скачать книгу бесплатно
He kept you safe.
He did. Her words were relentless. And it kept you safe, when you chose to pretend you were dead. It kept the Farseer reputation safe, too. No inconvenient bastards to muddle the line of succession. Safe. As if ‘safe’ were more important than anything else.
I hemmed my thoughts tightly from her. I was not sure what she was trying to tell me, but I was certain of one thing. I didn’t want to hear it.
Well, my child will know who her parents are! And she will know who her grandparents were! I will see to that, I will give her that, and no one will ever be able to take it away from her!
Nettle, I— But she was gone. I didn’t reach after her. There was another daughter I had failed. I’d let her grow up believing she was the daughter of another man. I’d let her mother and Burrich believe I was dead. I’d told myself, all those years, that I was keeping her safe. But she had felt denied. And abandoned.
I thought of my own father as I seldom did. I’d never even looked in his eyes. What had I felt, that he had abandoned me in Buckkeep to the care of his stablemaster? I stared at nothing. Why had I done the same to my elder daughter?
Bee. It wasn’t too late for me to be a good father to her. I knew where I should be right now, and if I used the Skill-pillar, I could be there before nightfall. It was a little dangerous, but hadn’t I risked more than that bringing the Fool through? It would be days before I dared risk any more healing on him. I should go home, gather Bee, and bring her back to Buckkeep with me. Not to give her up to Nettle, not for us to stay here, but to have her by me while I had to be here to tend the Fool. It made sense. It was what I should do.
The upper chamber was dark save for the reddish light from the fire. The Fool sat in the chair in front of it. I bit my tongue before I could ask him why he was sitting in the dark. He turned his face toward me as I approached. ‘There’s a message for you. On the table.’
‘Thank you.’
‘A young man brought it. I’m afraid that when he walked in, I was half-asleep. I screamed. I don’t know which of us was more terrified.’ His voice reached for a note of mockery, and failed.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, trying to rein in my wayward thoughts. There was no sense in sharing my anguish with him. There was nothing he could do to help me, except feel ashamed that he had pulled me away from my child.
I made myself focus on his string of anxious words.
‘And now I’m afraid to go back to sleep. I didn’t think of other people coming and going from here. I don’t know how it could have escaped me. I know they must. But I can’t stop thinking about them. What if they talk to others? People will know I’m hiding here. It won’t be safe.’
‘I’m going to light some candles,’ I told him. I did not say that I needed to see his face because I could not tell how serious he was. As I kindled the first one, I asked him, ‘How are you feeling? Better than yesterday?’
‘I can’t tell, Fitz. I can’t tell yesterday from early this morning. I can’t tell early this morning from midnight. It’s all the same for me, here in the dark. You come and you go. I have food, I shit, I sleep. And I’m frightened. I suppose that means that I’m better. I remember when all I could think about was how badly every part of my body hurt. And now the pain has subsided to where I can think about how scared I am.’
I lit a second candle from the first one and set them in the holders on the table.
‘You don’t know what to say,’ he observed.
‘I don’t,’ I admitted. I tried to set my own fears aside to deal with his. ‘I know you are safe here. But I also know that no matter how often I say that, it won’t change how you feel. Fool, what can I do? What would make you feel better?’
He turned his face away from me. After a long moment, he said, ‘You should read your message. The boy blurted out it was important before he ran away.’
I picked up the small scroll on the table. Chade’s spy-seal was on it. I broke the wax free and unrolled it.
‘Fitz. Do I look that frightful? When I sat up in my chair and screamed, the boy screamed, too. As if he’d seen a corpse rise from the grave and shriek at him.’
I set the scroll aside. ‘You look like a very ill man who was deliberately starved and tortured. And your colour is … odd. Not tawny, as you were in the days of Lord Golden, nor white as you were when you were King Shrewd’s jester. You are grey. It’s not a colour one would expect a living man to be.’
He was silent for so long that I turned my eyes back to the scroll. There was to be another festive gathering tonight, the final one of the Winterfest before our nobility once more dispersed to their own duchies. Queen Elliania urged everyone to attend and asked everyone to wear their best to celebrate turning toward the growing light. Chade suggested that perhaps Lord Feldspar should make a trip to town and purchase some finery for the occasion. He suggested a tailor’s shop, and by that I knew that the garments would have been ordered and rushed to be prepared for me.
