Fool’s Quest

I crossed the room and seized his hand in both of mine. It was slightly cool, as the Fool’s flesh had ever been. “You are better!” I exclaimed, full of relief at the sight of him upright and moving. I had expected to see him gray and failing in the bed. I turned his hand over in mine; the flesh of the back of it was strangely puckered. It reminded me of an unfledged squab.

“I am alive,” he rejoined. “And more vital. Better? I do not know. I feel so different that I cannot say if I am better or not.”

I stared at him. Chade had an apothecary supply that would rival any shop in Buck, and possibly even Bingtown. I knew most of what he had, and I’d had the use of some of it. Carryme. Elfbark. Nightshade. Cardomean. Valerian. Willowbark. Carris seed. Poppy. On more than one occasion, I’d had recourse to those supplies. During my training Chade had occasionally deliberately exposed me to the effects of some of the lesser poisons, soporifics, and a wide array of stimulants. Yet I knew of nothing in his arcane array that could call a man back from death’s gate and put a golden glint in his blinded eyes.

Ash’s gaze had been flickering between the two of us. His eyes were dog-dark, his shoulders hunched as if expecting the snap of a switch. I regarded him severely. “Ash. What did you give him?”

“The lad believed he was following Chade’s orders. And it seems to have worked,” Kettricken said mildly.

I did not speak aloud what I feared. Many treatments were temporary. Carris seed might lift a man’s vigor to unusual heights for a day or even two, but it would be followed by a devastating drop to total exhaustion as the body demanded the debt be repaid. Elfbark gave energy, quickly followed by deep despair. I had to know if Ash had saved the Fool’s life or merely given him a false lease on it.

Chade’s apprentice had not answered my question. I put a growl of command into my voice. “What did you give him, Ash? Answer me.”

“Sir.” The boy rose awkwardly to his feet and bowed to me gravely. His gaze roved uneasily past Kettricken, glided over Nettle and Riddle, and then faltered before King Dutiful’s severe expression. He looked back at me. “May I speak to you alone?”

Dutiful’s voice was deceptively mild as he asked him, “And what is it that you can tell Lord FitzChivalry but not your rightful king?”

The boy looked down, abashed but determined. “Sire, Lord Chade has made me his apprentice. When he asked if I wished to learn his skills, he warned me that in our trade, there might be times when my king would have to deny me. And times when my silence must protect the honor of the Farseer reign. He said that there are secrets that those who practice our trade do not inflict on the nobility.”

I well recalled the same lecture. It had not come early in my training. Evidently the boy was deeper in Chade’s confidence than I had thought.

Dutiful pinned him with a stare. “Yet Lord FitzChivalry can be a party to your secret?”

Ash stood his ground though the blood flushed his cheeks. “If it please my king, I have been told that he was one of my kind for many years before he was elevated to being one of yours.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I had to act on my own judgment. Lady Rosemary was called away. So I had to do as I thought Lord Chade would have wanted.”

I did not hold the power here. I waited for Dutiful to free the boy from his dilemma. After a long pause, Dutiful sighed. I saw Lady Kettricken give a small nod of approval, while the crow made several courting bows and announced, “Spark! Spark!” That made no sense to me, but I had no time to pursue a bird’s thought. Dutiful spoke. “I permit this. This once. My honor should not be preserved by those who serve me doing dishonorable things.”

Ash started to speak. I put a hand on his shoulder to silence him. There would always be dishonorable things done to preserve the honor of any power. Silence now, as Dutiful never needed his nose rubbed in that dirt. Something like a shadow of a smile bent the Fool’s lips. Riddle and Nettle remained silent, acceding to Dutiful. The relief on the boy’s face was evident. It took courage for him to make a low bow to Dutiful and add, “It is respect for the Farseer line that bids me take this course, my king.”

“Be it so.” Dutiful was resigned.

I gestured to Ash and he followed me. We moved away from the light and warmth of the fire, to the dark and shadowy end of the room. Back to the shadows where assassins belonged, I thought. Back to where the old worktable still bore the scorches and scars of my own apprenticeship.