Fool’s Quest

But I had. I was no longer a skinny boy or even a youth. I was a man of sixty, and though I flattered myself that I was fit enough still to do a hard day’s work, I was no longer limber and lithe. The narrow corners that I had once ferreted past without a thought now required a bit of negotiating. I reached the old pantry entrance and hunched by the concealed door, ear pressed to the wall, waiting for a quiet moment before I emerged behind a meat rack full of dangling sausages.

I was saved only by the benign chaos of Winterfest. When I stepped out of the pantry into the corridor, a large woman in a flour-dusted apron demanded to know what was taking me so long. ‘Did you find the goose-grease for me, or not?’

‘I, I didn’t see it there,’ I replied and she responded tartly, ‘That’s because you went into the wrong pantry! Go along two more doors, down a flight of steps and take the second door to the cold room and look for it there, in a big brown crock on a shelf. Hurry up!’

She spun around and left me standing. As she walked away, she muttered loudly about hiring new help right before a feast-day. I blew out a nervous breath and turned to find a fellow of about my height and build labouring up the corridor with a heavy brown crock in his arms. I followed him and as he went into the kitchens, I stepped past the kitchen door and its exhaled aroma of fresh bread, steaming soups and roasting meats and hurried outside.

In the teeming courtyard of Buckkeep Castle on a wintry day, I was just one more man hurrying on an urgent errand. I looked up at the sky in surprise. Past noon. I had slept far longer than I’d intended. A brief break in the storms had bared the noon sun, but more snow was surely coming our way. Now I regretted how impulsively I had discarded my cloak the day before. I’d be lucky to regain the keep before the snow came down.

I went first to the infirmary, hoping to apologize to Riddle privately. But it was busier than usual, for apparently some of our guardsmen had got into a bit of a brawl last night. No great damage to any of them, save for one fellow who had been bitten on the cheek. The ugliness of that was enough to make anyone wince. Again, the noise and disorder were my allies as I swiftly discovered that Riddle was no longer there. I left, hoping that he was well recovered by now but surmising that he was actually recuperating someplace that was more conducive to rest. I stood outside the infirmary deciding what I should do next.

I hefted the purse Chade had left me. The coins I had hoped to spend to delight my little daughter still weighted it heavily – now supplemented by what Chade had left me. I had loaded my purse well at Withywoods in the belief that I would indulge her in every possible way on that market-day in Oaksbywater. Had it been only yesterday? Bleakness washed over me. What I had intended as a day of pleasure and indulgence had ended in violence and bloodshed. To save the Fool’s life, I had sent her home without me, in the dubious guardianship of Scribe FitzVigilant and Lady Shun. Little Bee, only nine and looking more like a six-year-old. I wondered what sort of day she was having. Nettle had promised to send a bird to let her know I had arrived safely at Buckkeep, and I knew that my elder daughter would never fail me at such a task. So, later today, I would write letters, to FitzVigilant and Revel, but most especially to Bee. A top-notch messenger on a good horse could have them there in three days. Four if more snow fell … For now, the bird message would have to suffice. And while I had this time, I would take myself to Buckkeep Town, not just to buy myself a fresh set of garb with what coin I had from Chade but also to buy gifts for Bee. Winterfest gifts, I decided, to show her I had thought of her even if I could not be with her. I’d brought Chade’s purse with me. I’d indulge myself by indulging her! Even if my gifts would reach her days late.

I chose to hike down to the town rather than Skilling to Dutiful or Nettle to arrange a horse from the stables. Horses did not do well on the steeply cobbled streets, and Dutiful was doubtless still fully engaged with entertaining his trade delegations. Nettle was probably still very angry with me, as I well deserved. No harm in letting time cool her temper a bit.

I found the road wider than I recalled it, with trees cut back from the margin on both sides, and far fewer potholes and muddy swathes than I recalled. And the town was closer than it had been, for its sprawl of houses and shops had begun to crawl up the road to the castle. An area that once had been forest was now the outskirts of the town, with merchants of all sorts, a cheap tavern called the Buck Guard and what I suspected was a whorehouse behind it. The door of the Bawdy Trout was off its hinges and a scowling innkeeper was repairing it. Past it, old Buckkeep Town was decked out for the feast-day to come, with garlands and evergreen boughs and brightly-coloured pennants. The streets were busy, not just with deliveries to taverns and inns, but with all the travellers and tradesfolk that prospered during a holiday.

