Fool's Quest (38 page)

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 …”

I nodded, wondering if the Fool had indulged in a bit of embroidery or if the true tales of our exploits had been enough to fire the boy's imagination.

“I took the best care of him that I knew how, preparing his food, keeping his linens clean, changing the dressings on his injuries, the few times he would allow it. I thought he was getting better. But when he received the news that you had gone off to Withywoods, he became a different creature. He ranted and wept. He said that he should have gone with you, that only you and he could protect each other. I could not calm him. He got up from his bed and stumbled about, demanding that I find garments and boots for him, that he must follow you however he could. And so I obeyed him, but very slowly, for I knew this was not what was best for him. And I am ashamed to say I brought him a tea, one of those that taste of sweet spices and milk but hide a sleeping draught. He drank it down and calmed somewhat. He asked for toasted cheese and bread and perhaps some pickles and a glass of white wine.

“I was so relieved to see him calm and so sure of my tea that I promised to fetch it right away. I left him sitting on the edge of the bed. I took my time in preparing the food and putting it on a tray, and when I returned, my hopes were rewarded. I saw him well bundled in the bed and sleeping soundly. So I did not disturb him.”

“But he wasn't there at all.”

The boy looked only mildly surprised that I had guessed the Fool's ruse. “No. He wasn't. But it was quite a time before I discovered that. When he did not wake when I thought he should, I thought to see if his fever had come back. But he was only bunched bedding and a pillow stuffed into the hooded cloak I had brought him.”

“I know the rest. What did you give him to revive him?”

“An unproven elixir. I knew that it was all my fault, that my sleeping tea had overcome him as he neared the stables. If he died from the cold and exposure, it would be my fault. Lord Chade had obtained the potion some time ago, at great expense. He did not say directly, but I believe it was stolen from a courier who was bearing it to the Duke of Chalced.”

“That would have been years ago!” I objected.

“Yes, sir. I took that into account. The potion was old and often things like that lose their potency. So I doubled the dosage in the scroll. I gave him two full spoons of it.”

“Two spoons full of what?”

He left me then and went to Chade's cupboard. When he came back, he bore the small glass vial I had seen there earlier. Half its contents were gone, but what remained of the dark-red potion had silvery threads that crawled and squirmed through it in a way that made me queasy.

“What is it?”

Ash looked astonished that I did not know at a glance. “Dragon's blood, sir. It's dragon's blood.”

“He gave you dragon's blood.”

I had persuaded the others there that, while I had concerns over the medicine that Ash had administered to the Fool, there was little to be done save wait and see. I had not told them precisely what that potion was. There was nothing to be gained by involving the king in the knowledge of Chade's illegal trade. I was already appalled on his behalf. When Ash had first spoken of it, I had felt astonished. And then almost immediately I had known that, yes, if Chade were curious about the properties of dragon's blood, he would obtain it, however he could. I only wished that Chade were not incapacitated right now. I had no idea if the suggested dosage Ash had located in Chade's scroll was correct, let alone what side effects we should beware. And unfortunately for me, my best course was to keep all those worries to myself.

Fortunately for me, Dutiful had a kingdom to rule. Nettle needed rest, and seeing that she got it would occupy Riddle. And Kettricken had excused herself from the Fool's bedside to go to Chade's. I'd promised her that I would join her there soon, sent Ash off to fetch food for the Fool and me, and seated myself in the chair Kettricken had vacated. Then I had told him.

“What will it do to me?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. Not for certain. I'll have Ash sort out the scrolls that relate to cures from dragon parts. I'll have him read through them, and set aside for me any that seem relevant.” I didn't tell him that Chade regarded most of what was written in such scrolls as chicanery. We were in unknown territory, groping our way through the dark. “Do you feel well enough to talk to me?”

He smiled. “At the moment, I feel I could walk to the Mountains with you. But a little while ago, my guts were burning inside me and I wept on Kettricken's shoulder as if I were a dying child.” He blinked his golden eyes. “I see more light than I could before. I slept for a long time after he gave it to me. Or so he says. I do not really believe I was fully awake when he poured it in my mouth. And such dreams I woke from! Not the dreams of a White Prophet, but dreams full of power and glory. I flew, Fitz. Not as when I rode on the back of Girl-on-a-Dragon. I flew. Me.” For a time he sat, silently staring. Then he came back to me. “My hands ache horribly, but I can move them. Every finger! My skin itches so badly I wish I could tear it off. And my foot, my bad foot?” He lifted the hem of his nightrobe and displayed it to me. “I can walk on it. There is pain, great pain in it all the time. But it's not the pain that I had before.”

