by Robin Hobb
‘Be on time tomorrow,’ Burrich charged me as we parted at the kitchen door, he going back to his stables, and I to find breakfast. I ate as I had not in days, with a wolf’s appetite, and wondered at the source of my own sudden vitality. Unlike Burrich, I did not put it down to any beating I had received. Molly, I thought, had healed with a touch what all the herbs and rest in a year could never have put to rights. The day suddenly stretched long in front of me, full of unbearable minutes of unendurable hours before nightfall and the kindly dark allowed us to be together again.
I set her resolutely from my mind and resolved to fill the day with tasks. A dozen immediately leapt to mind. I had been neglecting Patience. I had promised my aid with Kettricken’s garden. An explanation was owed to Brother Nighteyes. A visit was owed King Shrewd. I tried to order them in importance. Molly kept moving to the top of the list.
I resolutely set her to last. King Shrewd, I decided. I gathered my crockery from the table and took it back to the kitchen. The bustle was deafening. It puzzled me for a moment, until I recalled that tonight was the first night of Winterfest. Old Cook Sara looked up from the bread she was kneading and motioned me over. I went and stood beside her as I often had as a child, admiring the deft way her fingers shaped handfuls of dough into rolls and set them to rise. She was flour to her dimpled elbows, and flour smudged one cheek as well. The racket and rush of the kitchen created a strange sort of privacy. She spoke quietly through the clatter and chatter, and I had to strain to hear her.
‘I just wanted you to know,’ she grunted as she folded and pushed a new batch of dough, ‘that I know when a rumour is nonsense. And I speak it so when anyone tries to tell it here in my kitchen. They can gossip all they like in the laundry court, and tattle tales as much as they wish while they spin, but I’ll not have ill said of you here in my kitchen.’ She glanced up at me with snapping black eyes. My heart stood still with dread. Rumours? Of Molly and me?
‘You’ve et at my tables, and often enough, stood aside me and stirred a pot while we chatted when you were small. I think that maybe I know you better than most. And them what says you fight like a beast because you’re more than a half beast are talking evil nonsense. Them bodies was tore up bad, but I’ve seen worse done by men in a rage. When Sal Flatfish’s daughter was raped, she cut up that beast with her fish-knife, chop, chop, chop, right there in the market, just like she was cutting bait to set her lines. What you done was no worse than that.’
I knew an instant of dizzying terror. More than half beast … It wasn’t so long ago or far away that folk with the Wit were burned alive. ‘Thank you,’ I said, fighting for a calm voice. I added a modicum of truth when I said, ‘Not all of that was my doing. They were fighting over … their prey when I came on them.’
‘Ginna’s daughter. You need not hide words from me, Fitz. I’ve children of my own, growed now, but if any was to attack them, why, I’d pray there’d be one like to you to defend them, no matter how. Or avenge them, if that’s all you could do.’
‘I’m afraid it was, Cook.’ The shudder that ran over me was not feigned. I saw again the lines of blood trickled over a fat little fist. I blinked, but the image stayed. ‘I’ve got to hurry off now. I’m to wait on King Shrewd this day.’
‘Are ye? Well, there’s a spot of good news, then. You just run these up with you, then.’ She trundled over to a cupboard, to take out a covered tray of small pastries baked rich with soft cheese and currants. She set a pot of hot tea beside them, and a clean cup. She arranged the pastries lovingly. ‘And you see he eats them, Fitz. His favourites, they are, and if he tastes one, I know he’ll eat them all. And do him good, too.’
Mine, too.
I jumped as if poked with a pin. I tried to cover it with a cough, as if I had suddenly choked, but Cook still looked at me oddly. I coughed again, and nodded at her. ‘I’m sure he’ll love them,’ I said in a choked voice, and bore the tray out of the kitchen. Several sets of eyes followed me. I smiled pleasantly and tried to pretend I didn’t know why.
I didn’t realize you were still with me, I told Verity. A tiny part of me was reviewing every thought I’d had since I left his tower, and was thanking Eda that I had not decided to seek out Nighteyes first, even as I pushed such thoughts aside, unsure how private they were.
I know. I didn’t intend to be spying on you. Only to show you that when you do not focus so tightly on this, you are able to do it.
I groped after his Skilling. More your effort than mine, I pointed out as I climbed the stairs.
You’re annoyed with me. Beg pardon. From now on, I shall be sure you are aware of me whenever I am with you. Shall I leave you to your day?
My own surliness had left me feeling embarrassed. No. Not yet. Ride with me a bit more while I visit King Shrewd. Let’s see how far we can carry this.
I sensed his assent. I paused before Shrewd’s door, and balanced the tray with one hand as I hastily smoothed my hair back and tugged my jerkin straight. My hair had begun to be a problem lately. Jonqui had cut it short during one of my fevers in the mountains. Now that it was growing out, I didn’t know whether to tie it back in a tail as Burrich and the guardsmen did, or keep it at my shoulders as if I were a page still. I was much too old to wear it in the half-braid of a child.
