Fool’s Quest

He was silent for a time. His blind eyes were a dull gray in the dim light of the room. They moved in his face as if he still strove to see out of them. “Truly?” he asked in a shaky voice. “Truly all that food? Oh, Fitz. I almost don’t dare to move, lest I wake up and find the warmth and the blankets all a dream.”

“Shall I bring your food there, then?”

“No, no, don’t do that. I spill so badly. It’s not just that I can’t see, it’s my hands. They shake. And twitch.”

He moved his fingers and I felt ill. On one hand, all the soft pads of his fingers had been sliced away to leave thickly scarred tips. The knuckles of both hands were overly large on his bony fingers. Once he had had such elegant hands, such clever hands for juggling and puppetry and wood carving. I looked away from them. “Come, then. Let’s take you back to the chair by the fireside.”

“Let me lead, and you only warn me of a disaster. I’d like to learn the room. I’ve become quite clever at learning rooms since they blinded me.”

I could think of nothing to say to that. He leaned heavily on my arm but I let him make his own groping way. “More to the left,” I cautioned him once. He limped, as if every step on his swollen feet pained him. I wondered how he had managed to come so far, alone and blinded, following roads he could not see. Later, I told myself. There would be time for that tale later.

His reaching hand touched the chair’s back and then felt down it to the arm. It took him some time to maneuver himself into the chair and settle there. The sigh he gave was not one of contentment but of a difficult task accomplished. His fingers danced lightly on the tabletop. Then he stilled them in his lap. “The pain is bad, but even with the pain, I think I can manage the journey back. I will rest here, for a time, and heal a bit. Then, together, we will go to burn out that nest of vermin. But I will need my vision, Fitz. I must be a help to you, not a hindrance, as we make our way to Clerres. Together, we will bring them the justice they deserve.”

Justice. The word soaked into me. Chade had always called our assassin’s tasks “quiet work,” or “the king’s justice.” If I took on this quest of his, what would it be? The Fool’s justice. “Food in just a moment,” I said, letting his worry go unanswered for now.

I did not trust him to exercise restraint with how much food he took. I dished the food up for him, a small portion of meat cut into little bites and bread buttered and sliced into strips. I poured wine for him. I took his hand, thinking to guide it to the dish, but I had not warned him, and he jerked back as if I had burned him with a poker, nearly oversetting his dishes. “Sorry,” we exclaimed in unison. I grinned at that, but he did not.

“I was trying to show you where your food was,” I explained gently.

His head was bent as if he was looking down in shame. “I know,” he said quietly. Then, like timid mice, his crippled hands crept to the edge of the table, and ventured cautiously forward until he found the edge of his plate. His hands moved lightly over the dish, touching what was there. He picked up a piece of the meat and put it into his mouth. I started to tell him there was a fork at the side of his plate. I stopped myself. He knew that. I would not correct a tormented man as if he were a forgetful child. His hands crabbed over to the napkin and found it.

For a time, we ate together in silence. When he had finished what was on the plate, he asked softly if I would cut more meat and bread for him. As I did that, he asked suddenly, “So. How was your life while I was gone?”

For a moment, I froze. Then I transferred the cut meat to his plate. “It was a life,” I said, and was amazed at how steady my voice was. I groped for words: How does one summarize twenty-four years? How does one recount a courtship, a marriage, a child, and a widowing? I began.

“Well. That last time I left you? I became lost in the Skill-pillar on the way home. A passage that had taken but moments on my previous journeys took me months. When the pillar finally spat me out, I was near-senseless. And when I came to my wits, some days later, I found you had been and gone. Chade gave me your gift, the carving. I finally met Nettle. That did not go well, at first. I, uh, I courted Molly. We married.” My words ground to a halt. Even telling the tale in such bald terms, my heart broke over all I had had, and all I had lost. I wanted to say we had been happy. But I could not bear to put that in the past tense.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He spoke the formal words. From him, they were sincere. It took me aback for a few moments.

“How did you . . .?”