It took some time for me to find the items I needed. In one shop that was obviously accustomed to catering to sailors and guardsmen, I found two cheap ready-made shirts that almost fitted, a long vest of brown wool, a heavy cloak and some trousers that would do for a time. I had to smile as I realized I had become accustomed to a much better quality of clothing. After giving that a thought, I went to a tailor’s shop where I was swiftly measured and clothing was promised before two days had passed. I feared I would be in Buckkeep at least that long, but mentioned that if the clothing was ready faster, I would pay a bonus. I fumbled my way through estimating the Fool’s height and greatly diminished girth, and they told me that if I returned by late afternoon, they would have smallclothes and two serviceable house-robes for him. I told them he was ill and that soft fabrics would be appreciated. The coins I left with them promised swift work.

With that necessary shopping out of the way, I took myself down to where music and merry chaos dominated the streets. Here was the Winterfest of my youth: puppetry and juggling, song and dance, vendors offering sweets and savoury treats, hedge witches selling potions and charms, girls in holly wreaths and every noisy joy the heart could hope for. I missed Molly, and longed ardently to have Bee at my side, experiencing this with me.

I bought things for her. Ribbons with bells on them, sticks of candy, a silver necklace with three amber birds on it, a packet of spiced nuts, a green scarf with yellow stars woven into it, a small belt-knife with a good horn handle, and then a canvas bag to carry it all in. It came to me that a messenger could just as easily take this bag to her as a simple letter from me, and so I filled it. A necklace made from speckled seashells from some faraway beach, a pomander for her winter woollens chest, and on, until the bag would barely close. For the moment, it was a blue-sky day, with a fresh wind that tasted of the ocean. A gem of a day, and I enjoyed imagining her delight in all the trinkets she would discover in this bag. As I loitered amid the merriment, I thought of the words I would write on the letter to go with it, letters written plain and clear that she might read my thoughts herself and know how much I regretted leaving her. But soon the wind brought a fresh bank of dark grey snowclouds scudding in. Time to return to the castle.

I stopped by the tailor’s shop on my way back and was rewarded with garments for the Fool. As I left, lowering clouds that had been on the horizon stole in. Snow began to fall and the wind bared its teeth as I hurried up the steep road back to the castle. I was passed in at the gate as easily as I had left: the trade delegation and the merrymaking of Winterfest meant that the guards had been ordered to be generous in whom they admitted.

But it reminded me there was still a problem I’d soon have to solve. I needed an identity. Since I had shaved my beard to please my daughter, not only the staff of Withywoods but even Riddle had been astonished at my youthful appearance. After all the years I’d been absent from Buckkeep Castle, I feared to introduce myself as Tom Badgerlock, and not just because the streak of white in my hair that had prompted that name was long gone. The folk who recalled Tom Badgerlock would expect a man of sixty years, not someone who looked to be in his middle thirties.

Instead of using the kitchen entrance, I went about to a side hall and entered through a door mostly reserved for couriers and higher status servants. My bulging bag gained me entry, and to the one under-steward who asked me my business, I replied that I had a parcel for Lady Nettle and I was allowed to pass.

The wall-hangings and furniture of the castle had changed over the years, but the basic hierarchy of chambers remained as it had been since my boyhood. I went up a servant’s stair, gained the floor reserved for lesser nobility, spent a small amount of time apparently waiting for someone to let me into an apartment there and, as soon as the corridor was cleared, successfully gained access to the next floor and the door to Lady Thyme’s old chambers. The key turned smoothly and I entered the room. The concealed entrance to Chade’s old chamber was through a wardrobe of musty old women’s clothing.

My crawl through the wardrobe was as ungainly as it had been the night before, and I found myself wondering if all Chade’s secrecy was truly needed. I knew the Fool had asked for these rooms because he still feared pursuit, but I trusted that our passage through the stones would thwart anyone who had been following him. Then I recalled how the White girl had died, with parasites eating her eyes, and decided that caution was ever the better path. Keeping the Fool well hidden could do no harm.