Tie it back, boy. I’d say you’d earned the right to wear it as a warrior, as much as any guardsman. Just don’t start fussing about it and twining it into oiled curls as Regal does.
I fought the smirk off my face and knocked at the door.
I waited a bit, then knocked again, more loudly.
Announce yourself and open it, Verity suggested.
‘It’s FitzChivalry, sire. I’ve brought you something from Cook.’ I set my hand to the door. It was latched from within.
That’s peculiar. It has never been my father’s way to latch a door. Put a man on it, yes, but not latch it and ignore someone knocking. Can you slip it?
Probably. But let me try knocking again first. I all but pounded on the door.
‘A moment! A moment!’ someone hissed from inside. But it was considerably more than that before several latches were undone and the door opened a hand’s width. Wallace peered out at me like a rat from under a cracked wall. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded accusingly.
‘Audience with the King.’
‘He’s asleep. Or was before you came pounding and shouting. Be off with you.’
‘A moment.’ I shoved my booted foot into the closing door. With one free hand, I turned up the collar of my jerkin, to expose the red-stoned pin I was seldom without. The door was closed firmly on my foot. I put a shoulder against it, leaned as much as I could without dropping the tray I still carried. ‘This was given to me by King Shrewd a number of years ago. With it he gave the promise that whenever I showed it, I would be admitted to see him.’
‘Even if he’s asleep?’ Wallace asked snidely.
‘He placed no limitations on it. Do you?’ I glared at him through the cracked door. He considered a moment, then stepped back from it.
‘By all means, then, do come in. Come and see your king asleep, trying to get the rest he so badly needs in his condition. But do you disturb it, and I as his healer shall tell him to take away that pretty pin and see that you do not bother him again.’
‘You may recommend that as you wish. And if my king desires it, I shall not dispute it.’
He stood aside from me with an elaborate bow. I desperately wanted to knock that knowing sneer from his face, but I ignored it.
‘Wonderful,’ he elaborated as I passed him. ‘Sweet pastrie
s to upset his digestion and tax him all the more. Thoughtful lad, aren’t you?’
I kept my temper. Shrewd was not in his sitting room. The bedchamber?
‘Will you truly bother him there? Well, why not? You’ve shown no other manners, why should I expect consideration now?’ Wallace’s voice was full of snide condescension.
I gripped my temper.
Don’t just accept that from him. Turn and face him down now. This was not advice from Verity, but a command. I set the tray down carefully upon a small table. I took a breath and turned to face Wallace. ‘Have you a dislike of me?’ I asked directly.
He took a step back but tried to keep his sneer in place. ‘A dislike? Why should I, a healer, mind if someone comes to disturb an ill man when he is finally resting?’
‘This room reeks of Smoke. Why?’
Smoke?
A herb they use in the mountains. Seldom for medicine, save pains nothing else will halt. But more often the burning fumes are breathed for pleasure. Much as we use carris seed at Springfest. Your brother has a liking for it.
As did his mother. If it is the same herb. She called it mirthleaf.
Almost the same leaf, but the mountain plant grows taller with fleshier leaves. And thicker smoke.
My exchange with Verity had taken less than a blink of an eye. One can Skill information as fast as one can think it. Wallace was still pursing his lips over my question. ‘Are you claiming to be a healer?’ he demanded.
‘No. But I’ve a working knowledge of herbs, one that suggests Smoke is not appropriate to a sick man’s chambers.’
Wallace was still a moment as he formulated an answer. ‘Well. A king’s pleasures are not his healer’s area of concern.’
‘Perhaps they are mine, then,’ I offered, and turned away from him. I picked up the tray and pushed open the door to the King’s dimly-lit bedchamber.
The reek of Smoke was heavier here, the air thick and cloying with it. Too hot a fire was burning, making the room close and stuffy. The air was still and stale as if no fresh wind had blown through the room for weeks. My own breath seemed heavy in my lungs. The King lay still, breathing stertorously beneath a mound of feather quilts. I looked about for a place to set down the tray of pastries. The small table close to his bed was littered. There was a censer for Smoke; the drifting ash thick on its top, but the burner was out and cold. Beside it was a goblet of lukewarm red wine, and a bowl with some nasty grey gruel in it. I set the vessel on the floor, and brushed the table clean with my shirt sleeve before setting the tray down. As I approached the King’s bed, there was a fusty, foetid smell that became even stronger as I leaned over the King.
This is not like Shrewd at all.
Verity shared my dismay. He has not summoned me much of late. And I have been too busy to call upon him unless he bids me to. The last time I saw him was in his sitting room, in an evening. He complained of headaches, but this…
The thought trailed away between us. I glanced up from the King to find Wallace peering in round the door at us. There was something in his face; I know not whether to call it satisfaction or confidence, but it roused me to fury. In two steps I had reached the door. I slammed it, and had the satisfaction of hearing him yelp as he jerked his pinched fingers out. I dropped into place an ancient bar that had probably never been used in my lifetime.
I moved to the tall windows, jerked aside the tapestries that covered them, and flung wide the wooden shutters. Clear sunlight and fresh cold air spilled into the room.
