Golden Fool (43 page)

Yet I dared not hope that left the decision in my hands. I could refuse, I could flee, but even without me, Chade would pursue the magic. His will was strong, as was his desire for the Skill. He would try to teach, not only himself, but also Dutiful and Thick. And Nettle, I realized. Because Chade saw the Skill, not as dangerous, but as desirable. He felt he was entitled to it. He was a Farseer, and the Farseer magic was rightfully his, but his birthright had been denied him, because he was a bastard Farseer. Just as my daughter was.

I suddenly put my finger on a sore that had festered in me for years. The Farseer magic. That was what the Skill was. Supposedly, the Farseers had a “right” to this magic. And with that assumption went the notions that a Farseer had the wisdom to deploy such a magic within the world. Chade, born on the wrong side of the sheets, had been judged unworthy and callously denied any education in the Skill. Perhaps he had never had any talent for it; perhaps it had withered away, unnourished. But the unfairness of being denied the opportunity still ate at the old man, after all these years. I was certain that his thwarted ambition was behind his consuming desire to restore the Skill to use. Did he see me as depriving Nettle in the same way he had been denied? I looked at him. Had not Verity and Chade and Patience intervened for me, I might be as he was.

“You’re very quiet,” Chade said softly.

“I’m thinking,” I replied.

He frowned. “Fitz. It is the Queen’s command. Not a request to think about. An order to obey.”

Not a request to think about. In my youth, there had been so many things that I hadn’t thought about. I’d simply done my duty. But I had been a boy then. Now I was a man. And I teetered, not between duty and not duty, but between right and wrong. I took a step back from the question. Was it right to teach another generation the Skill and preserve it in our world? Was it right to let that knowledge fail and pass beyond humanity’s reach? If there would always be some who could not have it, was it more righteous to deny it to all? Was the guarded possession of magic like the hoarding of wealth, or was it simply a talent one did or did not have, like the ability to shoot a bow well or sing each note of a song perfectly?

I felt besieged by the questions whirling in my head. In my heart, another question clamored at me. Was there no way to preserve Nettle from this? For I could not bear it. I could not bear to see all that I had sacrificed made useless as the secrets of her birth and of my survival were suddenly revealed to those most vulnerable to them. I could refuse to teach the Skill, but that would not preserve her peace. I could steal her from her home and flee, but then I would have been every bit as destructive as what I feared.

When Kettle had taught me the Stone game, I had had a sudden shift in perception one day. The wolf had been with me then. I had seen the little stones set in their places on the crossing lines of the game cloth not as a fixed situation but as only one point in a spreading flow of possibilities. I could not win Chade’s game by saying no. But what if I said yes?

You always chose to be bound by who you are. Now choose to be freed by who you are.

I caught my breath as that thought floated unbidden into my mind.
Nighteyes?
I reached after it but it was sourceless as the wind. I was not sure if the Skill had carried the thought to me from some other person, or if the conviction had welled from some place deep within me. Whencever it had come, it rang with truth. I handled the conviction delicately, fearing it might cut me. So I was bound by who I was. I was a Farseer. But in a strange, detached way that freed me.

“I want a promise,” I said slowly.

Chade sensed the sea change in me. Carefully, he set down his wineglass. “You want a promise?”

“It always went both ways between King Shrewd and me. I was his. And in exchange for that, he provided for me and saw that I was taught. He provided for me very well, something that I have only realized the fullness of since I have been a man. I would ask a similar promise now.”

Chade knitted his brows at me. “Are you lacking anything? Well, I know your present quarters leave much to be desired, but as I have told you, this chamber may be modified however you please to suit your needs. Your present mount seems a good one, but if you prefer a better horse, I could arrange—”

“Nettle,” I said quietly.

“You wish Nettle provided for? It could most easily be done if we brought her here, to be educated and offered the opportunity to meet young men of good position and—”

“No. I do not wish her provided for. I wish for her to be left alone.”

He shook his head slowly. “Fitz, Fitz. You know I cannot give you that. The Queen commands that she be brought here and taught.”

