Tawny Man 02 - Golden Fool

by Robin Hobb

  Civil Bresinga had returned to Buckkeep. The guard that had accompanied him on his journey was nominally to express Farseer sympathy at the loss of his mother. Yet he still knew, even if others did not, that he could look forward to years of being monitored at Buckkeep. He would remain at the castle until he reached his majority, with the crown benevolently managing his lands. Galekeep was closed save for a skeleton staff provided by the Queen. It seemed to me a mild rebuke compared to his treasonous conduct. His Wit had been kept confidential; I supposed that the revelation of it could be used as a threat to discourage him from further wrongdoing. He had not been connected at all to the deaths of three men in Buckkeep Town. I seethed that he had got off so lightly for exposing my Prince to so much danger. From what Chade had told me, Dutiful had insisted that Civil had passed on very little information about the Prince to the Piebalds, and most of it was knowledge that even the humblest serving-boy in the keep would have. It did not comfort me. Even more unsettling was that not only Laudwine but Padget had expressed an avid interest in whatever information Civil could discover about both me and Lord Golden. He knew little, so he had told them little. Still, Civil had confessed to the Prince that their interest made him very curious about us.

  I’d spied on Civil in his rooms shortly after his return. He had looked like a forlorn and devastated young man. A single family servant remained with him at Buckkeep. He was a lad stripped of family and home, whittled down to his barest possessions, and his Wit-beast consigned to the stables. The simplicity of the chamber and furnishings offered to him was appropriate to a minor noble, but doubtless he had enjoyed far better at home. He had spent a good portion of his evening sitting and staring at the fire. I suspected he communed with his cat, but had not detected a flow of Wit between them. Instead, I had felt his misery as an almost tangible weight in his chamber.

  I still didn’t trust him.

  I was still staring out the window when I heard the Prince’s footfalls on the stairs. A moment later, he entered, shutting the door firmly behind him. Chade and Thick would be coming soon, by the secret passage, but for now I had a moment or two alone with him. I didn’t look at him as I asked him, ‘Does Civil’s cat speak to you?’

  ‘Pard? No. He’s a cat, so he could, of course, if he wished. But it would be regarded as… rude, I suppose.’ He made a considering noise. ‘It’s an odd thing to think of. Among the Old Blood who prefer cats, there are a number of shared customs. I would never attempt to initiate speech with someone else’s cat partner. It would be like, well, like flirting with someone’s intended. In all the time I’ve known Pard, he has never shown any interest in communicating with me. Of course, he did convey to me, that one time, that Civil was in danger. But that was more in the nature of a threat. Civil had brought him to me in a great canvas sack. I gathered from what Civil told me that he’d tricked the cat into getting into the sack in the course of some rough game they were playing. Only then Civil tied the sack shut and dragged him up the stairs to my chamber. And I do mean dragged. Pard’s a big cat.’

  He heaved a sudden sigh. ‘I should have known, from that alone. If Civil had not been distraught, he never would have treated Pard so disrespectfully. But Civil seemed so distressed and in such a hurry that I agreed to keep the cat in my chamber until he returned for it and asked few questions. But then, after he’d gone, I couldn’t stand to hear Pard snarling and doing that singsong whine. He was trying to gut his way out of the sack with the claws on his hind feet, but had chosen a very heavy canvas. After a while, he just lay there, panting, and I began to fear that he would suffocate. He sounded as if he were in distress. But the moment I opened the mouth of the bag, he came out clawing and knocked me down. He grabbed me here,’ and Dutiful’s hand measured the side of his throat, ‘and dug his hind claws into my belly. He swore he’d kill me if I didn’t let him out of the room. Then, before I could take any action, he yowled and raked his claws down me. That was when Civil was attacked. He said it was my fault and he’d kill me for it unless I saved him. So I Skilled to you.’

  He had joined me at the window, looking out over the water’s wrinkling face as the sunrise coaxed colour out of the black waves. He stared for a time in silence.

  ‘Then what happened?’ I nudged him.

  ‘Oh, I suppose I was thinking of what must have been happening to you then. Why didn’t you Skill to me? Don’t you think I would have sent you aid?’