‘You’re an honest man, Fitz.’ The Fool’s voice was dull.
I sighed. Had I been too honest? ‘What good would it serve for me to lie to you? Fool, you look terrible. It breaks my heart to see you this way. The only thing I can offer myself or you is that as you eat and rest and grow stronger, your health will improve. When you are stronger, I hope to use the Skill to urge your body to repair itself. That is the only comfort that either of us have. But it will take time. And demand our patience. Haste will not serve either of us.’
‘I don’t have time, Fitz. Rather, I do. I have time to get better or time to die. But somewhere, I am sure, there is a son who needs to be rescued before the Servants of the Whites find him. With every day, with every hour, I fear they have already secured him. And with every day and every hour, I am mindful of the continued captivity of a hundred souls in a faraway place. It may seem it has little to do with us and Buckkeep and the Six Duchies, but it does. The Servants use them with no more thought than we give to penning up a chicken, or wringing a rabbit’s neck. They breed them for their insights into the future, and they use those insights to make themselves omniscient. It bothers them not at all when a baby is born who will never walk or can barely see. As long as they are pale and have prescient dreams, that is all they care about. The power of the Servants reaches even to here, twisting and turning events, bending time and the world to their will. They have to be stopped, Fitz. We have to go back to Clerres and kill them. It must be done.’
I said what I knew was true. ‘One thing at a time, my friend. We can only attempt one thing at a time.’
He stared sightlessly at me as if I had said the cruellest thing in the world to him. Then his lower jaw trembled, he dropped his face into his broken hands and began to sob.
I felt sharp annoyance and then deep guilt that I’d felt it. He was in agony. I knew it. How could I feel annoyed at him when I knew exactly what he was experiencing? Hadn’t I felt that way myself? Had I forgotten the times when my experiences in Regal’s dungeons had washed over me like a wave, obliterating whatever was good and safe in my life and carrying me right back into that chaos and pain?
No. I tried to forget that, and in the last decade of years, for the most part I had. And my annoyance with the Fool was not annoyance but extreme uneasiness. ‘Please. Don’t make me remember that.’
I realized I’d said the betraying words out loud. His only response was to cry louder, in the hopeless way of a child who has no hope of comforting himself. This was misery that could not yield, for he sorrowed for a time he could not return to, and a self he would never again be.
‘Tears can’t undo it,’ I said and wondered why I uttered the useless words. I both wanted to hold him and feared to. Feared that it would alarm him to be touched and feared even more that it would draw me tighter into his misery and wake my own. But at last I took the three steps that carried me around the table. ‘Fool. You are safe here. I know you can’t believe it just yet, but it’s over. And you are safe.’ I stroked the broken hair on his head, rough as the coat of a sick dog, and then pulled him closer to cradle his head against my sternum. His clawlike hands came up and clutched my wrist and held himself tighter against me. I let him have his tears. They were the only things I could give him then. I thought of what I had wanted to tell him, that I had to leave him for a few days to get Bee.
I couldn’t. Not right now.
He was slow to quiet and even when his sobs ceased, the breath shuddered in and out of him. After a time, he patted my wrist tentatively and said, ‘I think I’m all right now.’
‘You aren’t. But you will be.’
‘Oh, Fitz,’ he said. He pulled away from me and sat up as straight as he could. He coughed, and cleared his throat. ‘What of your message? The lad said it was important.’
‘Oh, it is and it isn’t. The queen wishes us to be dressed in our finest for the last night of Winterfest revelry, and that means I must make a trip down to Buckkeep Town to secure some clothing.’ I scowled to myself as I reflected I would have to go as Lord Feldspar in his awful garb. But not in those shoes. Oh, no. I wasn’t walking on icy cobbles in those shoes.
‘Well. You’d best be on your way, then.’
‘I should,’ I agreed reluctantly. I didn’t want to leave him alone in his darkness. Yet I didn’t want to stay where his despondency could infect me. I had come up the stairs thinking that I could safely confide Nettle’s news to him. For a moment, I had seen him as my friend and counsellor of our youth. Now the news was ash on my tongue. Here was another Farseer he had not foreseen. His talk of deformed babies had chilled me; how could I tell him my first grandchild was expected? It might plunge him into yet another dark spiral. Worse would be to tell him I had to be gone for six to eight days. I could not leave him to fetch Bee. But I could agree to having her brought here. I would talk to Kettricken about it tomorrow. Together we would arrange it.
