Fool's Fate ttm-3

by Robin Hobb

  I bit my tongue before saying that apprenticeships lasted years, not months. We both knew that. What mattered was that Hap was not shirking his training, but delving into it in the hopes of realizing his dreams. What more could I ask of him? So I embraced my son and told him I would be thinking of him. The hug he returned me was fierce. "I won't shame you, Tom. I promise I won't shame you."

  With the rest of the guardsmen, I loaded my sea chest onto a wagon and followed it down to the docks. Buckkeep Town was decked for Spring Fest. Flowers garlanded door lintels and banners fluttered. The doors to taverns and common houses stood open, with song and the smell of holiday food wafting from them. Some of the men grumbled about missing the holiday but the first day of spring was a fortuitous day for beginning a journey.

  Tomorrow morning, we'd make a show of escorting the Prince aboard. Today we boarded the Maiden's Chance and jostled companionably for space on the lower deck allotted to us. Our area was dark, airless, and thick with the stink of men in close quarters and the bilge below us. I hit my head twice on the low joists, and after that walked hunched. We would be crowded cheek by jowl, with little privacy and no quiet. The smoke-darkened timbers seemed to breathe out a miasma of oppressiveness. The water lapped loudly against the outside of the hull as if to remind me that only a plank of wood stood between the cold, wet sea and me. I stowed my gear quickly, already anxious to be out of there. I little cared where my trunk was lashed down; I resolved to spend as much time above deck in the open air as I could. About half the guard were veterans of this sort of journey. They made much of the fact that we had an area separate from the working sailors, whom they despised as drunks, thieves, and brawlers. Personally, I suspected the seamen regarded the guardsmen in much the same light.

  I settled my belongings quickly and headed up to the deck. I could not linger there, for it was crowded with sailors and passengers, all with some task in mind that involved pushing past me. Crates were being lifted from the docks and swung overhead before being guided down through the hatches and stowed belowdecks. The sailors who weren't shouting at each other were swearing loudly about the landsmen in their way.

  Once on the docks again, I breathed a sigh of relief. All too soon, I'd be trapped aboard that ship with no opportunity to escape. But as I came down the gangway, my relief evaporated. On the dock stood the Fool as Lord Golden, fuming. A retinue of servants bearing boxes, crates, bags, and packages of all descriptions stood behind him. Blocking him was a harassed scribe with a scroll. He was shaking his head, his eyes nearly shut, as Lord Golden harangued him.

  "Well, obviously there has been a mistake! What seems to elude you is that the error is not mine. For months, it has been settled that I am to accompany the Prince on his quest! Who better can advise him than a man like me who has traveled far and experienced many cultures? So take yourself out of my way! I myself shall select a suitable cabin, as you insist that none has been allotted to me, and move my comforts into it while you trot about and discover who is responsible for this gross error."

  The scribe had never paused in his head-shaking and when he spoke, I was certain he was repeating words he'd already uttered. "Lord Golden, I humbly regret any error that has been made. My list came directly from Lord Chade's hands, and my instructions were most explicit. Only those listed here are to be settled aboard the Prince's ship. Nor am I allowed to leave my post here, to run and ask if some mistake has been made. My orders are quite clear on that." As if hoping to be rid of Golden, he added, "Perhaps you have been assigned to one of the accompanying vessels."

  Lord Golden gave an exasperated sigh. As he turned to his servant, his eyes seemed to skate past me, but for the tiniest instant, our gazes met. "Put that down!" he commanded the man, and the servant lowered a box to the ground with relief. Lord Golden promptly sat down on it. As he crossed his green-hosed legs, he gestured imperiously at all of his other servants. "All of you! Set your burdens down where you are."

  "But… you're blocking the… Please, Lord Golden…"

  He ignored the scribe's anguish. "Here I shall remain until this matter is resolved," he announced in a wounded voice. He crossed his arms on his chest. Lifting his chin, Lord Golden gazed out over the waters as if nothing else in the world concerned him at all.