One of Chade’s secretive minions had visited those chambers while I was gone. I needed to meet him. Or her. The Fool’s filthy garments had been taken and the tub had been emptied and pushed into the corner. Last night’s dishes and glasses had been tidied away. A heavy stoneware pot was lidded deep in the hearth, but the smell of braised beef had still escaped to flavour the room. A cloth had been spread on the table, and a loaf wrapped in a clean yellow napkin reposed next to a small dish of pale winter butter. There was a dusty bottle of red wine and a couple of cups, alongside plates and cutlery.

Kettricken was probably responsible for the two sensible linen nightgowns draped over the chair. Two pairs of loose trousers in the same weave were with them. Lambs’ wool bed stockings were neatly rolled into balls. I smiled, considering it quite possible that the former queen had raided her own wardrobe for these soft things. I gathered the clothing and set it on the foot of the Fool’s bed.

The garments left on the second chair were more puzzling. A sky-blue dress, with dagged sleeves and dozens more buttons than any garment required to close it was on the chair back. On the seat of the chair, almost-sensible trousers of black wool terminated in cuffs of blue-and-white stripes. The slippers beside them resembled a pair of small boats, with pointed and upturned toes and a thick heel. I thought they were too large for the Fool even if he had been well enough to walk around Buckkeep.

I had been aware of his deep and steady breathing since I entered the chamber. It was good that he still slept and I suppressed my boyish impulse to wake him and ask him how he felt. Instead, I found paper and sat down at Chade’s old worktable to compose my note to Bee. I was full of words, managed a greeting, and then stared at the paper for a time. There was so much I needed to say, from reassurances that I would quickly return to advice for dealing with FitzVigilant and Shun. Could I be certain that hers would be the only eyes to read what I wrote? I hoped so and yet my old training came to the fore and I decided not to commit to paper any words that could create ill feeling toward her. So I wrote only that I hoped she would enjoy these small things. As I had long promised, there was a knife for her belt, which I trusted she would use wisely. I reminded her that I would return home as soon as I could, and that I hoped she would use her time well while I was gone. I did not command her to study hard with her new tutor. In truth, I rather hoped that between my absence and the winter holiday, they would set lessons aside for a time. But I did not commit that thought to paper either. Instead I closed my message with hoping that she had enjoyed Winterfest and that I missed her terribly. Then I sat for a time promising myself that Revel at least would be sure that there was some festivity for the holiday. I had intended to find some minstrels that fateful day in Oaksbywater. Cook Nutmeg had proposed a menu that Revel had embellished. It was somewhere on my desk at home.

I had to do better by my daughter. I had to, and so I would. But there was little I could do about it until I returned home. The gifts would have to suffice until I could be there for Bee.

I spindled my note and tied it with some of Chade’s twine. I found his sealing wax and melted a bit onto the knot, and imprinted the blob with my signet ring. No charging buck for FitzChivalry Farseer, only the badger’s footprint that belonged to Holder Tom Badgerlock. I stood and stretched. I’d need to find a courier.

My Wit prickled. My nostrils flared, trying to find a scent. I did not move, but I let my gaze rove about the room. There. Behind a heavy tapestry of hounds pursuing a deer that concealed one of the secret entryways to the chamber, someone breathed. I centred myself in my body. My own breathing was silent. I did not reach for a weapon but I shifted my weight to my feet so that I could stand, move, leap or drop to the floor in an instant. I waited.

‘Don’t attack me, sir, please.’ A boy’s voice. The words had a country lad’s drawn-out vowels.

‘Come in.’ I made no promises.

He hesitated. Then, very slowly, he pushed the tapestry to one side and stepped out into the dim light of the chamber. He showed me his hands, the right one empty, the left holding a scroll. ‘A message for you, sir. That’s all.’

I assessed him carefully. Young, perhaps twelve. His body had not yet turned the corner to manhood. Bony, with narrow shoulders. He’d never be a large man. He wore the Buckkeep blue of a page. His hair was brown and as curly as a water dog’s, and his eyes were brown as well. And he was cautious. He’d shown himself but not stepped far into the room. That he had sensed danger and announced himself to me raised him in my estimation.

‘A message from whom?’ I asked.