I realized then that his smile was gritted teeth as well as amusement. I rose to see what herbs I might have to ease the deep ache of healing bones. I spoke over my shoulder as I moved about the room. “I need to talk to you about the people who attacked Withywoods. They took my little girl, my Bee. And they took Chade's daughter, a grown woman named Shun.”

“No.”

“What?”

The panicky expression was back on his face. “Chade does not have a daughter. She, too, would count as a Farseer heir. I would have seen her. Fitz, none of the things you tell me can be so. I would have known. It would have revealed other paths to me.”

“Fool. Please. Be calm. Listen to me. You and I, we changed the world, as you said we would. And when you … came back, I think we changed all the paths. Chade came out from behind the walls of Buckkeep Castle because of what we did. And he fathered not one, but two, offspring. Shun and Lant. And I had a daughter you had not foreseen. We changed things, Fool. As you said we would. Please, for now, accept that. Because you are the only one who may know why the Servants would take my daughter. And where they would take her and what they intend.”

I turned back to him. I had selected a mixture of valerian, banwurt, willowbark, and some shaved ginger to make it a bit more palatable. I found a mortar and pestle on a different shelf and brought them to the table by his chair. As I ground them together, their fragrances mingled. I wrinkled my nose and went back for more ginger and a bit of dried lemon peel.

He spoke in a low voice. “You left me here. Alone.”

Arguing with him that he had not been alone would have been useless. “I had to,” I admitted. “Have you heard what I found when I reached my home?”

He was looking away from me. “Some of it,” he admitted in a thick voice.

“Well.” I put my thoughts in order. Sometimes to receive information, you must first share all you know. I did not want to think about it or relive any of it.
Coward.
It was other people's agony I would speak of, and I wished to hide from my shame? I took a breath and began. Part of me spoke the toneless words, relating the facts. Another part of me carefully composed the herbal tea that might ease his pain. Fresh water in a small kettle, put it to boil, warm the teapot with boiling water so the heat would not be lost when I poured the water over the herbs. Let them steep. Set out the cup and pour in the amber liquid without too much sediment. I found honey and added a fine stream of it.

“And here is a tea that might ease the pain in your foot.” I finished my account.

He did not speak. I stirred the tea with a spoon, tapping it on the edge of the cup to give him its location. His trembling fingers walked to the cup, touched it, and were pulled back. “It was them. The Servants.” His voice was shaking. His blind eyes flickered a gold glance at me. “They've found you. So they've found me.” He folded his arms and hugged himself tight. He was visibly shaking. It hurt me to see it.
A cold cell, a distant fire that meant only pain, never warmth for you. Men that would smile and shout with joy as they hurt you.
I remembered. I could barely breathe. He leaned his crossed arms on the table and put his face down on them. He collapsed into himself. I stood where I was. He was my last hope and if I leaned on him too heavily, he would break.

Wings flapped. Motley had been perched on a chair, dozing near the fire's warmth. She skidded to a landing on the tabletop and walked over to the Fool. “Fool. Fool!” she said in her crow's voice. She leaned forward and took a lock of his hair in her beak. She groomed it as if it were his plumage. He took in a small breath. She scissored the tip of her beak against his scalp, selected another lock, and groomed it. She made small concerned sounds as she did it. “I know,” he replied. He sighed. He sat up slowly. He held out his fingers and Motley went to him. With one ruined fingertip, he stroked the top of her head. She had calmed him. A bird had done what I could not.

“I'll protect you,” I lied to him. He knew it was a lie. I had not protected my people at Withywoods, not Lant or Shun or even my precious Bee. The thought of my failures soaked me and sank me.

Then fury. Red fury suddenly blazed up in me.

Fitz?

It's nothing,
I lied to Dutiful. I bottled and corked my anger. Private. So private. They'd hurt my Fool, possibly killed my friend Prilkop, and stolen my daughter. And I had done nothing to them, and could do nothing until I knew more. But when I knew more … “I'll protect you and we will kill them all,” I promised him savagely. I spoke my oath tightly, only to him. I leaned in close to whisper the words. “They will bleed and die and we will take back our own from them.” I heard him draw a trembling breath. Tears, tinged gold rather than yellow, were creeping down his scarred cheeks.

“We will kill them all?” he asked in a small and shaky voice.

I walked my hand across the table, tapping my nails so he heard it coming. I took his bony hand in mine. I claimed a silent moment to gather my courage and chill my anger to edged cold. Was this right? Was I exploiting his fears for my own ends? Making promises I could not fulfill? But what else could I do? It was for Bee. “Fool. Beloved. You have to help me now. We will kill them all, but only if you can help me. Why did they come to Withywoods? Why did they take Bee and Shun? What do they intend? Why were Chalcedeans there? And most of all, where would they take them? Where? The other questions matter, but even if all you can tell me is where, it will be enough for me to find them and kill them and take back my child.”

