Golden Fool (5 page)

In a fluid motion, Peottre snatched the dress from the woman’s arm. His knife must have been honed to a razor’s edge, for it slashed effortlessly down the front of the gown. He threw the fluttering ruins to the floor and trod upon them. “Get out!” he told the woman.

“As you will, my lord, I am sure,” she muttered. But the words were a mockery as she turned and retired. She did not hurry, and he watched her leave until the door closed behind her. Then he turned back to Elliania. “Are you much hurt, little fish?”

She shook her head, a quick gesture, chin up. A brave lie, for she looked as if she would faint.

I stood up silently. My forehead was gritty with dust from leaning against the wall as I spied on them. I wondered if Chade knew the Narcheska did not wish to wed our prince. I wondered if he knew that Peottre did not consider the betrothal to be a binding gesture. I wondered what illness ailed the Narcheska, and wondered too who “the Lady” was and why the servant was so disrespectful. I tucked my bits of information away alongside my questions, gathered up my clothing, and resumed my trek to Chade’s tower. At least my spying had made me forget my own concerns for a short time.

I climbed the last steep stair to the tiny room at the top, and pushed on the small door there. From some distant part of the castle, I caught a strain of music. Probably minstrels limbering their fingers and instruments for tonight’s festivities. I stepped out from behind a rack of wine bottles into Chade’s tower room. I caught my breath, then shouldered the rack silently back into place and set my bundle down beside it. The man bent over Chade’s worktable was muttering to himself, a guttural singsong of complaints. The music came louder and clearer with his words. Five noiseless steps carried me in toward the hearth corner and Verity’s sword. My hand just touched the hilt as he turned to me. He was the half-wit I had glimpsed in the stableyard a fortnight ago. He held a tray stacked with bowls, a pestle, and a teacup, and in his surprise he tipped it and all the crockery slid to one end. Hastily he set it down on the table. The music had stopped.

For a time, we stared at one another in mutual consternation. The set of his eyelids made him appear permanently sleepy. The end of his tongue was pushed out of his mouth against his upper lip. He had small ears that were snug to his head below his raggedly cropped hair. His clothing hung on him, the sleeves of his shirt and the legs of his pants sawed off, marking them as the castoffs of a larger man. He was short and pudgy, and somehow all his differences were alarming. A shiver of premonition ran over me. I knew he was not a threat, but I did not wish him near me. From the way he scowled at me, the feeling was mutual.

“Go away!” He spoke in a guttural, soft-mouthed way.

I took a breath and spoke evenly. “I am permitted to be here. Are you?” I had already deduced that this must be Chade’s servant, the boy who hauled his wood and water and tidied behind the old man. But I did not know how deeply he was in Chade’s confidence, and so I did not say Chade’s name. Surely the old assassin could not be so careless as to entrust his secret ways to a half-wit.

You. Go away. Don’t see me!

The solid thrust of Skill magic that he launched at me sent me staggering. If I had not already had my walls up, I am certain that I would have done as he told me, gone away and not seen him. As I slammed my Skill walls tighter and thicker around me, I fleetingly wondered if he had done this to me before. Would I even recall it if he had?

Leave me alone! Don’t hurt me! Go away, stinkdog!

I was aware of his second blast, but less cowed by it. Even so, I did not lower my walls to Skill back at him. I spoke my words in a voice that shook despite my best effort to hold it steady. “I won’t hurt you. I never had any intention of hurting you. I’ll leave you alone, if that is what you wish. But I won’t go away. And I won’t allow you to push me like that.” I tried for the firm tones of someone reprimanding a child for bad manners. He probably had no idea what he was doing; doubtless he was only using a weapon that had previously worked for him.

But instead of chagrin, his face flared with anger. And fear? His eyes, already small, nearly disappeared in his fat cheeks when he narrowed them. For a moment, his mouth hung ajar and his tongue stuck out even farther. Then he picked up his tray and slammed it back to the table so that the dishes on it jumped.
“Go away!”
His Skill echoed the angry commands of his mouth.
“You don’t see me!”

I groped my way into Chade’s chair and sat down in it firmly. “I do see you,” I replied evenly. “And I’m not going away.” I crossed my arms on my chest. I hoped he could not see how rattled I was. “You should just do your work and pretend that
you
don’t see
me
. And when you are done,
you
should go away.”