You do your duty to your friends. How often had Nighteyes sat beside me when I had sought to lose myself in futile Skilling attempts? How often had Hap staggered me back to the cabin and deliberately given me less than the amount of stunning drugs I commanded him to fetch for me? I did not even want to think of the weeks, and then months, Burrich had spent trying to help me make the transition back from wolf to human. My friends had not abandoned me, and I would not abandon the Fool.
But he could still abandon me. And he did. He levered himself up from the table. ‘You should go and do your errand, Fitz,’ he said. He turned and almost as if he were sighted walked back to the bed.
As he clambered into it and drew up the blankets I asked him, ‘Are you certain you want to be alone now?’
He did not reply. And after a time I realized he wasn’t going to. I felt unreasonably hurt at this. A dozen scathing comments went unsaid by me. He had no idea of what I had given up for him. Then the moment of anger passed and I was grateful I had not spoken. I never wanted him to know what I had sacrificed for him.
And there was nothing left for me to do but my duty. I went back down the stairs, freshened my appearance as Feldspar and defiantly put my own boots back on.
Winterfest might celebrate the lengthening of the days but it did not mean that we were on the road to spring. Yesterday’s clouds had snowed themselves to nothing. The sky overhead was as deep and pure a blue as a Buck lady’s skirts but more clouds clustered on the horizon. Frost coated the festive garlands that festooned the shopfronts. The packed snow on the street squeaked under my boots. The cold had subdued the holiday spirit, but scattered vendors of winter sweets and toys still shouted their wares to hasty passers-by. I passed a miserable donkey with icy whiskers, and a hot-chestnut vendor who could barely keep his brazier lit. He warmed his hands over his wares, and I bought a dozen just to carry them in my chilled fingers. Overhead, the gulls wheeled and screamed as they always did. Crows were noisily mobbing a tardy owl they had found. By the time I reached the street of the tailors, my drunkard’s nose was as red from the cold as Chade could ever have wished it. My cheeks were stiff and my lashes clung together briefly each time I blinked. I gathered my cloak more closely around myself and hoped that the new clothing that awaited me was not as foolish as what I was wearing.
I had just located the correct shop when I heard a voice call, ‘Tom! Tom! Tom!’
I remembered in time that I was Lord Feldspar. So I did not turn, but a boy on the street shouted to his friends, ‘Look, it’s a talking crow! He said “Tom”.’
That gave me the excuse to turn and look where the lad was pointing. Perched on a signboard across the street was a bedraggled crow. It looked at me and screamed shrilly, ‘Tom, Tom!’
Before I could react, another crow dived on it, pecking and flapping and cawing. In response to that attack, a dozen other birds appeared as if from nowhere to join in the mobbing. As the beleaguered bird took flight, I caught a glimpse of white pinions among her black ones. To my horror, one of the other crows struck her in mid-air. She tumbled in her flight and then in her desperation took refuge under the eaves of a nearby shop. Two of her attackers made passes, but could not reach her. The others settled down on nearby rooftops to wait. With the instincts of all bullies, they knew that eventually she would have to emerge.
Then, in the way of their kind, they would peck her to death for being different.
Oh, Web, what have you got me into? I could not, could not, take in another orphan. She would have to fend for herself. That was all. I would have to hope that she would make her way back to him. I wished he had not sent her in search of me. I hardened my heart and went into the tailor’s shop.
My new accoutrements were a very short blue cape with a trim of snowflake lace in layers on it. I wondered if the tailor had jumbled Chade’s order with one for a lady, but the tailor and her husband gathered around me to try it on and make some adjustments to the ties. They then brought out the matching cuffs for my wrists and ankles. The tailor made a mouth at the sight of my distinctly unfashionable boots but agreed that they were probably more suitable for the snow. I promised her that the lace cuffs would be worn with my most fashionable bell-toed shoes, and she appeared mollified. The lad that had delivered the order had paid them in advance, so all I had to do was accept the package and be on my way.
