Fool’s Quest

He shook his head slowly as I stared up at him. ‘Never is over,’ he proclaimed to the crowd. He looked down at my upturned face. I stared up at him. I saw King Shrewd, and King Verity there. My kings, looking down at me with earnest sympathy. ‘FitzChivalry Farseer, too long have you sojourned among the Elderlings, your memory spurned by the very people you saved. Too long have you been in a place where the months pass as if days. Too long have you walked among us in false guise, deprived of your name and your honour. Rise. Turn and face the folk of the Six Duchies, your folk, and be welcomed home at last.’ He bent and took my arm.

‘You’re shaking like a leaf,’ he whispered by my ear. ‘Can you stand up?’

‘I think so,’ I muttered. But it was his strength that pulled me to my feet. I stood. I turned. I faced them all.

The roar of acclaim broke over me like a wave.

NINE (#ulink_df6cef34-d832-5971-840f-d3ec2163d9f4)

The Crown (#ulink_df6cef34-d832-5971-840f-d3ec2163d9f4)

As I have risked my life for this knowledge, I expect that for my next piece of information, I will be paid more handsomely! When you first approached me for these ‘small tasks’ as you called them, there at Buckkeep Castle, I had no idea what sorts of missions you would be assigning me. As I have said in the past, I will continue to convey interesting information to you, but nothing that I feel undermines or exploits my friendships.

Kelsingra is indeed a city of wonders past imagining. Information is stored in almost every stone there. I have heard that there is even more to be found in the Elderling archives recently discovered in the city, but I am not invited to enter there, and I won’t risk my friends’ trust by attempting to go there. A great deal of information about Elderlings is available in the walls of the old market space and one can’t help but be aware of it, even just strolling by on an evening. If you wish to advance me some coin and ask specific questions, I will answer the ones that I can. Had I not lost a hand to a windlass, I would not be in need of your funds. Nonetheless, I will remind you that I have my pride. A simple sailor you may think me, but I have my own code of honour.

But to your most pressing question. I have seen no ‘silvery river or stream’. And as I travelled there on the Rain Wild River and then up one of its tributaries, I assure you that I saw a great many rivers and streams feeding into that vast waterway. They were grey with silt. I suppose they might appear silvery in some lights.

However, I think I have had tidings of what it is that you seek. It is not a river, but a well. Silvery stuff rises within it, and the dragons seem to find it almost intoxicating. The location of this well and its very existence is supposed to be a great secret, but for one who can hear dragons, their clamour when the stuff rises close enough to the surface for them to drink betrays it. At other times, I imagine it must be drawn up in a bucket for them. I was obliged to keep my questions on this topic oblique. Two of the young keepers have very little tolerance for brandy, and we had a lovely wandering conversation until their commander arrived and berated them and threatened me. This Rapskal seems a very unsettled sort of person, capable of carrying out his various threats against me if he found me encouraging his men to drunkenness. He demanded that I leave Kelsingra, and the next morning I was escorted from my accommodations to the next departing ship. He did not ban me from the city as I have heard other travellers and entrepreneurs have been banned, but I think I shall let some time pass before I attempt another visit.

I will anticipate your next letter of credit and your queries. I am still quartered at the Splintered Fid, and messages sent to that inn will reach me.

Jek

It was dawn when I fell face down on my bed. I was exhausted. I had climbed the stairs, eager as a boy to tell the Fool all that had transpired, only to find him soundly asleep. For a time, I had sat by his bed, wishing he could have been there with me. When I dozed off in the chair, I’d surrendered and tottered down the stairs to my bed. I closed my eyes and slept. I sank into sweet oblivion, and then jerked awake as if someone had stuck a pin in me. I could not free myself from the sensation that something was wrong: terribly, terribly wrong.

I could not sleep. Danger, danger, danger thrummed through my nerves. I seldom felt such unease without a reason. Years ago, my wolf had always been at my back, using his keener sense to warn me of lurking intruders or unseen watchers. He was long gone these many years, but in this he remained. When something prickled against my senses, I had learned to pay attention.

I remained perfectly still on my bed. I heard only what I expected to hear, the winter wind outside my window, the soft sounds of the fire, my own breathing. I smelled nothing beyond my own smells. I opened my eyes to slits, feigning sleep still, and studied what I could of the room. Nothing. There was nothing to be alarmed about. Wit and Skill, I sensed all around me. There was nothing to alarm me. And yet I could not shake my anxiety. I closed my eyes. Sleep. Sleep.

I slept, but I did not rest. My heart was a wolf, hunting over snow hills, not for prey but for his lost pack. Hunting and hunting and hunting. Howling out my pain to the night, I ran and ran and ran. I awoke sweaty and still in my clothes. I had a moment of stillness and then heard the tiny scratch at my door. My senses were still wolf-sharpened from my dream. I crossed the room and opened the door while Ash was still poking at my lock.