I was not going to retreat from him; I could not. For me to leave would reveal to him how I had come, and if he did not already know that, I wasn’t going to show him. I leaned back in my chair and tried to look as if I were relaxing there.

He glared at me, and the beat of his Skill fury against my walls was daunting. He was strong. If he were this strong, untrained, what would his talent be if he could learn to master it? It was a frightening thought. I stared at the cold hearth, but watched him from the corner of my eye. Either he had finished his work, or he decided not to do it. In any case, he picked up his tray, stalked across the room, and tugged at a scroll rack. This was the entry I had seen Chade once use. He vanished inside it, but as the rack swung into place behind him, both his voice and his Skill reached me again.
You stink like dog poop. Chop you up and burn you.

His anger was like an ebbing tide that slowly left me stranded. After a time, I lifted my hands and pressed them to my temples. The stress of holding my walls so tight and solid was beginning to tell on me, but I dared not let them down just yet. If he could sense my lowering them, if he chose then to blast me with a Skill command, I would be prey to it, just as Dutiful had been prey to my impulsive Skill command not to fight me. I feared that his mind still bore the stamp of that decree.

That was yet another worry that I must tend to. Did that order still restrain him? I made the resolution then that I must discover how to reverse my Skill command. If I did not, I knew it would soon become a barrier to any true friendship between us. Then I wondered if the Prince were cognizant at all of what I had done to him. It had been an accident, I told myself, and then despised my lie. A burst of my temper had imprinted that command on my prince’s mind. It shamed me that I had done so, and the sooner it was removed, the better for both of us.

Dimly I became aware of music again. I made a tentative connection. As I gradually lowered my walls, it became louder in my mind. Putting my hands over my ears did not affect it at all. Skilling music. I had never even imagined such a thing, yet the half-wit was doing it. When I drew my attention away from it, it faded into the shushing curtain of thoughts that always stood at the edges of my Skill. Most of it was formless whispering, the overheard thoughts of the folk who possessed just enough talent to let their most urgent thoughts float out onto the Skill. If I focused my abilities on them, I could sometimes pluck whole thoughts and images from their minds, but they lacked enough Skill to be aware of me, let alone reply. This half-wit was different. He was a roaring Skill fire, his music the heat and smoke of his wild talent. He made no effort to hide it; possibly he had no idea how to hide it, or had any reason to do so.

I relaxed, keeping only the wall that ensured my private thoughts would remain hidden from Dutiful’s budding Skill talent. Then with a groan, I lowered my head into my hands as a Skill headache thundered through my skull.

“Fitz?”

I was aware of Chade’s presence an instant before he touched my shoulder. Even so, I started as I awoke and raised my hands as if to ward off a blow.

“What ails you, boy?” he demanded of me, and then leaned closer to peer at me. “Your eyes are full of blood! When did you last sleep?”

“Just now, I think.” I managed a feeble smile. I ran my hands through my chopped hair. It was sweated flat to my skull. I could recall only tatters of my fleeting nightmare. “I met your servant,” I told him shakily.

“Thick? Ah. Well, not the brightest man in the keep, but he serves my purpose admirably. Hard for him to betray secrets when he hasn’t the sense to recognize a secret if he fell over it. But enough of him. As soon as Lord Golden’s message reached me, I came up here, hoping to catch you. What is this about Piebalds in Buckkeep Town?”

“He wrote that down in a message?” I was incensed.

“Not in so many words. Only I would have picked out the sense of it. Now tell me.”

“They followed me last night . . . this morning. To scare me and to let me know they knew me. That they could find me anytime. Chade. Set that aside for a moment. Did you know your servant—what is his name? Thick? Did you know Thick is Skilled?”

“At what? Breaking teacups?” The old man snorted as if I had made a bad jest. He heaved a sigh and gestured at the cold fireplace in disgust. “He’s supposed to set a small fire in the hearth each day. Half the time he forgets to do that. What are you talking about?”

“Thick is Skilled. Strongly Skilled. He nearly dropped me in my tracks when I accidentally startled him here. If I had not been keeping up my walls to ward my mind from Dutiful, I think he would have blasted away every thought in my head. ‘Go away,’ he told me, and ‘Don’t see me.’ And ‘Don’t hurt me.’ And Chade, you know, I think he’s done that before. To me, even. Once, in the stableyard, I saw some of the boys teasing him. And I heard, almost as if someone said it aloud, ‘Don’t see me.’ And then the stable boys were all going about their business and after that, I don’t recall that I
did
see him there. Anymore, I mean.”