  His question startled me. I took a moment to find the answer within myself. I laughed. ‘I suppose you would have, if I’d thought of it. But, for so many years, it was just the wolf and me. And when I lost Nighteyes… I never thought that I could call out to you for help. Or even let you know where I was. It just never occurred to me.’

  ‘I tried to reach you. When they were… strangling Civil, his cat went wild. Pard leapt off me and went racing around the room, killing everything within reach. I had no idea of the damage his claws could do. The bed curtains, clothing… There’s still a tapestry rolled up under my bed that I haven’t had the courage to tell anyone about. I think it’s ruined. And I suspect it was priceless.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got one you can have.’ He looked puzzled at my lop-sided smile.

  ‘I tried to Skill to you. Even as Pard was shredding my room. But I couldn’t get through to you.’

  I recalled something that I hadn’t in a long time. ‘Your father had the same complaint about me. That, when I went into battle, I could not sustain a Skill-link to him. Nor could he establish one with me at such times.’ I shrugged. ‘I’d near forgotten that.’

  Without thinking, I fingered the bite-scar at the angle of my neck. Then I realized Dutiful was staring at me with that look of boyish admiration and I snatched my hand down.

  ‘And that is the only time that Pard has ever spoken to you?’

  He shrugged, ‘Almost. Abruptly he stopped tearing up my things. Then he thanked me. Very stiffly. I think it must be difficult for a cat to thank anyone. After that, he got up into the middle of my bed and ignored me. He stayed there until Civil came for him. My room reeks of cat still. I think Pard sprays when he fights.’

  From the little I knew of cats, it seemed likely. I said as much. Then, delicately, because this was a topic that was tender between us, I asked him, ‘Dutiful? Why do you trust Civil? I can’t understand why you allow him in your life after what he’s done.’

  He gave me a puzzled glance. ‘He trusts me. I don’t think anyone could trust a man as he does me, and not be worthy of my trust in return. Besides. I need him if I am to understand the Old Blood people of my kingdom. My mother pointed that out to me. That I must know at least one, very well, if we are to treat with them at all.’

  I hadn’t thought of that, but I knew what he meant. The Old Blood lifestyle was a culture hidden within our own Six Duchies culture. I’d had a glimpse of it, but I could not explain it to Dutiful, as could someone bom and raised in it. Still, ‘There must be someone else who could serve you that way. I still do not see what Civil has ever done to deserve your regard of him.’

  Dutiful gave a small sigh. ‘FitzChivalry. He entrusted his cat to me. If you knew you were going forth to die, and you did not want Nighteyes to die alongside you, where would you leave him? Who would you entrust him to? A man you had willingly betrayed? Or a friend whom you trusted to see past all shams?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, when his question had sunk in to my mind, ‘I see. You are right.’

  No man would entrust half his soul to a man he cared nothing for.

  In a short time Chade and Thick emerged from the mantelpiece. The old man was scowling and shaking cobwebs from his elaborate sleeves. Thick was humming to himself, odd notes that filled in the gaps in a song that he Skilled to the morning. He seemed to be taking a great deal of pleasure in it. If I listened only with my ears, he seemed to be merely making annoying random sounds, that a difference access to another’s mind could make in my understanding of him.

  Thic
k’s eyes went immediately to the table and I sensed his disappointment that no pastries awaited him. With a sigh, I hoped that his dashed expectations would not interfere with today’s efforts. I seated my students as I had the day before, with Chade on one side of the table and Dutiful and Thick close beside each other on the other side. As before, I stood behind Dutiful and Thick, ready to fall on them and physically separate them if necessary. I knew Dutiful regarded this as somewhat dramatic, and even Chade seemed to think me overly anxious. But neither of them had ever been near drained of life by another Skill-user.

  As before, Dutiful set his hand to Thick’s shoulder. As before, they tried to reach Chade with a simple message and could not. Dutiful could reach my mind, as could Thick, but even in the familiar task of reaching me, they could not unite. I was beginning to think it was hopeless. One of the most basic tasks of a coterie was to be able to join their Skill and make it available to their king. We could not even do that. And the repeated failures were beginning to make us fractious with one another.

