Fool's Quest - Страница 69

I stood, staggered sideways a few steps, and was glad to catch myself before Dutiful could seize my arm. When a man’s pride is all he has left, he holds it closely. I did not care that they watched as I went to the drapes and triggered the hidden door. I was sick of secrets. Let them all spill out into the daylight. But it wasn’t daylight now. It was night. Let the secrets spill into the night? I shook my head. I had been doing something. Going to the Fool. I clutched my thoughts tightly.

I ascended the stairs. I knew they followed. The room above was yellow with candlelight and hearth fire. I smelled the resinous fragrance of the Mountain forests and suspected that Kettricken burned incense from her home. It cleared my mind and as I entered the chamber, it struck me that I had never seen it so warm and welcoming. My eyes swept over the changes. The crow perched on one of the chairbacks, dozing in the warmth from the fire. “Fitz—Chivalry!” she greeted me. Ash sat on the floor by the hearth at Kettricken’s feet. He gave me a doleful look and then turned his gaze back to the fire. My former queen was ensconced in Chade’s old chair. She had draped a colorful Mountain coverlet over it. On the table beside her, a fat blue teapot painted with leaping hares steamed. Her braided hair was pinned high on her head, and the cuffs of her simple blue gown were folded back as if she were ready to do the day’s scrubbing. She turned to me, a mug of aromatic tea in her hands. Her eyes were concerned but her mouth smiled. “Fitz! I am so relieved you have returned to us, and so worried for little Bee! And for Chade’s daughter!”

I made no answer to her greeting. My gaze was snagged on the man who sat beside her. He was slender and upright, but his posture was still uncertain. An invalid still, he was robed in soft gray wool; a loose hood covered his head. I could not tell if he could see me or not. The eyes he turned on me were no longer clouded and gray; they gleamed a faint gold as if the firelight reflected in them. He extended a hand toward me. The knuckles were still swollen and his hands were bone-gaunt, but his fingers moved with a shadow of their old grace. He turned his hand palm up and reached toward me. “Fitz?” he asked, and I knew then he could not see me. Yet I had the uncanny feeling he could sense me.

I crossed the room and seized his hand in both of mine. It was slightly cool, as the Fool’s flesh had ever been. “You are better!” I exclaimed, full of relief at the sight of him upright and moving. I had expected to see him gray and failing in the bed. I turned his hand over in mine; the flesh of the back of it was strangely puckered. It reminded me of an unfledged squab.

“I am alive,” he rejoined. “And more vital. Better? I do not know. I feel so different that I cannot say if I am better or not.”

I stared at him. Chade had an apothecary supply that would rival any shop in Buck, and possibly even Bingtown. I knew most of what he had, and I’d had the use of some of it. Carryme. Elfbark. Nightshade. Cardomean. Valerian. Willowbark. Carris seed. Poppy. On more than one occasion, I’d had recourse to those supplies. During my training Chade had occasionally deliberately exposed me to the effects of some of the lesser poisons, soporifics, and a wide array of stimulants. Yet I knew of nothing in his arcane array that could call a man back from death’s gate and put a golden glint in his blinded eyes.

Ash’s gaze had been flickering between the two of us. His eyes were dog-dark, his shoulders hunched as if expecting the snap of a switch. I regarded him severely. “Ash. What did you give him?”

“The lad believed he was following Chade’s orders. And it seems to have worked,” Kettricken said mildly.

I did not speak aloud what I feared. Many treatments were temporary. Carris seed might lift a man’s vigor to unusual heights for a day or even two, but it would be followed by a devastating drop to total exhaustion as the body demanded the debt be repaid. Elfbark gave energy, quickly followed by deep despair. I had to know if Ash had saved the Fool’s life or merely given him a false lease on it.

Chade’s apprentice had not answered my question. I put a growl of command into my voice. “What did you give him, Ash? Answer me.”

“Sir.” The boy rose awkwardly to his feet and bowed to me gravely. His gaze roved uneasily past Kettricken, glided over Nettle and Riddle, and then faltered before King Dutiful’s severe expression. He looked back at me. “May I speak to you alone?”

Dutiful’s voice was deceptively mild as he asked him, “And what is it that you can tell Lord FitzChivalry but not your rightful king?”