As I came out of the shop, the light of the short winter afternoon was starting to leak away. Cold was settling on the town, and the traffic in the streets had thinned. I did not look toward the crow hunched under the eaves nor at her gathered tormentors. I turned my steps toward Buckkeep. ‘Tom! Tom!’ she cried after me, but I kept walking.
Then, ‘Fitz! Fitz!’ she cawed shrilly. Despite myself, my steps faltered. I kept my eyes on the path before me as I saw others turning to stare at the crow. I heard the frantic beating of wings and then heard her shriek, ‘Fitz—Chivalry! Fitz—Chivalry!’
Beside me, a thin woman clasped her knotted hands to her breast. ‘He’s come back!’ she cried. ‘As a crow!’ To that, I had to turn, lest others mark how I ignored this sensation.
‘Ar, it’s just some fellow’s tamed crow,’ a man declared disdainfully. We all turned our eyes skyward. The hapless bird was flying up as high as she could, with the mob in pursuit.
‘I heard you split a crow’s tongue, you can teach it to talk,’ the chestnut vendor volunteered.
‘Fitz—Chivalry!’ she shrieked again as a larger crow struck her. She lost her momentum and tumbled in the air, caught herself, and flapped bravely, but she had fallen to a level below the murder of crows and now they all mobbed her. In twos and threes they dived on her, striking her, tearing out feathers that floated in the still air. She fought the air to try to stay aloft, helpless to protect herself from the birds that were mobbing her.
‘It’s an omen!’ someone shouted.
‘It’s FitzChivalry in beast form!’ a woman cried out. ‘The Witted Bastard has returned!’
And in that instant, terror swept through me. Had I thought I recalled earlier what the Fool was enduring? No. I had forgotten the icy flood of certainty that every hand was against me, that the good people of Buck dressed in their holiday finery would tear me apart with their bare hands, just as the flock of crows was tearing that lone bird apart. I felt sick with fear, in my legs and in my belly. I began to walk away and at every step I thought they must see how my legs quivered, how white my face had gone. I gripped my package with both hands and tried to walk on as if I were the only one uninterested in the aerial battle overhead.
‘He’s falling!’ someone shouted, and I had to halt and look up.
But she wasn’t falling. She’d tucked her wings as if she were a hawk and was diving. Diving straight at me.
An instant to see that, and then she had hit me. ‘I’ll help you, sir!’ the chestnut vendor shouted and started toward me, his tongs raised to strike the flapping bird tangled in my cloak. I hunched my shoulders and turned to take the blow for her as I wrapped her in the fabric.
Be still. You’re dead! It was the Wit I used to speak to her, with no idea if she would hear my thoughts. She had become still as soon as I covered her and I thought it likely she actually was dead. What would Web say to me? Then I saw my foolish hat and flopping wig lying in the street before me. I snatched it up and under the guise of catching my parcel to my chest I held the crow firm as well. I whirled on the well-meaning chestnut vendor. ‘What do you mean by assaulting me?’ I shouted at him as I jammed hat and wig back onto my head. ‘How dare you humiliate me like this!’
‘Sir, I meant no ill!’ the vendor cried, falling back from me. ‘That crow—!’
‘Really? Then why did you charge at me and nearly knock me to the ground, if not to expose me to ridicule?’ I tugged vainly at my lopsided wig, settling it oddly on my head. I heard a boy laugh, and a mother rebuke him with barely-contained merriment. I glared in their direction and then one-handedly made my wig and hat worse. There were several guffaws from behind me. I whirled, letting my hat and wig nearly leave my head again. ‘Imbeciles! Ruffians! I shall see the Buckkeep town guards know about the dangers on this street! Assaulting visitors! Mocking a guest of the KING! I want you to know, I am cousin to the Duke of Farrow, and he will be hearing about this from me!’ I puffed out my cheeks and let my lower lip tremble in feigned rage. My shaking voice I did not have to manufacture. I felt half-sick with fear that someone would recognize me. The echo of my name seemed to hang in the air. I turned on my heel and did my best to flounce with indignation as I strode hastily away. I heard a little girl’s voice ask, ‘But where did that bird go?’
