Fool’s Fate

Swift was still looking at me oddly. Cockle the minstrel was moving very softly, wiping the frame of his repaired harp with oil. I stood, head bent beneath the low ceiling and looked at Burrich’s son. Much as he wished to avoid me, I had a duty. ‘Are you busy with anything right now?’ I asked Swift.

He looked at Cockle as if expecting the minstrel to speak for him. When he remained silent, Swift replied quietly, ‘Cockle was going to play some Six Duchies songs for the Outislanders. I was going to listen to them.’

I took a breath. I needed to pull this boy closer to me if I were going to keep my word to Nettle. Yet I’d already alienated him by trying to send him home. Too firm a rein on him now would not gain his trust. So I said, ‘Much can be learned from a minstrel’s songs. Listen, also, to what the Outislanders say and sing, and do your best to gain a few words of their language. Later, we will speak of what you learned.’

‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly. It was as hard for him to express gratitude as it was for him to acknowledge I had authority over him. I would not push for that, yet. So I nodded to him and let him leave. Cockle swept me a minstrel’s gracious bow at the door and for an instant our eyes met. The friendliness there surprised me, until he bade me farewell with, ‘It’s rare to find a man-at-arms who values learning, and rarer still to find one who recognizes that minstrels can be a source of it. I thank you, sir.’

‘It is I who thank you. My prince has asked me to educate the lad. Perhaps you can show him that gaining knowledge need not be painful.’ In the blink of an eye, I made a second decision. ‘I’ll join you, if I would not be intruding.’

He flourished me another bow. ‘I’d be honoured.’

Swift had gone ahead of us, and he did not look pleased when he saw me accompanying the musician.

The Outislander sailors were like any sailors I’ve ever known anywhere. Any sort of entertainment was preferable to the daily tedium of the ship. Those not currently on duty soon gathered to hear Cockle sing. It was a fine setting for the minstrel, standing on the bare deck with the wind in his hair and the sun at his back. The men who gathered to hear him brought their own handiwork with them, much as women would have brought their embroidery or knitting. One worked a tatter of old rope into a knotted mat; another carved lazily at a bit of hardwood. The intentness with which they listened confirmed what I had suspected. By choice or by chance, most of Peottre’s crew had a working knowledge of Duchy tongue. Even those of the crew working the sails nearby had one ear for the music.

Cockle gave them several traditional Six Duchies ballads that memorialized the Farseer monarchs. Wise enough a man was he to avoid any of the songs that had to do with our long feud with the Out Islands. I wouldn’t have to sit through Antler Island Tower today. Swift appeared to pay good attention to the songs. His attention was most deeply snared when Cockle told an Old Blood fable in song. I watched the Outislander sailors as Cockle sang it and wondered if I’d see the same disgust and resentment that many Six Duchies people showed when such songs were sung. I didn’t. Instead, the sailors seemed to accept it as a strange song of foreign magic.

When he had finished, one of the Outislander sailors stood with a broad grin which wrinkled the boar tattoo on his cheek. He’d set aside his whittling and now he brushed the fine curls of clinging wood from his chest and trousers. ‘You think that magic is strong?’ he challenged us. ‘I know a stronger, and best you know it, too, for face it you might.’

With one bare foot, he nudged the shipmate who sat on the deck beside him. Plainly embarrassed at the circle of listeners, this man nonetheless tugged free a little carved whistle that hung inside his shirt on a string around his neck and played a simple, wailing tune on it, while his fellow, with more drama than voice, hoarsely sang us a tale of the Black Man of Aslevjal. He sang in Outislander, and in the special accents that their bards used, making the song even harder for me to follow. The Black Man stalked the island, and woe to any who came there with unworthy intents. He was the dragon’s guardian, or perhaps he was the dragon in human form. Black as the dragon was black, ‘something’ as the dragon was ‘something’, strong as the wind and as unslayable, and unforgiving as ice was he. He would gnaw the bones of the cowardly, and slice the flesh of the rash, he would …

‘To your duty!’ Peottre suddenly interjected into our circle. His command was good-naturedly severe, reminding us that he was acting captain on this ship as well as our host. The sailor stopped barking the song and looked at him askance. I sensed a tension there; the boar proclaimed that this was Arkon Bloodblade’s warrior. Most of the crew was marked as Bloodblade’s, loaned to Peottre for this task. Peottre gave a tiny shake of his head at the sailor, as much rebuke as warning, and the man lowered his shoulders.