  The scribe darted a look past him. His servants and equipment formed an effective blockade of the dock. Other passengers were beginning to clog the docks behind him, and longshoremen with barrows and tubs of supplies were gathering, too. The scribe took a breath and tried to summon authority. "Sir, you will have to remove yourself and your belongings until this is resolved."

  "I shall not. So I suggest you send a runner to Lord Chade and have him give you the authority to let me board. For nothing less will satisfy me."

  My heart sank. I knew that Lord Golden's remark was intended more for me than for the scribe. He had seen me. He expected I would hasten back to Buckkeep Castle and drop a word in Chade's ear that would bring a speedy solution to his quandary. He did not yet suspect that his difficulty was of my making, and that even if I regretted it, Chade would stand firm. As I turned away from the milling spectacle he was creating, I saw him give me the ghost of a wink. No doubt he thought that Lord Golden's grand departure from Buckkeep Town would become one of the town's legends.

  I wanted to see no more of it. As I trudged up the steep streets that led back to the castle, I told myself there was no reason to agonize. Lord Golden would sit there until evicted from the spot. No worse than that. And when we sailed tomorrow without him, well, he'd remain safely in Buckkeep whilst the rest of us went off to whatever discomfort and boredom the journey could offer us. No worse than that.

  Nonetheless, the rest of the day dragged for me. After days of last-minute rushing, I found my final hours empty. There was nothing left to do. My space in the guard barracks was empty of all save the clothing and weapon I would wear on the morrow. The Prince's Guard would go forth handsomely. Leggings, shirt, and overtunic were all of Buckkeep blue. The Farseer buck was embroidered on the breast. My new boots had been made to my feet and didn't pinch. I'd already greased them well against wet. Although it was spring, the cloaks we'd been given were of thick wool against the expected cold of the Out Islands. The Fool's gift sword laid out atop my colors seemed like a rebuke. I left it there, safe as anything was safe in a barracks where a man's honor was most of what he possessed in the world.

  In my tower workroom, it was much the same. If Chade had noticed that Chivalry's sword now hung over the mantelpiece, he'd chosen not to comment on it. I moved ineffectually around the room, putting away the things that Chade had left scattered from his packing. The charts of the Out Islands and all other writings that Chade thought might be needed had already been packed. For lack of anything else to do, I lay on the bed and teased the ferret. But soon even Gilly tired of that. He went off to hunt rats. I took myself off to the steams, scrubbed myself raw, and then shaved twice. Afterward, I went to my barracks and got into the narrow bed there. The rest of the long room was quiet and nearly deserted. Only a few old hands had chosen an early bed as I had. The others were out and about Buckkeep Town, bidding the taverns and whores farewell. I pulled the blankets around me and stared up at the shadowed ceiling.

  I wondered how hard the Fool would try to follow us. Chade had assured me that he wouldn't be able to get passage out of Buckkeep Town. He'd have to travel to a different port, and pay a lot of money to persuade a ship's captain to sail after us. Lord Golden wouldn't have that money. After his recent escapades, I doubted he'd find any friends willing to loan him any. He'd be stuck.

  And furious with me, I decided. He had a keen mind. He'd soon deduce who had been behind his abandonment. He would know that I had chosen his life over what he perceived as his destiny. He'd feel no gratitude. His Catalyst was supposed to aid him in changing the course of the world, not thwart him.

  I closed my eyes and sighed. It took me several tries to compose myself. When finally I floated jus
t beneath the surface of sleep, I reached out for Nettle. This time, she was sitting in an oak tree, wearing a gown of butterfly wings. I looked up at her from the knoll beneath the tree. I was the man-wolf, as I always was in her dreams. "All those dead butterflies," I said sorrowfully, shaking my head at her.

  "Don't be silly. It's only a dream." She stood up on the branch and leaped. I reared onto my hind legs and opened my arms to catch her, but the butterflies of her gown all fluttered simultaneously, and she floated, light as thistledown, and landed on her feet beside me. She wore one large yellow butterfly in her hair like a hair ribbon. It slowly fanned its wings. The color of her gown shifted in waves as the butterflies wafted their wings lazily.