Fitz, this is rash.
I made no reply. Instead, I moved about the room, dumping censer after censer of ash and herb out of the open window. I brushed the clinging ash out with my hand to free the room from its reek. From about the room I gathered a half a dozen sticky goblets of stale wine, and a tray full of bowls and plates of untouched or half-eaten food. I stacked them by the door. Wallace was pounding on it and howling with fury. I leaned against it and spoke through the crack. ‘Hush!’ I told him sweetly. ‘You’ll waken the King.’
Have a boy sent with ewers of warm water. And tell Mistress Hasty that the King’s bed requires clean linens, I requested of Verity.
Such orders cannot come from me. A pause. Don’t waste time in anger. Think, and you’ll see why it must be so.
I understood, but knew also that I would not leave Shrewd in this dingy, smelly room any more than I would abandon him to a dungeon. There was half an ewer of water, stale, but mostly clean. I set it to warm by the hearth. I wiped his bed table clean of ash, and set out the tea and pastry tray upon it. Rummaging boldly through the King’s chest, I found a clean nightshirt, and then washing herbs. Leftover, no doubt, from Cheffer’s time. I had never thought I would so miss a valet.
Wallace’s pounding ceased. I did not miss it. I took the warmed water scented with the herbs and a washing cloth and set it by the King’s bedside. ‘King Shrewd,’ I said gently. He stirred slightly. The rims of his eyes were red, the lashes gummed together. When he opened his eyes, he blinked red-veined eyes at the light.
‘Boy?’ He squinted about the room. ‘Where is Wallace?’
‘Away for the moment. I’ve brought you warm wash water, and fresh pastries from the kitchen. And hot tea.’
‘I … I don’t know. The window’s open. Why is the window open? Wallace has warned me about taking a chill.’
‘I opened it to clear the air in the room. But I’ll close it if you like.’
‘I smell the sea. It’s a clear day, isn’t it? Listen to those gulls cry a storm coming … No. No, close the window, boy. I dare not take a chill, not as ill as I am already.’
I moved slowly to close the wooden shutters. ‘Has your majesty been ill long? Not much has been said of it about the palace.’
‘Long enough. Oh, forever it seems. It is not so much that I am ill as that I am never well. I am sick, and then I get a bit better, but as soon as I try to do anything, I am sick again, and worse than ever. I am so weary of being sick, boy. So tired of always feeling tired.’
‘Come, sir. This will make you feel better.’ I damped the cloth and wiped his face gently. He recovered himself enough to motion me aside as he washed his own hands, and then wiped his face again more firmly. I was appalled at how the wash water had yellowed as it cleansed him.
‘I’ve found a clean nightshirt for you. Shall I help you into it? Or would you rather that I sent for a boy to bring a tub and warm water? I would bring clean linens for the bed while you bathed.’
‘I, oh, I haven’t the energy, boy. Where is that Wallace? He knows I cannot manage alone. What possessed him to leave me?’
‘A warm bath might help you to rest,’ I tried persuasively. Up close, the old man smelled. Shrewd had always been a cleanly man; I think that his grubbiness distressed me more than anything else.
‘But bathing can lead to chills. So Wallace says. A damp skin, a cool wind, and whisk, I’m gone. Or so he says.’ Had Shrewd really become this fretful old man? I could scarcely believe what I was hearing from him.
‘Well, perhaps just a hot cup of tea then. And a pastry. Cook Sara said these were your favourites.’ I poured the steaming tea into the cup and saw his nose twitch appreciatively. He had a sip or two, and then sat up to look at the carefully arranged pastries. He bade me join him, and I ate a pastry with him, licking the rich filling from my fingers. I understood why they were his favourites. He was well into a second when there were three solid thuds against the door.
‘Unbar it, Bastard. Or the men with me will take it down. And if any harm has come to my father, you shall die where you stand.’ Regal did no
t sound at all pleased with me.
‘What’s this, boy? The door barred? What goes on here? Regal, what goes on here?’ It pained me to hear the King’s voice crack querulously.
I crossed the room, I unbarred the door. It was flung open before I could touch it, and two of Regal’s more muscular guards seized me. They wore his satin colours like bulldogs with ribbons about their necks. I offered no resistance, so they had no real excuse to throw me up against the wall, but they did. It awoke every pain I still bore from yesterday. They held me there while Wallace rushed in, tut-tutting about how cold the room was, and what was this, eating this, why, it was no less than poison to a man in King Shrewd’s condition. Regal stood, hands on hips, very much the man in charge, and stared at me through narrowed eyes.
Rash, my boy. I very much fear that we have overplayed our hand.
‘Well, Bastard? What have you to say for yourself? Exactly what were your intentions?’ Regal demanded when Wallace’s litany ran down. He actually added another log to the fire in the already stifling room, and took the half-eaten pastry from the King’s hand.
‘I came to report. And finding the King ill cared for, sought to remedy that situation first.’ I was sweating, more from pain than nervousness. I hated to see Regal smile at it.