‘At what task, then, in our hours of rest?’ he still asked, a hint of bravado in his tone.

Peottre spoke mildly but his stance said he would tolerate no defiance. ‘Your duty, Rutor, is to rest in these hours, so that when you are called to work, you come fresh to the task. Rest, then, and leave entertaining our guests to me.’

Behind him, both Chade and the Prince had emerged from their cabin to watch curiously. Web stood behind them. I wondered if Peottre had heard the man’s song and excused himself abruptly from their company. I reached to them both. Do we know a tale of the Black Man on Aslevjal Island? One who guards the dragon, perhaps? For that is the song that Peottre has just silenced.

I know nothing. I will ask Chade in a quiet moment.

Chade? I attempted a direct contact.

There was no response. He did not even shift his eyes toward me.

I think he attempted too much yesterday.

Has he taken any teas today? I asked suspiciously. Skill-effort such as Chade had expended yesterday could well leave a novice exhausted, yet the old man was moving as spryly as ever. Elfbark? I wondered jealously. Denied to me but used by him?

He has some foul brew nearly every morning. I’ve no idea what is in it.

I quashed the thought before I could betray myself to the Prince. I did resolve to purloin a pinch of Chade’s tea herbs if I could and determine what he was using. The old man was too careless with his health. He would burn his life away while trying to spend it in our cause.

I had no such opportunity. The remaining days of our brief voyage passed uneventfully. I was kept occupied with Thick’s care and Swift’s education. These two actually merged, for when Thick awoke from a long sleep, he was weak and fretful, yet would not tolerate me looking after him. He was willing to accept Swift’s attentions, however. The boy was understandably reluctant. Caring for a sick man is tedious and can be unpleasant. Swift also felt the ingrained abhorrence that many Six Duchies folk feel toward the malformed. My disapproval did not shake this from him, but Web’s calm acceptance of Thick’s differences gradually swayed the boy. Web’s ability to teach Swift by example made me feel a clumsy and thoughtless guardian. I wanted so badly to do well by Swift, as well as Burrich had done by Nettle, and yet I repeatedly failed even to win his trust.

Days can be long when one feels useless. I had little time with Chade or the Prince. There was no casual way to be alone with either of them on the crowded ship, so communication was limited to the use of the Skill. I tried to reach to Chade as little as possible, hoping that a time of rest would rebuild his ability. The Prince relayed to me that Chade knew nothing of a Black Man on Aslevjal Island. Peottre kept the sailor who had sung of him extremely busy, so he was not available as a source for me. Isolated from Chade and Dutiful and rejected by Thick, I felt lonely and incapable of discovering peace anywhere. My heart yearned out to old memories, to my simple romance with Molly and the effortless friendship I had once shared with the Fool. Nighteyes came often to my mind, for Web and his bird were very much in evidence and Civil’s cat trailed him everywhere on the ship. I had lost the passionate attachments I had formed in my youth, and lost, too, the heart to seek others. As for Nettle, and Burrich’s invitation for me to ‘come home’ … my heart ached with longing to do just that, but I knew it was a time that I longed to return to, not a place, and neither Eda nor El offers that to a man. When we sailed into a tiny harbour, no more than a bite out of a small island’s coast, and Peottre shouted with pleasure to see his home, envy flooded me.

Web stepped up to the ship’s railing beside me, disturbing my fine wallow in melancholy. ‘I left Swift helping Thick get his shoes on. He’ll be glad to be ashore again, though he doesn’t admit it. He’s not even really seasick any more. It’s his lung ailment that weakens him now. That, and homesickness.’

‘I know. And little I can do about either on this ship. Once we’re ashore, I hope to find him a comfortable place and offer him quiet, rest and good food. They’re usually the best hope one has for such illness.’

