wonder why Lord Golden left a garden girl so well endowed. But let them. She will understand and she won’t care. And for Jofron, my Jhaampe friend? I’ve sent her a selection of fine woods and all of my carving tools. She’ll value them, and recall me fondly, regardless of how abruptly I left her. She’s made her reputation as a toy-maker. Did you know that?’
As he divulged his generous mischief to me, he smiled and the shadow of imminent death nearly left his eyes. ‘Please stop talking like that,’ I begged him. ‘I promise you, I won’t let you die.’
‘Make me no promises that can break us both, Fitz. Besides,’ he took a breath. ‘Even if you manage against all the fore-ordained grinding of fate to keep me alive, well, Lord Golden still must vanish. He’s lived to the end of his usefulness. Once I leave here, I shall not be him again.’
As he spoke on of how he’d dismantled his fortune and how his name would fade to obscurity, I felt sick. He had been determined and thorough. When we left him behind on the docks, we’d be leaving him in a difficult situation. That Kettricken would provide for him, no matter how he had squandered his wealth, I had no doubt. I resolved to have a quiet word with her before we left, to prepare her to rescue him if need be. Then I reined my thoughts back to the conversation, for the Fool was watching me oddly.
I cleared my throat and tried to think of sensible words. ‘I think you are too pessimistic. If you have a coin or two left to your name, you’d best be frugal with it. Just in case I’m right and I keep you alive. And now I must go, for Swift will be waiting for me.’
He nodded, rising as I did. ‘Will you come down to my old chambers when it is time for us to meet Chade for the Skill-lesson?’
‘I suppose so,’ I concurred, trying not to sound reluctant.
He smiled faintly. ‘Good luck with Burrich’s boy,’ he said, and left.
The teacups and charts were still on the table. I suddenly felt too weary to tidy them away, let alone hasten to my lesson with Swift. But I did, and when I arrived on the tower-top garden, he was waiting for me in a square of crenellated sunlight, his back to a chill stone wall, idly playing on a penny whistle. At his feet, several doves bobbed and pecked, and for a moment, my heart sank. As I approached, they all took flight, and the handful of grain that had drawn them scattered in their wind. Swift noticed the relief on my face. He took the whistle from his lips and looked up at me.
‘You thought I was using the Wit to draw them in, and it scared you,’ he observed.
I made myself pause before answering him. ‘I was frightened for a moment,’ I agreed. ‘But not at the idea you might be using your Wit. Rather I feared that you were trying to establish a bond with one of them.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘No. Not with a bird. I’ve touched minds with birds, and my thoughts glance off their minds like a stone skipping on moving water.’ Then he smiled condescendingly and added, ‘Not that I expect you to understand what I mean.’
I reined myself to silence. Eventually I asked him, ‘Did you finish reading the scroll about King Slayer and the acquisition of Bearns?’
He nodded and we proceeded with the day’s lessons, but his attitude still vexed me. I vented it on the practice court, insisting that he pick up an axe and try his strength against me before I would let him go to his bow lesson. The axes were heavier than I recalled, and even with the heads well muffled in leather wraps, the bruises from such a session are formidable. When he could no longer hold the weapon aloft, I let him go to Cresswell for his bow lesson. Then I punished myself for taking out my temper on the boy by finding a new partner, one seasoned to the axe. When I was well and truly aware of just how rusty my skills were, I left the courts and went briefly to the steams.
Cleansed of sweat and frustration, I ate a hasty meal of bread and soup in the guardroom. The talk there was loud and focused on the expedition, Outislander women and drink. Both were acclaimed strong and palatable. I tried to laugh at the jests, but the single-mindedness of the younger guards made me feel old and I was glad to excuse myself and hasten back to my workroom.
I took the secret passage from there down to the chamber I had occupied when I had been Lord Golden’s servant. I listened carefully before I triggered the concealed door. All was quiet on the other side, and I hoped that the Fool was not there. But no sooner had I closed the portal to the hidden access than he opened the outer door of the room. I blinked at him. He wore a simple tunic and leggings, all in black, with low black shoes. The light from the window gilded his hair. Daylight reached past his silhouette into the tiny room and revealed my old cot heaped with possessions I had abandoned when I left his service. The wonderful sword he had given me nestled upon a mound of colourful and extravagant garments tailored for me. I gave the Fool a puzzled look. ‘Those are yours,’ he said quietly. ‘You should take them.’
‘I doubt I’d ever have occasion to dress in such styles again,’ I said, and then heard how hard a rejection that sounded.
‘You never know,’ he said quietly, looking away. ‘Perhaps one day Lord FitzChivalry will again walk the halls of Buckkeep Castle. If he did, those colours and cuts would suit him remarkably well.’
‘I doubt any of that would ever come to be.’ That, too, sounded cold, so I tempered it with, ‘But I thank you all the same. And I will take them, just in case.’ All the awkwardness fell on me again like a smothering curtain.
‘And the sword,’ he reminded me. ‘Don’t forget the sword. I know it’s a bit showy for your taste but …’
‘But it’s still one of the finest weapons I’ve ever drawn. I’ll treasure it.’ I tried to smooth over the slight of my first refusal. I saw now that by leaving it behind when I shifted my den, I’d hurt his feelings.
‘Oh. And this. Best that this come back to you now, too.’ He reached to unfasten the carved wooden earring that Lord Golden always wore. I knew what was concealed within it: the freedom earring that had passed from Burrich’s grandmother to Burrich, to my father and eventually to me.
‘No!’ I gripped his wrist. ‘Stop this funeral rite! I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of letting you die.’
He stood still. ‘Funeral rite,’ he whispered. Then he laughed. I could smell the apricot brandy on his breath.
‘Take charge of yourself, Fool. This is so unlike you that I scarcely know how to talk to you any more,’ I exclaimed in annoyance, feeling the anger that uneasiness can trigger in a man. ‘Can’t we just relax and be ourselves in the days we have left?’
‘The days we have left,’ he echoed. With a twist of his wrist, he effortlessly freed himself from my grip. I followed him back into his large and airy chamber. Stripped of his possessions, it seemed even larger. He went to the brandy decanter and poured more for himself, and then filled a small glass for me.
‘In the days we have left before we sail,’ I expanded my words for him as I took the glass. I looked around the chamber. Necessities had been left in place: a table, chairs, a desk. All else was either gone or in the process of being cleared out. Rolled tapestries and rugs were fat sausages against the wall. His workroom stood open, bare and empty, all his secrets tidied away. I walked into the room, brandy in hand. My voice reverberated oddly as I said, ‘You’ve eradicated every trace of yourself.’
He followed and we stood together looking out of the window. ‘I like to leave things tidy. One must leave so many things incomplete in life that I take pleasure in finishing those I can.’
‘I’ve