The tip of his tongue wet his lips. ‘A man who knew to send it to you here. A man who taught me the way to come here.’

‘How do you know I’m the one it’s for?’

‘He said you’d be here.’

‘But anyone might be here.’

He shook his head but didn’t argue with me. ‘Nose broken a long time ago and old blood on your shirt.’

‘Bring it to me, then.’

He came like a fox thinking of stealing a dead rabbit from a snare. He walked lightly and did not take his eyes from me. When he reached the table’s edge, he set the scroll down and stepped back.

‘Is that all?’ I asked him.

He glanced around the room, at the firewood and the food. ‘And whatever else you might wish me to fetch for you, sir.’

‘And your name is …?’

Again he hesitated. ‘Ash, sir.’ He waited, watching me.

‘There’s nothing else I need, Ash. You may go.’

‘Sir,’ he replied. He stepped back, not turning nor taking his eyes from me. One slow step after another he retreated until his hands touched the tapestry. Then he whisked himself behind it. I waited, but did not hear the scuff of his steps on the stairs.

After a moment, I rose silently and ghosted toward the tapestry. But when I snatched it back, empty air met my gaze. He was gone as if he’d never been there. I permitted myself a nod. On his third try, Chade seemed to have found himself a worthy apprentice. I wondered how much of the training he did, or if Lady Rosemary taught the boy, and where they had found him … and then I set it firmly out of my thoughts. None of my business. And if I were wise, I’d ask few questions and become as little involved in the current state of assassinations and politics at Buckkeep as I could. My life was complicated enough already.

I was hungry, but thought I’d wait a bit longer to see if the Fool would awaken and eat with me. I went back to the worktable and drew Chade’s scroll toward me. Within the first two lines, I felt the webs of Buckkeep intrigue tightening around me again. ‘As you are here, with little to do other than wait for his health to improve, perhaps you are willing to make yourself useful? Clothing has been provided, and the expectation has been planted that the court will be visited by Lord Feldspar of Spiretop, a small but well-established holding in the far northwest corner of Buck. Lord Feldspar is as stony as his name, fond of drink, and there is a rumour that a copper mine on his holding has recently begun to produce very fine grade ore. Thus he has come to Buckkeep to be a party to the current trade negotiations.’

There was more. I was never once addressed by name, the handwriting was not recognizably Chade’s, but oh, the game clearly was. I finished reading the scroll and went to consider the outlandish dress that had been left for me. I sighed. I had some time yet before I would be expected to join them for an evening meal and conversation in the great hall. I knew my role. Talk little, listen a great deal, and report back to Chade all details as to who sought me out to make an offer and how rich the offer was. I could not imagine what the greater game was. I knew that Chade would have decided what I needed to know and given me exactly that much. Weaving his webs as he ever did.

And yet despite my annoyance, I felt a stirring of the old excitement as well. It was Winterfest eve. The castle kitchen would have outdone itself, there would be music and dancing and folk from all over the Six Duchies. With my new identity and in dress that would both draw attention to me and mark me as a stranger, I would once more spy for Chade as I had when I was a youth.

I held the dress up against me. No. Not a dress, a fussy and foppish long jacket, to go with the impractical shoes. The buttons were dyed bone, carved into little blue posies, and they were not just on the front but on the long cuffs as well. Lots of buttons. Buttons that did no buttoning, but were mere ornamentation. The fabric was soft, a kind I had not seen before, and when I held the garment by the shoulders, it proved far heavier than I had expected it to be. I frowned, then quickly realized that the secret pockets had already been loaded for me.

I found a very nice set of small burglary picks and a tiny fine-toothed saw blade. In another pocket, there was an extremely sharp blade of the sort favoured by cutpurses. I doubted I was deft enough to ply that trade. The few times I’d done it for Chade it had not been for the coins but to see what love-notes were in Regal’s purse, or which servant seemed to possess far more wages than an honest serving-man would carry. Years ago. So many years ago.

I heard a low moan from the Fool’s bed. I slung the jacket over my arm and hastened to his side. ‘Fool. Are you awake?’

His brow was lined, his eyes tightly closed, but at my voice something almost like a smile bent his mouth. ‘Fitz. It’s a dream, isn’t it?’

