Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Noth­ing. I just looked at him.’

  I knew the look. There would be no more ques­tions from Hands.

  Burrich left and I sprawled on my bed, try­ing to rest. I could not. I made my body be still, reas­on­ing that at least my flesh would take some rest, even if my mind per­sisted in rat­tling on. A bet­ter man’s thoughts would have been solely of his king’s plight. I am afraid a good share of mine went to Molly, alone in her room. When I could stand it no more, I rose from my bed and ghos­ted out into the keep.

  Sounds of dy­ing rev­elry still drif­ted up from the Great Hall be­low. The cor­ridor was empty. I ven­tured si­lently to­ward the stairs. I told my­self I would be very, very care­ful, that all I would do was tap at her door, per­haps go in for a few mo­ments, just to see she was all right. No more than that. Just the briefest of vis­its …

  You are fol­lowed. Nighteyes’ new cau­tion of Burrich made his voice but the ti­ni­est whis­per in my head.

  I did not halt. That would have let my fol­lower know I was sus­pi­cious. In­stead I scratched my shoulder, mak­ing it an ex­cuse to swivel my head about and glance be­hind me. I saw no one.

  Snuff.

  I did, a short breath fol­lowed by a deeper in­take. A bare scent on the air. Sweat and gar­lic. I ques­ted gently and my blood went cold. There, at the far end of the hall, con­cealed in a door­way. Will. Dark, slender Will, with his eyes al­ways half-lid­ded. The co­terie mem­ber who had been re­called from Bearns. Very cau­tiously I touched the Skill shield that hid him from me, a subtle bid­ding that I not no­tice him, a quiet scent of self-con­fid­ence sent my way to bol­ster me in do­ing whatever I wished to do. Very guile­ful. Very art­ful, much more del­ic­ate a touch than either Se­rene or Justin had ever shown me.

  A much more dan­ger­ous man.

  I went to the land­ing of the stairs, and took candles from the ex­tra ones stored there, then re­turned to my room as if that had been my sole er­rand.

  When I closed my door be­hind me, my mouth was dry. I sighed out a shud­der­ing breath. I forced my­self to ex­am­ine the guards that war­ded my mind. He had not been in me, that I could tell. He was not sniff­ing out my thoughts then, but only im­pos­ing his on me to make it easier for him to shadow me. Had it not been for Nighteyes, he would have fol­lowed me right to Molly’s door to­night. I forced my­self to lie down on my bed again, to try to re­call all of my ac­tions since Will had re­turned to Buck­keep. I had been dis­miss­ing him as an en­emy simply be­cause he did not ra­di­ate the hatred for me as Se­rene and Justin did. He had al­ways been a quiet and un­im­pos­ing youth. He had grown to be an un­re­mark­able man, scarce worth any­one’s at­ten­tion.

  I had been a fool.

  I do not think he has fol­lowed you be­fore. But I can­not be sure either.

  Nighteyes, my brother. How do I thank you?

  Stay alive. A pause. And bring me ginger cake.

  You shall have it, I prom­ised fer­vently.

  Burrich’s fire had burned low and I still had not slept when I felt Chade’s draught sweep through my room. It was al­most a re­lief to rise and go to him.

  I found him await­ing me im­pa­tiently, pa­cing about his small room. He pounced on me as I came out of the stair­well.

  ‘An as­sas­sin is a tool,’ he in­formed me in a hiss. ‘Some­how, I never got that across to you. We are tools. We do not do any­thing of our own vo­li­tion.’

  I stopped still, shocked at the an­ger in his voice. ‘I haven’t killed any­one!’ I said in­dig­nantly.

  ‘Shush! Speak softly. I would not be too sure of that, were I you,’ he replied. ‘How many times have I done my job, not by put­ting the knife in my­self, but simply by giv­ing someone else suf­fi­cient reason and op­por­tun­ity to do it for me?’

  I said noth­ing.

  He looked at me and sighed, the an­ger and strength go­ing out of him. Softly he said, ‘Some­times, the best you can do is just sal­vage­work. Some­times we have to resign ourselves to that. We are not the ones to set the wheels in mo­tion, boy. What you did to­night was ill-con­sidered.’

  ‘So the Fool and Burrich have both told me. I don’t think Kettricken would agree.’