I did not loiter to see if anyone would answer her. My apparent discomfiture at losing my hat and wig seemed to have provided them with some amusement, as I had hoped. Several times before I was out of sight I made seemingly vain attempts to adjust both. When I judged I was far enough away, I stepped into an alley and drew up the hood of my cloak over my hat and wig. The crow was so still within the fold of my cloak that I feared she was truly dead. She had struck me quite hard, hard enough to break a bird’s neck I surmised. But my Wit told me that while she might be stunned and stilled, life still beat in her. I traversed the alley and walked down the winding way of Tinker Street until I found another, narrower alley. There I finally unfolded the wrap of cloak that cradled her still black body.
Her eyes were closed. Her wings were clapped neatly to her body. I have always been impressed with how birds could fold two limbs so smoothly that, had you never seen a bird before, you would believe it only had legs. I touched her gleaming black beak.
She opened a shining eye. I put a hand on her back, trapping her wings to her side. Not yet. Stay still until we are somewhere safe.
I felt no return of the Wit from her, but her obedience made me believe she had understood me. I arranged crow and parcel under my cloak and hurried on toward Buckkeep Castle. The road was better maintained and more travelled than it had once been, but it was still steep and icy in some places. The light was fading and the wind rising. The wind picked up snow crystals as scathing as sand and blasted them at me. Carts and wagons bearing provisions for this final evening of merry-making passed me. I was going to be late.
Inside my cloak, the crow had become restive. She shifted and clung to my shirtfront with beak and claws. I reached in to touch her and offer her support. She fluttered violently and the hand I drew back had fingertips of blood. I reached her with the Wit. Are you hurt?
My thought bounced back to me as if I had thrown a pebble at a wall. Despite that, her pain washed against me and prickled up my spine. I spoke aloud in a quiet voice. ‘Stay under my cloak. Climb up to my shoulder. I’ll keep still while you do that.’
For a time, she did not move. Then she gripped my shirt with her beak and climbed up me, reaching to claim a fresh beak-hold with every few steps. She became a lump on my shoulder under my cloak and then moved around to make me a hunchback. When she seemed settled, I straightened up slowly.
‘I think we’ll be fine,’ I told my passenger.
The winds had shepherded the clouds in and now they released a fresh fall of snow. It came down in thick clumps of flakes that whirled and danced in the wind. I bent my head and trudged up the steep hill toward the keep.
I was admitted back into the castle grounds without question. I could hear the music and the murmur of voices from the Great Hall. Already so late! The crow-mobbing had delayed me more than I had realized. I hastened past servants bearing trays, and well-dressed folk who were less late than I was and up the stairs. I kept my hood up, my gaze down and greeted no one. The moment I was inside my room, I lifted my snowy cloak away. The crow gripped the back of my collar and my wig was tangled in her feet. As soon as she was uncovered, she lifted from the nape of my neck and attempted to fly. With my wig and hat weighing her down, she plummeted to the floor.
‘Keep still. I’ll free you,’ I told her.
After several minutes of struggling, she lay on her side, one wing half-open and the hair of the wig snarled around her feet. The white pinions interspersed with the black ones were clearly visible now, the feathers that meant every other crow in the world would attempt to kill her. I sighed. ‘Now keep still and I’ll free you,’ I repeated. Her beak was open and she was gasping. One bright black eye stared up at me. I moved slowly. It seemed impossible that she had tangled her feet so thoroughly in such a short time. Drops of her blood were scattered on the floor. I spoke to her as I tried to untangle her. ‘Are you hurt badly? Did they stab you?’ With my Wit I tried to radiate calm and reassurance to her. Are you hurt? I offered the question, trying not to press against her boundaries. Her pain washed against me. She fluttered wildly, undoing much of my untangling effort, and then fell still again. ‘Are you hurt badly?’ I asked her again.
She closed her beak, looked at me and then croaked, ‘Plucked! Plucked my feathers!’
‘I see.’ Wonder at how many human words she knew mingled with relief that she could give me information. But a bird was not a wolf. Trying to interpret what I felt from her was difficult. There was pain and fear and a great deal of anger. If she had been my wolf, I would have known exactly where she was injured and how badly. This was like trying to communicate with someone who spoke a different language. ‘Let me try to get you free. I need to take you to a table and better light. May I pick you up?’
She blinked. ‘Water. Water. Water.’
‘And I will get you water, too.’ I tried not to think of how time was fleeting. As if in response to my worry, I felt a questioning twinge from Chade. Where was I? The queen had asked Dutiful to be sure I was present, a most unusual request from her.