  ‘Thick. Stop your music. How can I concentrate with your music running continually in the back of my mind?’ Dutiful demanded after our latest effort had yielded naught.

  Thick flinched to his prince’s rebuke. As his eyes filled with tears, I realized suddenly how deep and powerful a bond he had formed with Dutiful, I think the Prince realized his error also, for an instant later he shook his head at himself and commented, ‘It’s the loveliness of the music that distracts me, Thick. I don’t wonder that you always want to share it with the world. But for now, we must focus on our lessons. Do you see?’

  Chade’s eyes suddenly kindled to green sparks. ‘No!’ he exclaimed. ‘Thick, do not stop your music. For I have never heard it, though I have often heard from Dutiful and Tom how lovely it is. Let me hear your music, Thick, just this once. Put your hand on Dutirul’s shoulder and send your music to me. Please.’

  Dutiful and I gawked at Chade, but Thick beamed. He did not hesitate for an instant. Almost before Dutiful had dropped his hand from Thick’s shoulder, the little man had seized Dutiful’s in a firm grip. Eyes fixed on Chade, mouth wide open with delight, he gave Dutiful no time to focus. Music filled us all like a flood. Vaguely, I saw Chade reel with the impact of it. His eyes widened, and even though triumph dawned on his features, I also saw a shadow of fear.

  I had not underestimated Thick’s strength. Never had I witnessed such an outpouring of Skill. Up to now, Thick’s music had been always in the undercurrent of his thoughts, as unconscious as his breathing or the beating of his heart. Now he flung himself out wide to the world, rejoicing in his mother-song.

  As a muddy river in flood time can colour the whole bay it drains into, so did Thick’s song dye the great Skill-current. His song entered the flow and changed it. I had never imagined anything like it. Gripped by it as I was myself, I found myself powerless to take command of my body. The overwhelming fascination of Thick’s music drew me into it and wrapped me in his rhythm and melody. Somewhere, I sensed that Dutiful and Chade were with me, but I could not discern them for the curtain of beckoning music. Nor was I the only one so drawn. I sensed others in the Skill-curtain. Some were single threads, a trailing tendril of magic from those barely Skilled at all. Perhaps somewhere a fisherman wondered at the odd tune running in the back of his mind, or a mother changed the lullaby she hummed. Others were more engaged. I sensed folk who halted in the midst of what they were doing and looked round blindly, trying to locate the source of the whispering music.

  There were not many, but some were there, their awareness of the Skill a constant in their lives, a background hush of muted voices that they had schooled themselves to ignore. But this rush of music broke through all such habitual barriers, and I sensed them turn towards us. Some likely shouted aloud in shock; others may have fallen to the ground. Only one voice did I hear, clear and unencumbered by fear: What is this? Nettle demanded. Whence conies this waking dreaml

  From Buckkeep, Chade answered joyously. From Buckkeep comes this call, oh ye Skilled ones’. Awake and come to Buckkeep, so that your magic may be awakened and you may serve your prince!

  To Buckkeep? Nettle echoed.

  And then, like a trumpet call from the distance, a far voice: I know you now. I see you now.

  Perhaps nothing else could have broken me from those shackles of Skill-fascination. I parted Dutiful from Thick with a force that astonished all three of us. With a crash, the music halted. For a second I was blinded and deafened by the absence of the Skill. My heart went yearning after it. It was a far purer connection to the world than my feeble senses. But I soon came back to myself. I offered Dutiful my hand, for my shove had sent him sprawling to the floor. Dazedly he gripped my hand and came to his feet, asking as he did so, ‘Did you hear that girl? Who was she?’

  ‘Oh, just that girl that cries all the time,’ Thick dismissed her and I felt gratitude that his answer filled the gap. Then, ‘Did you hear my music? Did you like it?’ he was demanding of Chade.

  Chade didn’t answer immediately. I turned to see him slumped in his chair. He wore a foolish smile yet his brow was furrowed. ‘Oh, yes, Thick,’ he managed. ‘I heard it. And I liked it very much.’ He put his elbows on the table and propped his head in them. ‘We did it,’ he breathed. He lifted his eyes to me. ‘Does it always feel like that? The exuberance, the sense of completeness, of joining oneself to the world?’