  ‘Kettricken and her child could both have lived with her grief. As could King Shrewd. Look at what they were. A for­eign wo­man, widow of a dead King-in-Wait­ing, mother of a child that isn’t vis­ible yet, and will be un­able to wield power for years to come. Regal judged Shrewd to be but a dod­der­ing help­less old man, use­ful as a pup­pet per­haps, but harm­less enough. Regal had no im­me­di­ate reason to put them aside. Oh, I agree Kettricken’s po­s­i­tion was not as se­cure as it could be, but she was not in dir­ect op­pos­i­tion to Regal. That is where she is now.’

  ‘She did not tell him what we had dis­covered,’ I said un­will­ingly.

  ‘She did not have to. It will show, in her bear­ing and in her will to res­ist him. He had re­duced her to a widow. You have re­stored her to a Queen-in-Wait­ing. But it is for Shrewd that I worry. Shrewd is the one who holds the key, who can stand up and say, even in a whis­per, “Ver­ity still lives, Regal has no right to be King-in-Wait­ing”. He is the one Regal must fear.’

  ‘I have seen Shrewd, Chade. Really seen him. I do not think he will be­tray what he knows. Be­neath that fal­ter­ing body, be­neath the numb­ing drugs and the sav­age pain, there is a shrewd man still.’

  ‘Per­haps. But he is bur­ied deep. Drugs, and pain even more so, will drive a saga­cious man to fool­ish acts. A man dy­ing of his wounds will leap to his horse to lead a last charge. Pain can make a man take risks, or as­sert him­self in strange ways.’

  What he was say­ing made all too much sense. ‘Can­not you coun­sel him against let­ting Regal know that he knows Ver­ity is alive?’

  ‘I could try, per­haps. Were not that dam­nable Wal­lace al­ways in my way. It was not so bad at first; at first, he was tract­able and use­ful, easy to ma­nip­u­late from afar. He never knew I was be­hind the herbs the ped­dlers brought him; never even sus­pec­ted I ex­is­ted. But now he clings to the King like a limpet, and not even the Fool can drive him away for long. I sel­dom have more than a few minutes with Shrewd at a time any more. And I am lucky if my brother is lu­cid for half of them.’

  There was some­thing in his voice. I lowered my head, shamed. ‘I am sorry,’ I said quietly. ‘Some­times I for­get that he is more to you than just your king.’

  ‘Well. We were never really that close, that way. But we are two old men, who have grown old to­gether. Some­times that is a greater close­ness. We have come through time to your day and age. We can talk to­gether, quietly, and share memor­ies of a time that ex­ists no more. I can tell you how it was, but it is not the same. It is like be­ing two for­eign­ers, trapped in a land we have come to, un­able to re­turn to our own, and hav­ing only each other to con­firm the real­ity of the place where we once lived. At least, once we could.’

  I thought of two chil­dren run­ning wild on the beaches of Buck­keep, pluck­ing sheel off the rocks and eat­ing them raw. Molly and me. It was pos­sible to be home­sick for a time, and to be lonely for the only other per­son who could re­call it. I nod­ded.

  ‘Ah. Well. To­night we con­tem­plate sal­vage. Now. Listen to me. On this I must have your word. You will take not ac­tions of ma­jor con­sequence without con­fer­ring with me first. Agreed?’

  I looked down. ‘I want to say yes. I am will­ing to agree to it. But lately even small ac­tions of mine seem to take on con­sequences like a pebble on a land­slide. And events pile up, to where I have to make a choice sud­denly, with no chance to con­sult any­one else. So I can­not prom­ise. But I will prom­ise to try. Is that enough?’

  ‘I sup­pose. Cata­lyst.’ He muttered.

  ‘So the Fool calls me too,’ I com­plained.

  C
hade stopped ab­ruptly in the midst of start­ing to say some­thing. ‘Does he really?’ he asked in­tently.

  ‘He clubs me with the word every chance he gets.’ I walked down to Chade’s hearth and sat down be­fore his fire. The heat felt good. ‘Burrich says that too strong a dose of elf­bark can lead to bleak spir­its af­ter­wards.’

  ‘Do you find it so?’

  ‘Yes. But it could be the cir­cum­stances. Yet Ver­ity seemed of­ten de­pressed, and he uses it fre­quently. Again, it could be the cir­cum­stances.’

  ‘It may be we shall never know.’

  ‘You speak very freely to­night. Nam­ing names, ascrib­ing motives.’

  ‘All is gaiety in the Great Hall to­night. Regal was cer­tain he had bagged his game. All his watches were re­laxed, all his spies given a night’s liberty.’ He looked at me sourly. ‘I am sure it will not be the same again for a while.’

  ‘So you think what we say here can be listened to.’

  ‘Any­where I can listen and peep, from there it is pos­sible I could be over­heard and spied upon. Only just pos­sible. But one does not get to be as old as I am by tak­ing chances.’