Without a trace of embarrassment, he removed the pick from the lock, stooped, picked up the breakfast tray and carried it into my room. Moving efficiently, he set out my breakfast for me. Then he moved a small table that had been by my bed. He unslung a pouch from his shoulder, removed papers from it and set them out in orderly rows.

‘What are those? Are they from Chade?’

He pointed to each category. ‘Letters of congratulation. Invitations. Petitions for you to use your influence. I did not read them all, only the ones that looked useful. I expect you will have a host of them every day now.’

My unwanted correspondence arranged, he looked around my chamber for his next task. I was still grasping that reading my private correspondence was part of what he considered his duty. I saw only a shadow of disapproval in his eyes as he took in my rumpled clothes before he offered, ‘Have you any washing, my lord? I should be happy to take it to the laundry folk.’

‘Yes, I suppose I do. But I don’t think guests use the washerfolk that way. And I am not your “lord”.’

‘Sir, I do believe that all of that changed last night. Prince FitzChivalry, I should be greatly honoured to convey your dirty smallclothes to the washerfolk.’ A grin twitched and then disappeared.

‘Are you being cheeky with me?’ I was incredulous.

He lowered his eyes and observed quietly, ‘Not cheeky, sir. But one bastard may rejoice at another lowborn’s good fortune, and dream of better days for himself.’ He cocked his head at me. ‘Chade has had me hard at learning the history of the Six Duchies. Did you know that one queen-in-waiting actually gave birth to a bastard, and that he rose to be King of the Six Duchies?’

‘Not quite. You are thinking of the Piebald Prince. And that did not end well for him at all.’ His cousin had killed him for being Witted and had taken the throne.

‘Perhaps not.’ He glanced at my breakfast tray and tugged the napkin straight. ‘But he had a moment, didn’t he? Some day, I’d like a moment. Does it seem fair to you that how we are born determines how we are seen for the rest of our lives? Must I always be the son of a whore, a bawdyhouse errand boy? A few promises and a ring, and you might have been the king. Did you never think of that?’

‘No,’ I lied. ‘It was one of the first lessons I had from Chade. Think of what is and don’t let what might have been distract you.’

He nodded to that. ‘Well, being Lady Rosemary’s apprentice is definitely a step up in my life. And if the opportunity presents itself, I will imagine a better status for myself. I respect Lord Chade, but if one only remains what one is today, well …’ He tipped his head at me with a speculative look.

That stung, a bit. ‘Well. No offence taken, Ash, and if you continue with your lessons and your present master then, yes, I think you can rightly dream of better days.’

‘Thank you, sir. Your clothes, then?’

‘A moment.’ As I began to strip off my sweaty shirt and crumpled trousers, Ash went to Lord Feldspar’s travelling trunk and began to pull out garments. ‘This won’t do,’ I heard him mutter. ‘Nor this. Not now. What’s this? Perhaps.’

But when I turned back to him to accept the clothing he was offering me, his eyes were very wide. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Sir, what happened to your back? Were you attacked? Should I request a private guard for you? One on your door?’

I reached around to touch the sore spots on my back. I was startled that they were not completely healed. One was still oozing and two others were sore to the touch. And I could not think of a ready lie to explain what must look like a number of small puncture wounds on my back. ‘A bizarre accident, not an attack. My shirt, please.’ I tried to sound as if I were accustomed to having some young man as my valet. Wordlessly, he shook it out and held it open for me. I turned, and met his eyes. He glanced away. He knew I was lying about my back. But was I? It had been, after all, a bizarre accident. I said nothing as I accepted clean smallclothes, trousers and stockings. I was pleased that he had chosen clothes that were far more sensible than those Lord Feldspar had been flaunting. There were still a multitude of buttons, but fewer that poked me. My boots, newly cleaned, were ready for me. I felt a measure of relief as I sat down to put them on. ‘Thank you. You’re good at this.’

‘I served my mother and the other women of the house for years.’

I felt a little sinking of my heart. Did I want to know more about this apprentice of Chade’s? But that sort of an invitation could not be heartlessly ignored. ‘So I heard.’

‘Lord Chade was never my mother’s patron, so you need not fear he is my father. But he was always kinder to me than most. I began running errands for him when I was about ten. So, when my mother was … killed, and I was forced to flee, he sent someone to find me. And he saved me.’

Tumbling facts falling into place. Chade was a patron of the house where his mother worked, just not his mother’s patron. Some kindness, and probably the boy had begun spying for him without even knowing he was doing it. Some coins to run an errand, and a few casual questions, and Chade would learn things about the other patrons. Enough to put the boy’s life in danger when his mother died? A story there. Too many stories. Which noble son had taken his deviation too far? I didn’t want to know. The more I knew, the more involved I would become. Last night, I’d been netted as neatly as a fish. I already knew that the more I thrashed, the tighter the web would become. ‘I’m tired,’ I said, and then amended it to a weary smile and, ‘I’m already tired and the day has only just begun. I’d best check on my friend. Ash, count me among the friends you could run to, did you ever need that again.’