  "Ew. Don't all the little legs tickle?"

  "No. It's a dream, remember? You don't have to keep the unpleasant parts."

  "You never have nightmares, do you?" I asked in admiration.

  "I think that I used to, when I was very small. But I don't anymore. Why would anyone stay in a dream that didn't please her?"

  "Not all of us can control our dreams the way you can, child. You should count it as a blessing."

  "Do you have nightmares?"

  "Sometimes. Don't you recall where you found me last time, crossing that talus slope?"

  "Oh. Yes, I remember that. But I thought it was something you liked to do. Some men like doing dangerous things, you know."

  "Perhaps. But some of us have had our fill of that, and would avoid nightmares if we could." She nodded slowly. "My mother has terrible nightmares sometimes. Even when I go into them and tell her to come out, she won't. She either won't or can't see me. And my father… I know he has bad dreams, because sometimes he shouts aloud. But I can't find my way into his dreams at all." She stopped for a moment's thought. "I think that's why he started drinking again. When he's drunk, he passes out instead of falling asleep. Do you think he could be hiding from his nightmares?"

  "I don't know," I said, and wished she had not told me such things. "I bring you news that may ease both of them, however. Swift is on his way back home."

  She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath. "Oh, thank you, Shadow Wolf. I knew you could help me."

  I tried to be stern. "I wouldn't have to help you if you'd used common sense. Swift is far too young to be out and about on his own. You shouldn't have helped him run away."

  "I know that, now. But I didn't then. Why can't real life be like dreams? In a dream, if something starts to go wrong, you can simply change it." She lifted her hands to her shoulders and smoothed them down the front of her gown. Suddenly, she was wearing a dress of poppy petals. "See? No tickly legs now. You just have to tell the parts you don't like to go away."

  "Like you sent away the dragon?"

  "The dragon?"

  "You know who I mean. Tintaglia. She appears small at first, as a lizard or a bee, and then becomes larger until you vanquish her."

  "Oh. Her." She knit her brow. "She only comes when you do. I thought she was a part of your dream."

  "No. She's not a part of anyone's dream. She's as real as you and me." It suddenly disturbed me that Nettle had not perceived that. Had our dream conversations exposed her to a greater danger than I knew?

  "Who is she, then, when she is awake?"

  "I told you. She's a dragon."

  "There's no such thing as dragons," she declared with a laugh, shocking me into momentary silence. "You don't believe in dragons? Then who saved the Six Duchies from the Red Ship raiders?"

  "Soldiers and sailors, mostly, I suppose. It hardly matters anyway, does it? It happened so long ago."

  "It matters a great deal to some of us," I muttered. "Especially to the ones who were there."

  "I'm sure it does. Yet I've noticed that few if any can tell a straight tale of exactly what happened to save the Six Duchies. Just that they saw the dragons in the distance and that the next thing they knew, the Red Ships were sinking or broken. And the dragons were almost out of sight."

  "Dragons have a strange effect upon people's memories," I explained to her. "They… they seem to absorb them as they pass over people. Like a cloth wiping up spilled beer."

  She grinned up at me. "So, if that's true, why doesn't Tintaglia have that effect on us? How is it we can remember her being in our dreams?"

  I held up a warning hand. "Let's not use her name anymore. I've no wish to encounter her again. As to why we can remember her, well, I think it is because she comes to us as a dream creature rather than in the flesh. Or it could be that she does not take our memories because she is a creature of flesh and blood, instead of…" I recalled to whom I was speaking and halted. I was telling her too much. If I did not guard my tongue, soon I'd be telling her about Skill-carving dragons from memory stone, and how those creatures were the Elderlings of tale and song.

  "Go on," she urged me. "If Tintaglia is not of flesh and blood, then what else could she be? And why does she always ask us about a black dragon? Are you going to say that he is real, too?"

  "I don't know," I said cautiously. "I don't even know if he exists at all. Let's not talk of that, just now." I had felt nervous ever since she had mentioned Tintaglia's name. The word seemed to shimmer in the air, as betraying as the smoke from a cook fire.

