Assassin's Apprentice

When Burrich did come, the full night was in place. We heard his step on the stair, and I did not need Nosy's keener senses to know that Burrich had been drinking. We shrank in on ourselves as he let himself into the dimmed room. His breathing was heavy, and it took him longer than usual to kindle several tapers from the single one I had set out. That done, he dropped onto a bench and regarded the two of us. Nosy whined and then fell over on his side in puppy supplication. I longed to do the same, but contented myself with looking up at him fearfully. After a moment he spoke.

"Fitz. What's to come of you? What's to come of us both? Running with beggar thieves in the streets, with the blood of kings in your veins. Packing up like animals."

I didn't speak.

"And me as much to blame as you, I suppose. Come here, then. Come here, boy."

I ventured a step or two closer. I didn't like coming too close.

Burrich frowned at my caution. "Are you hurt, boy?"

I shook my head.

"Then come here."

I hesitated, and Nosy whined in an agony of indecision.

Burrich glanced down at him in puzzlement. I could see his mind working through a wine-induced haze. His eyes went from the pup to me and back again, and a sickened look spread across his face. He shook his head. Slowly he stood and walked away from the table and the pup, favoring his damaged leg. In the corner of the chamber there was a small rack, supporting an assortment of dusty tools and objects. Slowly Burrich reached up and took one down. It was made of wood and leather, stiff with disuse. He swung it, and the short leather lash smacked smartly against his leg. "Know what this is, boy?" he asked gently, in a kind voice.

I shook my head mutely.

"Dog whip."

I looked at him blankly. There was nothing in my experience or Nosy's to tell me how to react to this. He must have seen my confusion. He smiled genially and his voice remained friendly, but I sensed something hidden in his manner, something waiting.

"It's a tool, Fitz. A teaching device. When you get a pup that won't mind – when you say to a pup, 'Come here,' and the pup refuses to come – well, a few sharp lashes from this, and the pup learns to listen and obey the first time. Just a few sharp cuts is all it takes to make a pup learn to mind." He spoke casually as he lowered the whip and let the short lash dance lightly over the floor. Neither Nosy nor I could take our eyes off it, and when he suddenly flipped the whole object at Nosy, the pup gave a yelp of terror and leaped back from it, and then rushed to cower behind me.

And Burrich slowly sank down, covering his eyes as he folded himself onto a bench by the fireplace. "Oh, Eda," he breathed, between a curse and a prayer. "I guessed, I suspected, when I saw you running together like that, but damn El's eyes, I didn't want to be right. I didn't want to be right. I've never hit a pup with that damn thing in my life. Nosy had no reason to fear it. Not unless you'd been sharing minds with him."

Whatever the danger had been, I sensed that it had passed. I sank down to sit beside Nosy, who crawled up into my lap and nosed at my face anxiously. I quieted him, suggesting we wait and see what happened next. Boy and pup, we sat, watching Burrich's stillness. When he finally raised his face, I was astounded to see that he looked as if he had been crying. Like my mother, I remember thinking, but oddly I cannot now recall an image of her weeping. Only of Burrich's grieved face.

"Fitz. Boy. Come here," he said softly, and this time there was something in his voice that could not be disobeyed. I rose and went to him, Nosy at my heels. "No," he said to the pup, and pointed to a place by his boot, but me he lifted onto the bench beside him.

"Fitz," he began, and then paused. He took a deep breath and started again. "Fitz, this is wrong. It's bad, very bad, what you've been doing with this pup. It's unnatural. It's worse than stealing or lying. It makes a man less than a man. Do you understand me?"

I looked at him blankly. He sighed and tried again.

"Boy, you're of the royal blood. Bastard or not, you're Chivalry's own son, of the old line. And this thing you're doing, it's wrong. It's not worthy of you. Do you understand?"

I shook my head mutely.

"There, you see. You're not talking anymore. Now talk to me. Who taught you to do this?"

I tried. "Do what?" My voice felt creaky and rough.

Burrich's eyes grew rounder. I sensed his effort at control. "You know what I mean. Who taught you to be with the dog, in his mind, seeing things with him, letting him see with you, telling each other things?"

I mulled this over for a moment. Yes, that was what had been happening. "No one," I answered at last. "It just happened. We were together a lot," I added, thinking that might explain it.