He nodded gravely. Another noose of spiderweb wrapped around me. ‘I’ll take these to the washerfolk for you, and bring them back this afternoon. Do you require anything else of me?’

‘Thank you. That will be all for now.’

I heard a distant echo of Verity in my voice. Verity dismissing his man who always attended him. Charim. That had been his name. So long ago. I half-expected Ash to be offended at my dismissal, but he bobbed a bow and went out of the door with my laundry over his arm. I sat down to the tray of food that he had brought and made a start on it. Was the food better today? Was FitzChivalry Farseer supplied a better breakfast than Lord Feldspar? And if he was, what did that say for the expectations folk would have, both low and high? Would nobles try to curry favour with me? Underlings seek employment with me? I sampled some of the missives Ash had left. Favour begged, fawning invitations and overly kind congratulations on my return. I closed my eyes tight and opened them again. The stack of correspondence was still there. Eventually, I’d have to deal with it. Or perhaps that was one of Ash’s duties. He’d said he’d read most of it, without apology.

Where would I fit into Dutiful’s court now? And how could I leave it? What of my Bee? I still had not had a chance to tell Kettricken to send for her, but it seemed that I must, for it came to me suddenly that those who connected me with Tom Badgerlock would know there was a second, secret, Farseer daughter. Did I control any aspect of my life any longer? The life I had led for the past forty years was suddenly shattered to fragments. Lies and deceptions had been swept aside. Well, some lies and deceptions. I needed to talk to Chade: a tale must be concocted about what I had been doing all those years. Would we admit my part in the freeing of IceFyre, the black dragon? Reveal that I had snatched Dutiful back from a misadventure with the Witted and preserved him for the throne? How did Tom Badgerlock intersect with FitzChivalry Farseer? It suddenly seemed to me that truth-telling was just as hazardous as lying. One little bit of truth might lead to requiring another revelation. Where would it end?

I concentrated on the eating, not letting myself dwell on all the questions crowding into my brain. I had no intention of leaving my room today until someone Skilled to me or sent me a message.

So when I heard the light tap at my door, I set down my cup and stood immediately. The tap came again. And not from the chamber door, but from the concealed door that led to Chade’s old lair. ‘Fool?’ I queried softly, but no one replied. I triggered the door.

But it was not the Fool who waited there, but the crow. She looked up at me, turning her head to regard me with one bright eye. Then, as if she were the queen herself, she hopped gravely down the remaining steps and into the centre of the room.

It is common for folk who are not Witted to think that those of us with Old Blood can talk to any animal. We can’t. The Wit is a mutual exchange, a sharing of thoughts. Some creatures are more open than others; some cats will not only talk to anyone, but will natter on or nag or pester with absolutely no restraint. Even the person with only the tiniest shred of the Wit will find themselves standing to open the door before the cat has scratched at it, or calling the cat from across the room to share the best morsel of fish. Having been bonded to a wolf for so many years set my thoughts in a pattern that, I believed, made all creatures of that family more open to me. Dogs, wolves and even foxes have communicated with me from time to time. One hawk I have spoken with, at the bidding of her mistress. One small ferret, ever a hero in my heart. But no Witted one can simply arrow thoughts at a creature and expect to be understood. I considered trying, but the Wit swiftly becomes an intimate sharing. And I had little desire to develop such a bond with this bird. So I did not use the Wit, but only words as I said to her, ‘Well, you look much better than the last time I saw you. Would you like me to open the window for you?’

‘Dark,’ she said, and I was astonished at the clarity of the word, and how appropriate it was. I had heard birds trained to speak, but usually the human words they uttered were simple repetitions bereft of sense or context. The crow walked rather than hopped across the room and studied the window before fluttering to the top of my clothing chest. I did not stare at her. Few wild creatures are comfortable with that. Instead, I stepped carefully past her and opened the window.

Wind and chill came in: the storms of the past few days had paused but clouds promised more snow tonight. For a moment I stood and stared out over the castle walls. It had been years since I had studied this view. The forest had retreated. I could see farm cottages where once there had been only the sheep pastures, and pastures where there had been forest, and stumplands beyond that. My heart sank; once we had hunted there, my wolf and I, where now sheep pastured. The world had to change and for some reason the prosperity of men always results in them taking ever more from wild creatures and places. Foolish, perhaps, to feel that pang of regret for what was gone, and perhaps it was only felt by those who straddled the worlds of humans and beasts.

The crow fluttered to the windowsill. I stepped back carefully to give her room. ‘Fare well,’ I wished her and waited for her to go.

She cocked her head and looked at me. In that quick way birds have, she twisted her head again and looked out over the world. Then she opened her wings and with a flutter crossed the room and landed with a rattle of crockery on my breakfast tray. Wings spread wide, as if to remind me, she said, ‘White! White!’ Then without hesitation she snatched up and swallowed a shred of bacon. She stabbed at a bit of leftover bread and with a shake scattered it over the floor. She eyed it for a moment, and then disregarded it as she clattered her bill in a dish that had held apple compote.