  ‘It’s a thing to be wary of,’ I warned him immediately. ‘If you go into the Skill seeking that sense of connection, it may sweep you away entirely. A Skill-user must always keep his purpose in the forefront of his mind. Otherwise you can be swept away and lost—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Chade interrupted me impatiently. ‘I haven’t forgotten what happened to me last time. But I do think that this is an event that deserves a celebration.’

  The others seemed to share his sentiments. I am sure they thought me curmudgeonly and grumpy for my silence. Still, I brought forth the covered basket I had concealed beneath the table, and within it even Thick found enough to be satisfied. We had brandy all round, though I think Chade was the only one who truly needed restoring. The old man’s hands shook as he lifted the glass to his mouth, but nonetheless he smiled and offered a toast before he drank: ‘To those who may come, to form a true coterie for Prince Dutiful!’ He gave me no sly glances and I joined with the others in drinking, even as I hoped Burrich would firmly keep Nettle at home.

  Then I asked warily, ‘What do you think that other voice was? The one that said, “I know you now”.’

  Thick ignored me and went on nibbling raisins with his front teeth. Dutiful gave me a puzzled glance. ‘Another voice.’

  ‘Do you mean the girl who Skilled so clearly?’ Chade asked, plainly shocked that I would call her to their attention. I think he had already deduced that she was Nettle.

  ‘No,’ I said. That other voice, so foreign and strange. So… different.’ I could not find words to express the wariness it had roused in me. It was like a dark premonition.

  A moment of silence followed my words. Then Dutiful said, ‘I only heard the girl who said “To Buckkeep?”‘

  ‘And I the same,’ Chade assured me. ‘There was no coherent thought after hers. I thought she was why you broke our linking.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Dutiful demanded.

  ‘No,’ I insisted, ignoring the Prince’s question. ‘Something else spoke. I tell you, I heard… something. Some kind of a being. Not human,’

  This was an extraordinary enough statement to distract Dutiful from prying for Nettle’s identity. But as the other three all vowed they had sensed nothing, my claims were not taken seriously, and by the end of the session, I had begun to wonder if I had deceived myself.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Convocation

  . . and nothing would do but that the Princess would have the dancing bear for her very own. Such a begging has not been heard for many a year, but at last she prevailed and her fath
er gave the bear’s keeper a whole handful of gold coins for the beast. And the Princess herself took hold of the chain that went to the bear’s ring, and led the great, hulking creature up to her own bedchamber. But in the depth of the night, while all else in the keep slept, the boy rose up and threw off his bearskin. And when he showed himself to the Princess, she found him as comely a youth as she had ever seen. And it was not so much that he had his way with her, as that she had hers with him.

  The Bear-boy and the Princess

  One afternoon, the birches flushed pink and the packed snow of the courtyard turned to slush. Spring came that quickly to Buckkeep that year. By the time the sun went down, there were bare patches of earth showing on some of the best-trodden tracks. It was cold that night, and winter stilled everything with its touch, but the next morning the land awoke to the sound of trickling water and a warm sweeping wind.

  I had slept in the barracks and slept well despite the snoring and night-shifting of two dozen other men. I rose with the others, ate a hearty breakfast in the guardroom and then returned to the barracks to don the purple and white of the Queen’s Guard. We buckled on our swords, collected our horses, and gathered in the courtyard.

  Then there was the inevitable wait for the Prince to emerge. When he did come out, Councillor Chade and Queen Kettricken accompanied him. The Prince looked both polished and uncomfortable. Perhaps a dozen lesser nobles were there to see him off. Amongst the well-wishers were the six representatives the Six Duchies had originally sent to the Queen for her discussion of the Witted problem. I could tell by their faces that they had never expected to be involved in a face-to-face confrontation with the Witted, and they did not look forward to it. Lord Civil Bresinga was among those who stood in the slushing snow to bid the Prince farewell. From the back rank of the Queen’s Quard, I watched his still face and wondered how he felt about what was happening. By the Queen’s express command, no one would leave Buckkeep save the guard and the Prince. She would take no chances of frightening away the already-cautious Old Blood delegation.