Web nodded in companionable silence as we drew closer to the shore. A single figure, a girl in blowing russet skirts, stood on a headland watching us approach. Sheep and goats grazed the rocky pasturage around her and on the rolling hillsides behind her. Inland, we glimpsed threads of rising smoke from cottages that snuggled tight amongst the furze. A single dock on stone pilings reached out into the tiny bay to greet us. I saw no sign of a town. As I watched, the girl on the headland lifted her arms over her head and waved them three times. I thought she was greeting us, but perhaps she signalled folk at the settlement, for a short time later people came down the path to the shore. Some stood on the dock, awaiting us. Others, youngsters, ran along the beach, shouting excitedly to one another.

Our crew sailed the ship right up to the dock in a brash display of seamanship. The tossed lines were caught and made fast, checking our motion. In a matter of moments, it seemed, our canvas was taken down and stowed. On the deck, Peottre surprised me by offering gruff thanks to the Boar crew who had sailed the ship. It made me aware yet again that we were dealing with an alliance of two clans, not one. Obviously, both Peottre and the crewmen regarded this as a great favour and possible debt between the clans.

That was made even clearer to me in the manner in which we disembarked. Peottre went first, and as he stepped onto the dock, he made a grave obeisance to the women gathered to greet him. There were men there as well, but they stood behind the women, and it was only after Peottre had been warmly received by the older women of his clan that he walked past them to the men to exchange greetings. Few of them, I noted, were of warrior age, and those who were bore the disabling scars of that trade. There were a few oldsters, and a milling group of boys in their early teens. I frowned to myself, and then tried to pass my thought to Chade. Either their men don’t see fit to greet us, or they are concealed from us somewhere.

His returned thought was thin as a thread of smoke. Or they were decimated in the Red Ship War. Some clans took heavy losses.

I could sense that he strained to reach me and let the contact lapse. He had other things on his mind just now. It was more my Wit than my Skill that picked up the Prince’s restlessness and disappointment. The reason for that was plain. Elliania was not among those who had come to meet us. Don’t let it bother you, I counselled him. We don’t know enough of their customs in this regard to know what her absence means. Don’t assume it is a slight.

Bother me? I’d hardly noticed. This is about the alliance, Fitz, not about some girl and her ploys. The sharpness of his retort betrayed his lie. I sighed to myself. Fifteen. All I could do was thank Eda that I’d never have to be that age again.

Peottre must have advised Chade of their custom in this regard, for he and all our party remained standing on the deck until a young woman in her early twenties lifted her clear voice and invited the son of the Buck Clan of the Farseer Holdings to descend from the ship with his folk.

‘That’s our signal,’ Web said quietly. ‘Swift will have Thick ready to leave. Shall we go?’

I nodded, and then asked, as if I had a right to, ‘What does Risk show you? Does she see armed men anywhere about?’

He smiled a tight smile. ‘If she had, don’t you think I would have told you? My neck would be in as much danger as yours. No, all she sees is what we ourselves have noted. A quiet orderly settlement in the peace of the early day. And a very fruitful valley, just beyond those hills.’

So we joined the others and trooped off the boat to stand a respectful distance behind our prince as he was welcomed to Elliania Blackwater’s mothershouse and holdings. The words of the greeting were simple, and in their simplicity I heard ritual. By this act of greeting and granting permission to come ashore, the women asserted both their ownership over the land and their authority over any people who set foot in Wuislington. Despite this, I was still surprised when a similar ritual of welcoming was offered to the Boar Clan members who disembarked behind us. As they replied to the welcome, I heard what had eluded me before. In accepting the welcome, they also pledged on the honour of their mothershouse that each man would be responsible for the good conduct of all the others. The penalty for violating the hospitality was not specifically spoken. A moment later, the sense of such a ritual came to me. In a nation of sea raiders, there must be some safeguard that made their own homes inviolable to other raiders in their absence. I suspected some ancient alliance of the women of the various clans was at work here, and wondered what punishment a man’s own mothershouse would mete out to him for transgressing the welcome of another clan’s.

Greetings finished, the women of the Narwhal mothershouse led the Prince and his party away. His guard followed them, and then came Web, Swift and me with Thick. The lad walked before us while Web and I supported Thick. Behind us came the Boar crew, talking of beer and women and making jests about the four of us. Above us, Risk wheeled in the clear blue sky. Beach gravel crunched under our feet on the well-tended road.