“I don’t ask it of you. I ask it of my queen. If I agree to become her Skillmaster, then she must agree to let me teach in my own way, whom I choose, in secret. And she must promise to leave my daughter in peace. Forever.”

A terrible expression crossed his face. His eyes lit with the wild hope that I would step into the role of Skillmaster. But the price I had set upon it made him quail. “You would ask a promise of your queen? Do you not think you presume too much?”

I set my jaw. “Perhaps. But perhaps for a long time, the Farseers have presumed too much of me.”

He took in a long breath through his nose. I knew he bottled his anger with his hope. His words were icily formal. “I shall present your proposal to Her Majesty and relay to you her reply.”

“Please,” I replied in a low and courteous voice.

He rose stiffly and without another word to me he departed. I realized in that silence that his anger went deeper than I had supposed. It took me a moment to put my finger on it. I was not as he was, neither as a Farseer nor as an assassin. I was not sure that made me a better man than he was. I longed to let him leave just then, but I knew there were other matters we had to discuss.

“Chade. Before you go, there is something else I must tell you. I think we’ve had a spy in our secret corridors.”

He set his anger aside, almost visibly pulling himself back from it. As he turned, I lifted the bowl to reveal the rat. “The ferret killed this last night. I felt someone grieve for its death. I think this was the Wit-beast of someone within Buckkeep. It could be the same one I encountered on the road the night before the Prince’s betrothal.”

Grimacing with distaste, Chade bent over the rat and poked at it. “Is there any way to know whose?”

I shook my head. “Not absolutely. But this will have greatly distressed someone. I suspect they would need a day or so at least to recover. So, if anyone vanishes from the social whirl of court for a day or so, you might want to pay a call on them, to see what ails them.”

“I’ll make inquiries. You think our spy is a noble, then?”

“That’s the difficult part. It could be a man or a woman, noble or servant or bard. It could be someone who has lived here all his life, or someone who has been here only since the betrothal festivities began.”

“Is there anyone you suspect?”

I frowned for a moment. “We might look most closely at the Bresinga group. But only because we know at least some of them are Witted and sympathetic to others with the Wit.”

“That’s a small group. Civil Bresinga is here, with a manservant, a page, and I think a groom for his horse. I’ll make inquiries about them.”

“It interests me that he remains when so many other nobles have returned to their own holdings. Could we discreetly find out why?”

“He has become a close friend of the Prince. It is in the best interests of his family that he exploits that connection. But I will quietly ask how things are at Galekeep. I have a person there, you know.”

I nodded gravely.

“She has said that the household seems to be declining in the last month or so. Old servants have left, and the new ones seem unmannered and undisciplined. She said there was an incident of some new cook’s assistants who helped themselves to the wine cellar. The cook was quite upset to find them drunk, and even more distressed to discover that the pilferage had been going on for some time. When Lady Bresinga did not send the guilty parties packing, the cook left, and she had been with the household for some years. And it seems there is a change in the guests entertained there. In place of the landed gentry and the lesser nobles who used to guest there, Lady Bresinga has hosted several hunting parties who seemed to my person to be rather unsophisticated, even boorish.”

“What do you think it means?”

“That perhaps Lady Bresinga is forming new alliances. I suspect her new friends are at best Witted, and at worst, Piebalds. Yet it may not be with the Lady’s willing consent. My person there says that Lady Bresinga spends more and more time alone in her own chambers, even when her ‘guests’ are dining.”

“Have we intercepted any letters between her and Civil?”

Chade shook his head. “Not in the last two months. There don’t seem to be any.”

I shook my head. “I find that exceedingly curious. Something is going on there. We should watch young Civil more closely than ever.” I sighed. “This rat is the first evidence of Piebald activity that we’ve had since Laurel’s lynched twig. I had hoped that their restlessness had settled.”

Chade drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He came back to the table and sat down. “There have been other signs,” he said quietly. “But like this one, they have not been obvious ones.”

This was news to me. “Oh?”