‘No, my friend. You’re here at Buckkeep. And safe.’

‘Oh, Fitz. I am never safe.’ He coughed a bit. ‘I thought I was dead. I became aware, but then there wasn’t any pain, and I wasn’t cold. So I thought I was dead, finally. Then I moved, and all the pains woke up.’

‘I’m sorry, Fool.’ I was to blame for his most recent injuries. I hadn’t recognized him when I saw him clutching Bee. And so I had rushed to save my child from a diseased and possibly mad beggar, only to discover that the man I had stabbed half a dozen times was my oldest friend in the world. The swift Skill-healing I’d imposed on him had closed the knife wounds and kept him from bleeding to death. But it had weakened him as well, and in the course of that healing, I’d become aware of the multitude of old injuries and the infections that still raged inside him. Those would kill him, slowly, if I could not help him gain strength enough for a more thorough healing. ‘Are you hungry? There’s beef cooked to tenderness by the hearth. And red wine, and bread. And butter.’

He was silent for a time. His blind eyes were a dull grey in the dim light of the room. They moved in his face as if he still strove to see out of them. ‘Truly?’ he asked in a shaky voice. ‘Truly all that food? Oh, Fitz. I almost don’t dare to move, lest I wake up and find the warmth and the blankets all a dream.’

‘Shall I bring your food there, then?’

‘No, no, don’t do that. I spill so badly. It’s not just that I can’t see, it’s my hands. They shake. And twitch.’

He moved his fingers and I felt ill. On one hand, all the soft pads of his fingers had been sliced away to leave thickly-scarred tips. The knuckles of both hands were overly large on his bony fingers. Once he had had such elegant hands, such clever hands for juggling and puppetry and woodcarving. I looked away from them. ‘Come, then. Let’s take you back to the chair by the fireside.’

‘Let me lead, then, and you only warn me of a disaster. I’d like to learn the room. I’ve become quite clever at learning rooms since they blinded me.’

I could think of nothing to say to that. He leaned heavily on my arm but I let him make his own groping way. ‘More to the left,’ I cautioned him once. He limped, as if every step on his swollen feet pained him. I wondered how he had managed to come so far, alone and blinded, following roads he could not see. Later, I told myself. There would be time for that tale later.

His reaching hand touched the chair back and then felt down it to the arm. It took him some time to manoeuvre himself into the chair and settle there. The sigh he gave was not one of contentment but of a difficult task accomplished. His fingers danced lightly on the tabletop. Then he stilled them in his lap. ‘The pain is bad, but even with the pain, I think I can manage the journey back. I will rest here, for a time, and heal a bit. Then, together, we will go back to burn out that nest of vermin. But I will need my vision, Fitz. I must be a help to you, not a hindrance, as we make our way back to Clerres. Together, we will bring them the justice they deserve.’

Justice. The word soaked into me. Chade had always called our assassin’s tasks ‘quiet work’ or ‘the king’s justice’. If I took on this quest of his, what would it be? The Fool’s justice? ‘Food in just a moment,’ I said, letting his worry go unanswered for now.

I did not trust him to be wise enough to exercise restraint with how much food he took. I dished the food up for him, a small portion of meat cut into little bites and bread buttered and cut into strips. I poured wine for him. I took his hand, thinking to guide it to the dish, but I had not warned him, and he jerked back as if I had burned him with a poker, nearly oversetting his dishes. ‘Sorry,’ we exclaimed in unison. I grinned at that, but he did not.

‘I was trying to show you where your food was,’ I explained gently.

His head was bent as if he were looking down in shame. ‘I know,’ he said quietly. Then, like timid mice, his crippled hands crept to the edge of the table, and then ventured cautiously forward until he found the edge of his plate. His hands moved lightly over the dish, touching what was there. He picked up a piece of the meat and put into his mouth. I started to tell him there was a fork at the side of his plate. I stopped myself. He knew that. I would not correct a tormented man as if he were a forgetful child. His hands crabbed over to the napkin and found it.

For a time, we ate together in silence. When he had finished what was on the plate, he asked softly if I would cut more meat and bread for him. As I did that, he asked suddenly, ‘So. How was your life while I was gone?’