I had expected Wuislington to be larger and closer to the water. As the Boar sailors, impatient with our plodding progress, passed us, Web engaged one in conversation. The man was plainly eager to hasten on with his fellows, and just as obviously reluctant to be seen in the company of the half-wit and his keepers. So his response was brief but courteous, as Web always seemed to bring out courtesy in those he spoke to. He explained that the harbour was good but not excellent. There was little current to worry about, but when the prevailing winds blew they were strong and cold enough ‘to scour the flesh from a man’s bones!’ Wuislington was built in a sheltered dip of the land, just beyond the next rise, where the wind blew over it rather than through it.

So we found it to be. The town was cupped in a sheltering palm of land. We followed the road down into it, and the day seemed to grow stiller and warmer as we descended. The town below us was well planned. The wood-and-stone mothershouse was the largest structure, towering as stronghouse over the simpler cottages and huts of the town. An immense painted narwhal decorated the slated roof of the house. Behind the mothershouse was a cultivated green that reminded me of the Women’s Garden at Buckkeep Castle. The streets of the town were laid out in concentric rings around it, with most of the markets and tradesmen’s homes at the section nearest to the sea-road. All this we saw before our closeness to it hid it from us.

The Prince’s party had long vanished from our sight, but Riddle came back to us, puffing slightly from trotting. ‘I’m to show you to your lodging,’ he explained.

‘We won’t be housed with the Prince, then?’ I asked uneasily.

‘They’ll be housed as guests in the mothershouse, along with his minstrel and companions. There is special housing for warriors of visiting clans, outside the stronghouse. Men of other clans may be guests there during the day, but warriors are not permitted to spend the night within the stronghouse. The Prince’s guard will be housed away from him. We don’t like it, but Lord Chade has told Captain Longwick to accept it. And a cottage has been arranged for Thick. The Prince orders that you take lodging with him.’ Riddle looked uncomfortable. In a quieter voice, as if offering apology, he added, ‘I’ll make sure your sea chest is brought there. And his things as well.’

‘Thanks.’

I didn’t have to ask. Thick’s difference made him unacceptable as a guest in the mothershouse. Well, at least they had been wise enough not to put us in with the guards. Nonetheless, it was becoming taxing to me to share Thick’s outcast status. Little as I liked the intrigues of the Farseer Court, when I was too far removed from Dutiful and Chade, I felt ill at ease. I knew we were in danger here, but the greatest danger is always the one we are ignorant of. I wanted to hear what Chade heard, to know moment by moment how our negotiation was unfolding. Yet Chade could not demand that we be housed closer to the Prince, and someone had to remain with Thick. I was the logical choice. It all made sense, which didn’t decrease the frustration I felt.

They did not insult us. The one-room stone cottage was clean, even though it smelled of disuse. Obviously it had not been inhabited for some months, yet there was wood in the hod and pots for cooking. The water cask was brimming with cold fresh water. There was a table and chairs, and a bed with two blankets on it in the corner. Sunlight lay across the floor in a fall from the single window. I’d stayed in worse places.

Thick said little as we settled him onto the bed. He was wheezing from the walk and his cheeks were red, but it was not the flush of health, but the mark of a sick man who had over-exerted himself. I pulled the shoes from his feet and then tucked the blankets around him. I suspected that the nights would be chilly here even in summer, and wondered if the two coverings would be enough to keep him comfortable.

‘Do you need any help here?’ Web asked me. Swift stood impatiently by the door, looking toward the mothershouse, two streets away.

‘Not from you, but I’ll need Swift for a time.’ I had expected the look of dismay the boy gave me. It didn’t dampen my resolve. I took coin from my purse. ‘Go to the market. I have no idea what you’ll find there. Be very polite, but get us something to eat. Meat and vegetables for a soup. Fresh bread if they have it. Fruit. Cheese, fish. Whatever this will buy.’

By his face, he was torn between nervousness and a boy’s eagerness to explore a new place. I set the money on his palm and hoped the Outislanders would accept Six Duchies coins.

‘Then,’ I added, and saw him wince. ‘Go back to the ship. Riddle will see to our chests, but I want you to get extra bedding from the bunks there. Enough to make up pallets for you and me, as well as extra blankets for Thick.’