  An old memory sud­denly made sense. ‘You once told me that in the Queen’s Garden, you are blind.’

  ‘Ex­actly.’

  ‘So you did not know …’

  ‘I did not know what Ga­len was put­ting you through, at the time he was do­ing it. I was privy to gos­sip, much of it un­re­li­able and all of it far after the fact. But on the night he beat you and left you to die … No.’ He looked at me strangely. ‘Had you be­lieved I could know of such a thing, and take no ac­tion?’

  ‘You had prom­ised not to in­ter­fere with my in­struc­tion,’ I said stiffly.

  Chade took his chair, leaned back with a sigh. ‘I don’t think you will ever com­pletely trust any­one. Or be­lieve that someone cares about you.’

  Si­lence filled me. I didn’t know the an­swer. First Burrich and now Chade, for­cing me to look at my­self in un­com­fort­able ways.

  ‘Ah, well,’ Chade con­ceded to my si­lence. ‘As I began to say earlier. Sal­vage.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  He breathed out through his nose. ‘Noth­ing.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Ab­so­lutely noth­ing. Re­mem­ber this at all times. King-in-Wait­ing Ver­ity is dead. Live that be­lief. Be­lieve that Regal has the right to claim his spot, be­lieve he has the right to do all the things he does. Pla­cate him for now, give him noth­ing to fear. We must make him be­lieve he has won.’

  I thought for a mo­ment. Then I stood and drew my belt knife.

  ‘What are you do­ing?’ Chade de­man­ded.

  ‘What Regal would ex­pect me to do, did I truly be­lieve Ver­ity was dead.’ I reached to the back of my head, to where a leather thong bound my hair back in a war­rior’s tail.

  ‘I have shears,’ Chade poin­ted out in an­noy­ance. He went and got them and stood be­hind me. ‘How much?’

  I con­sidered. ‘As ex­treme as I can be, short of mourn­ing him as a crowned king.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s what Regal would ex­pect of me.’

  ‘That’s true, I sup­pose.’ With a single clip, Chade took off my hair at the knot. It felt strange to have it sud­denly fall for­ward, short, not even to my jaw. As if I were a page again. I reached up and felt its short­ness as I asked him, ‘What will you be do­ing?’

  ‘Try­ing to find a safe place for Kettricken and the King. I must make all things ready for their flight. When they go, they must van­ish like shad­ows when the light comes.’

  ‘Are you sure this is ne­ces­sary?’

  ‘What else is left for us? They are no more than host­ages now. Power­less. The In­land dukes have turned to Regal, the Coastal dukes have lost faith in King Shrewd. Kettricken has made her­self al­lies amongst them, how­ever. I must tug at the strings she has spun, and see what I can ar­range. At least we can see them placed where their safety can­not be used against Ver­ity when he comes back to re­claim his crown.’

  ‘If he re­turns,’ I said gloomily.

  ‘When. The Eld­er­lings will be with him.’ Chade looked at me sourly. ‘Try to be­lieve in some­thing, boy. For my sake.’

  Without a doubt, the time that I spent un­der Ga­len’s tu­tel­age was the worst period of my life at Buck­keep. But the week that fol­lowed that night with Chade runs a close second. We were an ant-hill, kicked apart. No mat­ter where I went in the keep, there were con­stant re­mind­ers that the found­a­tions of my life had been shattered. Noth­ing would ever be as it was be­fore.

  There was a great in­flux of folk from the In­land duch­ies, come to wit­ness Regal be­com­ing King-in-Wait­ing. Had not our stables been so de­pleted already, it would have taxed Burrich and Hands to keep up with them. As it was, it seemed as if In­land­ers were every­where, tall, tow-headed Far­row men, and brawny Tilth farm­ers and cat­tle­men. They were a bright con­trast to the glum Buck­keep sol­diers with their mourn­ing-cropped hair. Not a few clashes oc­curred. The grumble from Buck­keep Town took the form of jests com­par­ing the in­va­sion of the In­land­ers to the raids of the Outis­landers. The hu­mour had al­ways a bit­ter edge.

  For the coun­ter­point to this in­flux of folk and busi­ness in Buck­keep Town was the out­flow of goods from Buck­keep. Rooms were stripped shame­lessly. Tapestries and rugs, fur­niture and tools, sup­plies of all kinds were drained out of the keep, to be loaded on barges and taken up­river to Trade­ford, al­ways to be ‘kept safe’ or ‘for the com­fort of the King’. Mis­tress Hasty was at her wits’ end to house so many guests when half the fur­niture was be­ing hauled off to barges. Some days it seemed that Regal was at­tempt­ing to see that all he could not carry off with him was de­voured be­fore he left.

