vision. I know it must sound harsh to you, but if I try to take you with me, it will slow me down and may well kill you.”

The crow and the serving girl regarded me with hard, bright eyes. The Fool was breathing hard through his nose, as if he’d just climbed a towerful of stairs. His hands gripped the edge of the table. “You mean it,” he said in a shaking voice. “You’re leaving me here. I hear it in your voice.”

I drew a deep breath. “If I could, Fool, I would—”

“But you can. You can! Take the risk! Take all the risks! So we die in a stone, or on a ship, or at Clerres. So we die, and it ends. We die together.”

“Fool, I—”

“She wasn’t only your child! She was the hope of the world. And she was mine, and I only ever touched her for one brief moment! Why can you imagine I’d hesitate to risk my life for the chance to avenge her? To bring all Clerres crashing down around their ears! What, do you imagine I’ll sit here and drink tea and chat with Kettricken while you go off without me? Fitz! Fitz! You can’t do this to me! You can’t!”

His voice had risen and he shouted the last words at me, as if shouting would somehow change the logic of my decision. When he paused to draw breath, we all heard the knocking at the door. The cadence indicated it had been going on for some time.

“Take care of that!” the Fool snapped at Spark.

With a pale face and folded lips, she did as she was ordered. The Fool sat across from me, his chest heaving. I sat still and silent, not listening to the words at the door. Spark closed it and came to the table bearing a tray. “Someone sent food for this room.”

“I thought we might discuss this over dinner. I’d hoped to learn more that might help me.”

Spark set the tray down between us with a sharp clack. The savory fragrance of seared meat seemed to come from some other world where such pleasures mattered.

Watching the Fool’s anger build was almost terrifying. It seemed to come up from somewhere deep in his chest. I saw his chest swell and his shoulders bunch. His hands clenched and the tendons in his throat stood out. I knew what he was going to do an instant before he did it, but I made no move as he seized the sides of the tray of food and wine and upended it toward me. The gravy was hot and a wineglass bounced from my brow before dumping its contents in my lap. It fell to the floor with a soft chime of impact and then rolled in a half-circle.

Spark gasped. The crow uttered a harsh “ha, ha, ha!” before opening her wings and hopping from the table to the floor. Without hesitation, she began to sort through the food. I lifted my eyes from her to the Fool’s frozen countenance. “More that might help you? More that might help you to leave me behind here? You will hear nothing more from me. Get out. Get out!”

I rose. There had been linen napkins with the tray of food. I took one and wiped most of the food from my chest and lap. I folded the mess into it and set it quietly on the table. I spoke. I knew I should not, I knew it, and yet the words came out of my mouth. “And this is yet another reason I cannot take you with me. You have lost all control of yourself, Fool. I came to tell you that I’m going alone. I did that. Good night.”

And I left him there, with the crow eating and Spark weeping noisily enough for all of us.

The next few days passed in a whirl. Two seamstresses came to my room early the next morning and measured me thoroughly for “traveling clothes.” I told them to leave off any decorative buttons. A day later they delivered to my room sturdy shirts and trousers in subtle browns and a tightly woven cloak lined with fur. The lightweight leather armor came separately and was of a quality I had never experienced. The high-collared vest would protect my chest, belly, and throat. There were greaves and vambraces, also brown and unmarked by any insignia. I was pleased that Dutiful had known I would need to travel quietly and unremarked. But then came another delivery, of a lovely Buck-blue cloak and blue-dyed leather gloves lined with lamb’s wool, and a doublet embroidered all over with bucks and narwhals. I began to guess that there was more than one kind heart supplying me for my journey.

My worn pack was replaced by one of weatherproofed canvas with sturdy straps. The first things I put into it were Bee’s books and Molly’s candles. Those would go with me to the ends of the earth.

The word had gone out that I would be leaving, and the farewell notes, invitations, and gifts were overwhelming. And yet all must be acknowledged and politely refused. Every loose thread snipped or tied. Ash came to my room, grim-faced and silent, and every day presented me with all these missives sorted into tidy piles.

And I returned to the Fool’s room and failed at reasoning with him. I endured the Fool’s constant imprecations and pleas that I reconsider. I continued to see him and he continued to batter me with anger, sorrow, sarcasm, and silence. I held firm. “You will never penetrate those walls without me. I am your only hope of gaining entry,” he told me more than once. The more I refused to discuss it, the more he talked only about it. It did not stop my daily visits but I counted down to the last one.

Two days before my departure, Kettricken summoned me to her audience chamber. That day no one else was waiting, having been warned she was busy for the whole day. I was admitted immediately and found her busy with pen and paper. A scroll rack had been brought in, and it held perhaps a score of scrolls. She was kneeling on a cushion, pen in hand, head bent over a vellum.

“Just in time,” she said as I entered. “I’m finished.” She lifted a container and sanded her wet ink.

I opened my mouth to speak and she held up a hand. “Many years ago, I suffered as I have watched you suffer. I waited in idleness, knowing nothing of the fate of my husband. Of my love.” Her voice broke slightly on the word. “When I set out at last, I had nothing to guide me except hope and a map.” She tapped the sand from the vellum and offered it to me. “A map. With Clerres on it. And Fishbones and Wortletree and all the other places you’ve been seeking. A map based on old drawings and hearsay and tales from that old sailor.”

I stared at her incredulously. “The one from the tavern? He had little enough to tell me.”

She smiled. “Him, and a few others. More than a little I have learned from our good Chade through the years. And informants love to be paid. A few were clever enough to move up the chain and come to me with empty palms waiting. A few coins and they are mine now, Fitz, and with them all they know.” A steaming pot and two cups had been waiting on the table. She wore a little cat-smile as she poured a bit, considered the color, and then filled our cups. As she set one before me, she blushed and said, “Tell me you are proud of me.”

“Always. And astounded!”

Her hand was more delicate than Verity’s but her work as precise. She had noted that sailing into Wortletree at low tide was inadvisable, and a few other snippets of information.

We had finished our tea when she asked suddenly, “You don’t expect to come back, do you?”

I gaped at her. Then I demanded, “How did you know?”

“You’ve the look that Verity had when he was carving his dragon. He knew he’d begun something that he would not return from.”

We both fell silent for a time. Then she spoke in a husky whisper. “Thank you for my son.”

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