I’ll be there soon, I promised, fervently hoping I would be. I triggered the secret door and then scooped the crow from the floor, holding her safely but loosely in my hands as I carried her up the dark stairway.
‘Fitz?’ the Fool asked anxiously before I had reached the last step. I could just make out his silhouette in the chair before the fire. The candles had burned out hours ago. My heart sank at the worry in his voice.
‘Yes, it’s me. I’ve an injured crow with me, and she’s tangled in my wig. I’ll explain in a moment, but for now I just need to set her down and get some light and give her water.’
‘You have a crow tangled in your wig?’ he asked, and for a wonder, there was a trace of both amusement and mockery in his voice. ‘Ah, Fitz. I can always trust you to have some sort of bizarre problem that breaks my ennui.’
‘Web sent her to me.’ In the darkness, I set her down on the table. She tried to stand, but the strands of hair wrapped her too well. She collapsed onto her side. ‘Be still, bird. I need to get some candles for light. Then I hope I’ll be able to untangle you.’
She remained quiescent, but day birds often go still in the dark. I groped through the dimly-lit chamber to find additional candles. By the time I had lit them, put them in holders and returned to the worktable, the Fool was already there. To my surprise, his knotted fingers were at work on the locks of hair that were wrapped so securely about the bird’s toes and legs. I set my candles down at the far end of the table and watched. The bird was still, her eyes occasionally blinking. The Fool’s fingers, once long, elegant and clever, were now like knotted dead twigs. He was speaking to her softly as he worked. The hand with the deadened fingertips gently bade her feet be still as the fingers of his other hand lifted and pulled at strands of hair. He spoke in a murmur like water over stones. ‘And this one must go under first. And now we can lift that toe from the loop. There. That’s one foot almost clear. Oh, that’s tight. Let me push this thread of hair under … there. There’s one foot cleared.’
The crow kicked the free leg abruptly, and then subsided as the Fool set his hand to her back. ‘You will be free in a moment. Be still, or the ropes will just get tighter. Struggling against ropes never works.’
Ropes. I held my silence. It took longer than a moment for him to untangle her second foot. I nearly offered him scissors, but he was so intent on his task, so removed from his own misery that I banished my concerns about the passing time and let them be. ‘There you are. There,’ he said at last. He set the hat and battered wig to one side. For a breath, she lay still. Then, with a twitch and a flap, she was on her feet. He didn’t try to touch her.
‘He will want water, Fitz. Fear makes one so thirsty.’
‘She,’ I corrected him. I went to the water bucket and filled a cup and brought it back to the table. I set it down, dipped my fingers in it and held them up so the bird could see water drip back into the cup and stepped away. The Fool had taken up the hat and the wig that was fastened to it still. Wind, rain, and the crow-struggle had taken a toll on the wig. Parts were tangled into a frizz while other locks hung lank and wet.
‘I don’t think this can be easily mended,’ he said. He set it back on the table. I took it up and ran my fingers through the hair, trying to bring it back to some semblance of order. ‘Tell me about the bird,’ he requested.
‘Web asked me if I could take her in. She had, well, not an owner. A friend. Not a Wit-bond, but a human who helped her. She was hatched with some white feathers in her wings—’
‘White! White! White!’ the bird suddenly croaked. She hopped over to the water, a typical crow’s two-footed hop and stuck her beak deep into the cup. As she drank thirstily, the Fool exclaimed, ‘She can talk!’
‘Only as birds do. She repeats words she has been taught. I think.’
‘But she talks to you, through your Wit?’
‘Not really. I can sense her feelings, distress, pain. But we are not bonded, Fool. I do not share her thoughts nor she mine.’ I gave the hat and wig a shake, trying to mend them. The crow squawked in surprise and hopped sideways, nearly oversetting the water. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,’ I said. I looked woefully at the wig and hat. There was no mending them. ‘A moment, Fool. I must speak to Chade.’ I reached out to Chade through the Skill. My wig has been damaged. I do not think I can appear as Lord Feldspar tonight.
Then come however you may, but make it soon. Something is brewing, Fitz. Queen Elliania bubbles with something. At first I thought she was angry, for when she greeted me, her eyes were cold and bright. But she seems oddly warm, almost jubilant, leading the dancing with an enthusiasm I’ve never seen before.