I saw him compose himself. I watched him think. I waited for him. He found the cup, lifted it, and took a cautious sip. “It's my fault,” he said. I wanted to contradict him, to interrupt him and assure him it was not his fault. But his words had begun to flow and I did not want to divert them.

“Once they knew what you meant to me, they were bound to seek you out. To see if you held the secret that they had not been able to drag out of me. The Servants had your name; I've told you how that came about. They knew of FitzChivalry and they knew of Buckkeep. But of Tom Badgerlock and Withywoods they could not know. The messengers I sent to you—I did not tell them your name. I gave them pieces of information they could use as they traveled to find the next place and ask the next question that might bring them to you. Fitz, I did my best to protect you, even as I sent you my request and my warning. I can only suppose that they captured one of my messengers and tortured it out of him.” He took a noisy sip of his tea, sucking in air with the scalding brew.

“Or perhaps they just followed me. Perhaps they could see what I could not, that it was inevitable that I would make my way back to my Catalyst. Perhaps they even were counting on you to kill me. How sweet they must have found that!

“But now I fear a thing even darker. If they knew I had asked you to find the Unexpected Son and keep him safe, they might have suspected you had already done so. And perhaps they descended on Withywoods hoping to find him. You heard that they were asking for him.

“But here is the darkest thing of all. What if they know more than we can possibly know? What if they have generated new prophecies since you brought me back from the dead and rendered so much of the old future impossible? What if they knew that if you found me in the marketplace, you would kill me? Or what if they knew that if you nearly killed me, you would try to save me? That you would take me and leave your own home unguarded, so they might go in to rape and plunder and search for the Unexpected Son with nothing to fear?”

His words filled me with uneasiness even before he said, “What if we are still dancing to their tune? And we do not hear it, so we cannot change the step of how we prance and turn to their wills?”

I was silent, trying to conceive of such an enemy. An enemy who would know what I would do before I decided to do it.

“It is no use fearing that,” he said sadly into my silence. “If it is so, we are helpless against them. And the only logical response to that would be to stop struggling. And thus they would win. At least, if we fight, we can be a nuisance to them.”

My anger, briefly banked, flared again. “I intend to be more than a nuisance, Fool.”

He had not withdrawn his hand from my grip. Now he turned it and grasped my hand firmly. “I have no courage of my own left, Fitz. They beat and twisted and burned it out of me. So I shall have to borrow yours. Let me think, for just a moment longer, on all you have told me.”

He released my hand and took another slow sip of his tea. His eyes stared past me. I had forgotten the crow, so still and silent had she been. Abruptly, she opened her wings and leapt from her perch to land on the small table, nearly oversetting the teapot. “Food,” she demanded raucously. “Food, food, food!”

“There is food left on the tray beside my bed, I think,” the Fool told me, and I fetched it for her. There was a bread roll, and the carcass of a small fowl with meat still clinging to its bones. I carried it to the worktable, and she followed me there. I tore the bread for her, poured water into a bowl, and left it for her. Once it was in the circle of our lamplight, she found it easily.

The Fool spoke before I had seated myself. “There are things in your tale I do not understand. And only a few things on which I can enlighten you beyond what you already know. But let us take our bits of facts and see what we can build. First, the kindly woman with the round face. I know her. She is Dwalia, and she will have her luriks with her. She is a Lingstra, that is to say, one who has advanced solidly within the ranks of the Servants, but not so high that she remains in the school interpreting the prophecies. She is useful and clever enough that she has been given luriks to teach and to serve her, but not so precious that the Servants will not risk her out in the greater world. She seems kindly; it is a knack she has, and one she uses well. People assume that she likes them, and in turn they want to curry favor with her.”

“Did you know her, then? In Clerres?”

“I knew of her.” He paused for a moment and for just that instant I wondered if he lied to me. “She can so easily make others desire to please her, and make almost anyone feel important and cherished by her.” He cleared his throat. “Several other things you say puzzle me greatly. Chalcedean mercenaries. Are they just her hired tools or do they have an additional interest? The currency of the Servants is seldom gold. Will they trade a prophecy for what the mercenaries do? Give them a tipping point where they can seize power or glory? The Servants' mission seems clear to us. They were seeking the Unexpected Son. But when they discover Bee, it is she they carry off, after garbing her as if she were a shaysim, an untrained prophet. But they take Shun as well! Shun! Such a dreadful name.”