The boy looked down, abashed but determined. “Sire, Lord Chade has made me his apprentice. When he asked if I wished to learn his skills, he warned me that in our trade, there might be times when my king would have to deny me. And times when my silence must protect the honor of the Farseer reign. He said that there are secrets that those who practice our trade do not inflict on the nobility.”

I well recalled the same lecture. It had not come early in my training. Evidently the boy was deeper in Chade’s confidence than I had thought.

Dutiful pinned him with a stare. “Yet Lord FitzChivalry can be a party to your secret?”

Ash stood his ground though the blood flushed his cheeks. “If it please my king, I have been told that he was one of my kind for many years before he was elevated to being one of yours.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I had to act on my own judgment. Lady Rosemary was called away. So I had to do as I thought Lord Chade would have wanted.”

I did not hold the power here. I waited for Dutiful to free the boy from his dilemma. After a long pause, Dutiful sighed. I saw Lady Kettricken give a small nod of approval, while the crow made several courting bows and announced, “Spark! Spark!” That made no sense to me, but I had no time to pursue a bird’s thought. Dutiful spoke. “I permit this. This once. My honor should not be preserved by those who serve me doing dishonorable things.”

Ash started to speak. I put a hand on his shoulder to silence him. There would always be dishonorable things done to preserve the honor of any power. Silence now, as Dutiful never needed his nose rubbed in that dirt. Something like a shadow of a smile bent the Fool’s lips. Riddle and Nettle remained silent, acceding to Dutiful. The relief on the boy’s face was evident. It took courage for him to make a low bow to Dutiful and add, “It is respect for the Farseer line that bids me take this course, my king.”

“Be it so.” Dutiful was resigned.

I gestured to Ash and he followed me. We moved away from the light and warmth of the fire, to the dark and shadowy end of the room. Back to the shadows where assassins belonged, I thought. Back to where the old worktable still bore the scorches and scars of my own apprenticeship.

As I moved, I thought about the task Lady Rosemary had been dispatched to carry out. The man who had hired killers to assassinate the royal assassins would soon experience the king’s quiet justice. Would it be subtle: a fall down the stairs, or poisoning from a bit of bad meat? Or would she choose to be sure he knew who was killing him and take her time about it? Would his body be left in such a way as to warn others, or would no corpse ever be found? I suspected the Bawdy Trout might catch fire. Or possibly experience a very destructive brawl. Cod oil in their wine casks? I reined my thoughts away. It was her task, and her assignment came from the king himself. Professional courtesy demanded that I not interfere or judge her decisions. As Ash would learn, some secrets we held back, even from those who shared our trade.

The boy was standing silent near the darkest end of the table. “Well?” I demanded.

“I was waiting for you to be seated, sir.”

I felt a moment’s exasperation. Then I sat, looked at him, and chose Chade’s tone as I ordered him quietly, “Report.”

He licked his lips. “Lord Chade told me that I should do all in my power to keep your friend comfortable. Anything he might need, I was to furnish him. And I was told that he had Skilled that directive to me from Withywoods, as well. Any desire he expressed, I was to fulfill as best as I might. But, sir, it was not just my master’s order that made me do as I did. I did it for that man—I scarcely know what name to call him by! But he spoke me kind, even when I first frightened him. Even when I continued to fear and almost loathe his appearance, if I am honest!

“And when he became accustomed to me, he talked to me. As if he were full of words and they must pour out! And the stories he told! At first I thought he was making up such things. Then I went to the scrolls you had written from those times and there I found the tales told again, almost exactly as he had said.”

He paused expectantly, but his words had snatched the speech from my lips. He’d been reading the accounts I’d written and entrusted to Chade, my reports on the hidden history of the Red-Ship Wars, and how Dutiful had been won back from the Old Blood faction and the dragon Icefyre released from the glacier on Aslevjal. The fall of the Pale Woman. It astonished me, even as I felt a bit foolish. Of course he was reading them. Why did I imagine that Chade had asked me to record them, if not to use in the education of his new apprentices? Had I not read scroll after scroll in Verity’s hand, and King Shrewd’s, and even those from my father’s pen?

“But, if you don’t mind my saying, his tellings were more exciting than your writing. Hero tales, told by one of the heroes himself. Not that he didn’t tell your part in all he did, but …”