He cleared his throat. “The Queen has managed to quell executions of Witted ones in Buck. At least, public ones. I suspect that in the smaller towns and villages, it could happen and no word of it reaches us. Or it could be done under the pretense of punishment for some other crime. But in place of the executions, there have been murders. Are these citizens killing Witted? Or Piebalds moving against their own to force compliance upon them? We can’t tell. Only that the deaths go on.”

“We have discussed that before. As you said, there is little Queen Kettricken can do about that,” I said neutrally.

Chade made a small sound in his throat. “It would be most helpful to me if you could convince our queen of that. It bothers her a great deal, Fitz. And not just because her son is Witted.”

I bowed my head in acknowledgment of her concern for me. “And outside Buck?” I asked quietly.

“It is more difficult. The duchies have always resented the crown taking too deep an interest in what they regard as ‘personal’ questions of power and justice. To demand that Farrow or Tilth completely cease executing people for the Wit is like demanding that Shoaks cease all harassment along their border with Chalced.”

“Shoaks has always wrangled with Chalced about the border they share.”

“And Farrow and Tilth have always executed Witted ones.”

“That’s not completely true.” I leaned back in my chair. I had enjoyed having access to Chade’s scroll collection and the Buckkeep library. “Prior to the time of the Piebald Prince, the Wit was regarded in the same light as the hedge magics. Not particularly powerful magic, but if a man had it, he had it. It did not make him evil and disgusting.”

“Well,” Chade conceded. “That’s so. But the attitude of the people is so set now that it is near impossible to root it out. Lady Patience has done her best in Farrow. When she has not been able to prevent an execution, she has most assiduously punished those involved afterward. No one can accuse her of not trying.” He chewed his upper lip. “Last week, the Queen received an anonymous message.”

“Why wasn’t I told?” I instantly demanded.

“Why should you be told?” he demanded in reply. Then, at my scowl, he softened his tone. “There was little to tell. It made no demands or threats. It simply listed by name those who had been executed in the Six Duchies for the Wit in the last six months.” He sighed. “It was a sizable list. Forty-seven names.” He cocked his head at me. “It was not marked with the piebald horse. So, we think this comes from a different faction of Witted.”

I pondered this for a time. “I think the Witted know they have the Queen’s ear. I think they are letting her know what is happening, to see what she will do. To take no action would be a mistake, Chade.”

He nodded at me, grudgingly pleased. “So I saw it also. The Queen says it shows we are making progress in gaining the trust of the Witted. They would not send such a list to her unless they thought there was something she could do. We are making an effort to find kin of the executed ones. Then each duchy will be informed by the Queen that they must pay blood-gold to them.”

“I doubt you will have much success finding kin. Folk are not comfortable admitting they are related to anyone with the Wit.”

Again he nodded. “We have found a few, however. And the blood-gold for the others will be held here at Buckkeep by the Queen’s counting man. Where she cannot find kin, she will command that notices be posted, informing that those related to the executed can come to Buck for compensation.”

I pondered a bit. “For the most part, they’ll be afraid to come. And gold may be seen as a cold thing. Some nobles may even think it is worth the price to rid their realms of Witted ones. Like a fee paid to a rat catcher.”

Chade bent his head down and rubbed his temples. When he lifted his face and looked at me, his face was weary. “We do the best we can, FitzChivalry. Have you any better suggestions?”

I thought a bit. “Not really. But I should like to see the scrolls they have sent. This one listing the names, and any earlier ones. Especially the one that came right before the Prince was taken.”

“If you wish to see them, then you shall.”

There was something in his voice. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I spoke carefully. “I’ve already said that I wished to see them. Several times. I do wish to see them, Chade. When can I look at them?”

He gave me a look from under lowered brows. Then he got up and with ponderously slow steps he walked to his scroll rack “I suppose that, eventually, all of my secrets must pass on to you,” he observed reluctantly. Then, by a means I did not discern, he did something to release a catch. The decorative crown piece atop the scroll rack folded down. He reached inside, and after a moment he drew out three scrolls. They were all small and rolled tightly into cylinders that could be concealed in a man’s closed fist. I stood, but he shut the rack front before I could see what else might be concealed there.