  At the same time, he was spar­ing no ex­pense to be sure that his crown­ing as King-in-Wait­ing would be as full of pomp and ce­re­mony as pos­sible. I truly did not know why he bothered with it at all. To me, at least, it seemed plain he planned on abandon­ing four of the six duch­ies to their own devices. But as the Fool had once warned me, there was no point to try­ing to meas­ure Regal’s wheat with my bushels. We had no com­mon stand­ard. Per­haps to in­sist the dukes and nobles of Bearns and Rip­pon and Shoaks come to wit­ness him as­sume Ver­ity’s crown was some subtle form of re­venge I could not un­der­stand. Little enough did he care what hard­ship it worked upon them to come to Buck­keep at a time when their shores were so be­lea­guered. I was not sur­prised that they were slow to ar­rive, and that when they did, they were shocked at the sack­ing of Buck­keep. Word of Regal’s plan to re­move him­self and the King and Kettricken had not been spread to the Coastal duch­ies by any other means than ru­mour.

  But long be­fore the Coastal dukes ar­rived, while I still en­dured the greater gen­eral chaos, the rest of my life began to rattle into pieces. Se­rene and Justin began to haunt me. I was aware of them, of­ten phys­ic­ally fol­low­ing me, but just as of­ten Skilling at the edges of my con­scious­ness. They were like peck­ing birds come after any loose thoughts I might have, snatch­ing at cas­ual day­dreams or any un­guarded mo­ment of my life. That was bad enough. But I saw them now as only the dis­trac­tion, the di­ver­sion cre­ated to keep me from be­ing aware of Will’s more subtle haunt­ing. So I set my guards most strongly about my mind, know­ing well I prob­ably shiel­ded out Ver­ity as well. I feared this was their ac­tual in­tent, but dared re­veal that fear to no one. I watched con­stantly be­hind my­self, us­ing every sense Nighteyes and I pos­sessed. I vowed I would be more wary, and set my­self the task of dis­cov­er­ing what the other co­terie mem­bers worked at. Burl was at Trade­ford, os­tens­ibly help­ing pre­pare the place for King Shrewd’s com­fort. I had no idea where Car­rod was, and there was no one I could ask dis­creetly. The only thing I could dis­cover
for cer­tain was that he was no longer on the Con­stance. So I wor­ried. And be­came al­most mad with worry that I did not de­tect Will shad­ow­ing after me any more. Did he know I had be­come aware of him? Or was he so good I could not de­tect him? I began to live my life as if every move I made were watched.

  Horses and breed­ing stock were not all that was taken from the stables. Burrich told me one morn­ing that Hands was gone. He had not time to bid any­one good­bye. ‘They took the last of the good stock yes­ter­day. The best is long gone, but these were good horses, and they were tak­ing them over­land to Trade­ford. Hands was simply told he was to go along. He came to me, protest­ing, but I told him to go. At least the horses will have well-trained hands tak­ing care of them in their new home. Be­sides, there is noth­ing for him here. There is no stable left for any­one to be Sta­ble­mas­ter over.’

  I fol­lowed him si­lently on what had once been our morn­ing rounds. The mews held only an­cient or in­jured birds. The clam­our of dogs had been re­duced to a sparse bay­ing and a few yips. The horses that re­mained were the un­sound, the al­most prom­ising, the past their prime, the in­jured that had been kept in the hopes of breed­ing some­thing from them. When I came to Sooty’s empty stall, my heart stood still. I could not speak. I leaned on her manger, my face in my hands. Burrich put a hand on my shoulder. When I looked up at him, he smiled oddly. He shook his cropped head. ‘They came for her and Ruddy yes­ter­day. I told them they were fools, they had taken them last week. And truly they were fools, for they be­lieved me. They did get your saddle.’

  ‘Where?’ I man­aged to ask.

  ‘Bet­ter you don’t know,’ Burrich said darkly. ‘One of us dangling as a horse thief would be quite enough.’ No more would he say of it to me.

  A late af­ter­noon visit to Pa­tience and Lacey was not the quiet in­ter­lude I had hoped for. I knocked, and there was an un­char­ac­ter­istic pause be­fore the door was opened. I found the sit­ting room in a shambles, worse than I had ever seen it, and Lacey dis­pir­itedly try­ing to put things to rights. A great many more things were on the floor than usual.