‘But, I’m to stay in the mothershouse, with the Prince and Web and all …’ His voice dribbled away in disappointment as I shook my head.

‘I’ll need you here, Swift.’

He glanced at Web as if seeking his support. The Witmaster’s face remained calm and neutral. ‘Are you sure there is no way I can be of assistance?’ he asked me again.

‘Actually,’ and I was suddenly almost frozen by how difficult it was to ask, ‘if you wouldn’t mind coming back later, I’d enjoy a few hours to myself. Unless the Prince needs you elsewhere.’

‘I will do that. Thank you for asking.’ His second comment was genuine, not an idle courtesy. I let a moment pass in silence as I handled his words. He praised me for finally being able to ask a favour of him. When I met his eyes, I realized how long that silence had been but his face was as calm and patient as ever. Again I had that feeling he was stalking me, not as a hunter stalks prey but as a trainer befriends a wary animal.

‘Thank you,’ I managed.

‘And perhaps I’ll accompany Swift to the market, for I am as curious to see this town as he is. I promise we won’t dawdle, however. Do you think a sweet pastry might tempt Thick to eat, if we chanced upon a bakery?’

‘Yes.’ Thick’s voice was wavering as he replied, but I took heart from this show of interest. ‘And cheese,’ he added hopefully.

‘Pastries and cheese should probably be what you look for first,’ I amended. I turned to Thick with a smile but his eyes wandered away from me. I was still unforgiven for forcing him aboard the ship. I knew I’d have to do it at least two more times, for our journey back to Zylig and then for the ship that would take us to Aslevjal. I could not make myself face the thought of the eventual journey home. It seemed hopelessly far away now.

Web and Swift left, the boy chattering happily and the man responding as eagerly. In truth, I was relieved to see them go together. A boy in a strange town might easily give unintentional offence or be in danger. Nonetheless, I felt abandoned as I watched them walk away.

I backed away from the gulf of self-pity that beckoned me by putting my mind on the folks I cared about. I tried not to wonder what had befallen Hap or the Fool since I had left Buckkeep Town. Hap was a sensible lad. I had to trust him. And the Fool had managed his own life, or lives, for many years with no help from me. Yet it still made me uncomfortable to know that somewhere back in the Six Duchies, he was probably furious at me. I caught myself tracing the silvery fingerprints his Skill-touch had left on my wrist. I had no sense of him, but nonetheless put both my hands behind my back. I wondered again what he had said to Burrich, or if he had seen him at all.

Useless thoughts, but there was little else to occupy me. Thick watched me as I drifted idly around the small cottage. I offered him a dipper of cold water from the cask, but he refused it. I drank, tasting the difference of this island in its water. It tasted mossy and sweet. Probably pond water, I thought. I decided to build a small fire on the hearth in case Web and Swift brought back uncooked meat.

Time passed very slowly. Riddle and another guardsman came with our trunks from the ship. I took brewing herbs from my trunk. I filled the heavy kettle and set it on the hearth to heat, more to be doing something than because I wanted a cup of tea. I mixed the herbs to be sweet and calming, chamomile and fennel and raspberry root. Thick watched me suspiciously when I poured the hot water, but I didn’t offer him the first cup. Instead I put a chair by the window where I could look out over the sheep on the grassy hillside above the town. I drank my tea and tried to find the satisfaction I had once taken in peace and solitude.

When I offered Thick the second cup, he accepted it. Perhaps my drinking the first one had reassured him that I didn’t intend to drug or poison him, I thought wearily. Web and Swift returned, their arms full of bundles and the lad’s cheeks pink from the walk and fresh air. Thick slowly levered himself to an upright position to eye what they had brought. ‘Did you find a strawberry tart and yellow cheese?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Well, no, but look what we did find,’ Web invited him as he unloaded his trove onto the table. ‘Sticks of smoked red fish, both salty and sweet. Little rolls of bread, with seeds sprinkled on top. And here’s a grass basket full of berries for you. I’ve never seen any like this. The women called them mouse-berries, for the mice stuff their tunnels full of them to dry for the winter. They’re a bit sour, but we did find some goat-cheese to go with them. These funny orange roots they said to roast in the coals and then eat the insides with salt. And lastly, these, which aren’t as hot as when we bought them but still smell good to me.’