Chade slowly sank down into my chair. He reached out to take one of my hands in his as if that would make my words more comprehensible. Or perhaps he sought to feel if fever had taken me. “Thick has the Skill magic,” he said carefully. “That’s what you’re telling me.”

“Yes. It’s raw and untrained, but it burns in him like a bonfire. I’ve never encountered anything like it before.” I shut my eyes, put my palms flat to my temples, and tried to push my skull back together. “I feel like I’ve taken a beating.”

A moment later, Chade said gruffly, “Here. Try this.”

I took the cold wet cloth he offered me and placed it across my eyes. I knew better than to ask him for anything stronger. The stubborn old man had made up his mind that my pain drugs would interfere with my ability to teach Dutiful to Skill. No good to long for the relief that elfbark could bring. If there were any left in Buckkeep Castle, he’d hidden it well.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muttered, and I lifted a corner of the cloth to peer at him.

“About what?”

“Thick and his Skill.”

“Do? What can you do? The half-wit has it.”

He resumed his seat. “From what I’ve translated of the old Skill scrolls, that makes him something of a threat to us. He’s a wild talent, untaught and undisciplined. His Skilling can inadvertently disrupt Dutiful just as he is trying to learn. Angered, he can use his Skill against people; apparently, he has already done so. Worse, you say he is strong. Stronger than you?”

I lifted one hand in a futile gesture. “I have no way of knowing. My talent has always been erratic, Chade. And I know no way of measuring it. But I have not felt so besieged since all of Galen’s coterie turned their collective strength on me.”

“Mmh.” He leaned back in his chair and considered the ceiling. “The most prudent course might simply be to put him down. Kindly, of course. It is not his fault he is a threat to us. Less radical would be to begin dosing him with elfbark to dampen or destroy his talent. But as your reckless abuse of that herb over the last decade has not completely scoured the Skill ability from you, I have less faith in its efficacy than the writers of the Skill scrolls did. Yet I tend toward a third path. More dangerous, perhaps. I wonder if that is not why it appeals to me, because the possibilities are as great as the hazard.”

“Teach him?” At Chade’s tentative smile, I groaned. “Chade, no. We don’t know enough between the two of us to be certain that we can teach Dutiful safely, and he is a tractable boy with a bright mind. This Thick of yours is already hostile to me. His insults make me fear that somehow he has detected that I am Witted. And what he has learned on his own is potent enough to be dangerous to me if I try to teach him more.”

“Then you think we should kill him? Or cripple his talent?”

I didn’t want that decision to be mine. I didn’t even want to know that such a decision was being made, yet here I was again, neck deep in Farseer plotting. “I don’t think either of those things,” I muttered. “Cannot we just send him very far away?”

“The weapon we throw away today is the one at our throats tomorrow,” Chade returned implacably. “That is why King Shrewd chose, long ago, to have his bastard grandson close to hand. We must make the same sort of decision with Thick. Use him, or render him useless. There is no middle path.” He held one hand out toward me, palm up, and added, “As we have seen with the Piebalds.”

I do not know if he intended it as a rebuke to me, but his words stung nonetheless. I leaned back in my chair and let the wet cloth fall over my eyes.

“What would you have had me do? Kill them all, not just the Piebalds who lured the Prince away but also the Old Blood elders who came to our aid? And then the Queen’s own Huntswoman? And then the Bresinga family? And Sydel, young Civil Bresinga’s intended, and—”

“I know, I know,” he cut me off as I pointed out the widening circle of assassinations that still would not have completely protected our secret. “And yet, there we are. They have shown us they are swift and competent. You have scarcely been back at Buckkeep for two days, and yet they were watching and ready for you. Am I correct in saying that last night was the first time you had ventured into town?” At my nod he continued. “And they immediately located you. And made very sure that you knew they were aware of you. A deliberate gambit.” He took a deep breath and I saw him turning it over in his mind, trying to see what message they had intended to convey. “They know the Prince is Witted. They know you are Witted. They can destroy either of you whenever they please.”