  But if there was any truth to the old summoning magic of a name, we were spared that night. I bade her farewell. Somehow, in leaving her dream I reentered my old nightmare. The sliding pebbles of the steep slope promptly rolled away under my feet. I was falling, falling to my death. I heard Nettle's outflung cry of "Change it to flying, Shadow Wolf! Make it a flying dream instead," but I did not know how to heed her. Instead, I jerked upright in my narrow cot in the barracks.

  Morning was near, and most of the beds were filled now. Yet there was still a small time left for sleep. I tried to find it, but could not, and arose earlier than usual. None of my fellows were stirring. I put on my new uniform, and spent some time trying to persuade my hair to stay out of my face. I had shorn it for grief at Nighteyes' death, and it had not yet grown enough to stay bound back in a warrior's tail. I tied it back into a ridiculous stub, knowing it would soon pull free to hang about my face and brow.

  I went to the guardroom and ate heartily of a lavish breakfast the kitchens had prepared for us. I knew I was bidding farewell to land food for a time, and availed myself of hot meat, fresh bread, and porridge with honey and cream. Meals on the ship would depend on the weather, and most of it would be salted, dried, and plainly cooked. If the water were rough and the cook judged fire too dangerous, we'd get cold food and hard bread. The prospect did not cheer me.

  I returned to the barracks to find most of the guard stirring to wakefulness. I watched the rest of the men-at- arms don their blue tunics and complain about the weight of wool cloaks on a warm spring day. Chade had never admitted it, but there were a half-dozen of our company who, I suspected, were as much spies as guardsmen. There was a quiet watchfulness about them that made me think they saw more than they seemed to. Riddle, a youngster of about twenty, was most emphatically not. He was as excited as I was jaded. A dozen times he consulted his mirror, paying particular attention to a rather new mustache. He was the one who insisted on loaning me pomade for my hair, saying he could not allow me to set forth on such an important day looking like a shaggy-haired farmer. He himself, dressed for display and seated on his bunk, tapped his feet impatiently on the floor and kept up a constant stream of chatter, everything from teasing me about the ornate hilt on my sword to demanding whether I knew if it was true that dragons could be slain only with an arrow to the eye. His loose energy was as annoying as a pacing dog. I was relieved when Longwick, our newly appointed captain, tersely ordered us to form up outside.

  Not that the order meant imminent departure. It meant only that it was time for us to stand in formation and wait. Guardsmen spend more time waiting than they ever do in drill or fighting. This morning was no exception. Before we were ordered to move, I'd listened to a very detailed accou
nt of all three of Hest's liaisons of the night before, while Riddle helpfully asked detailed questions. When we did get the order to move, it was only as far as the courtyard in front of the main doors. Here we formed up around the Prince's horse and groom, and waited some more. Servants and lackeys who, like ourselves, were dressed and deployed to show their master's importance, soon joined us. Some held horse's heads, some leashed dogs, and some, like us, merely stood, armed and attired and waiting.

  Eventually the Prince and his entourage emerged. Thick was at his heels and Sada, the woman who tended him on such occasions, was right behind him. Dutiful spared no glance for me today; I was as faceless as the rest. The Queen and her men preceded us, while Councilor Chade and his escort came immediately behind us. I spotted Civil, with his cat by his side, chatting with Web as they found their places in the procession. Despite Chade's objection, the Queen had announced that several of her "Old Blood friends" would travel with the Prince. The court reaction had been mixed, with some saying that we'd soon see if Old Blood Magic was good for anything and others muttering that at least it got the beast-magickers out of Buckkeep. Behind them came the favored nobles who would accompany the Prince, both to curry favor with him and to investigate trading opportunities in the Out Islands. Behind them trailed those who would bid us farewell and then enjoy Spring Fest. But although I craned my neck, I saw no sign of Lord Golden as the procession formed up. By the time Dutiful was up and mounted and we were striding out of the gate, it seemed as if all of Buckkeep Castle were following us. I was grateful to be in the forefront, for by the time all passed, the road would be a trampled mire of mud and manure.