Fool's Errand (Tawny Man, #1)(18)

These were habits of mind I thought I had discarded. Ways of thinking, taught to me painstakingly by a skilled mentor in the hours between dusk and dawn during the years of my youth. It was a way of sifting facts and assembling them, a training that let the mind make swift leaps to conclusions that were not conjectures. Begin with a simple observation. Starling had not commented on the cheese. Any cheese was a luxury for the boy and me, let alone a fine ripe cheese like this one. She should have been surprised to see it on my table, but she was not. She had said nothing of the Sandsedge brandy last night. Because neither had surprised her. I was both astonished and pleased, in a horrified way, at how swiftly my mind leapt from point to point, until I suddenly looked down on the inevitable landscape the facts formed. “You've never offered to take Hap anywhere before this. You took the boy off to Buckkeep so that Chade could see me alone.” One possible conclusion from that chilled me. “In case he had to kill me. There would be no witnesses.”

“Fitz!” she rebuked me, both angry and shocked.

I almost didn't hear her. Once the pebbles of thought had started bouncing, the avalanche of conclusions was bound to follow. “All these years. All your visits. You've been his eyes on me, haven't you? Tell me. Do you check on Burrich and Nettle several times a year as well?”

She looked at me coldly, denying nothing. “I had to seek them out. To give Burrich the horses. You wanted me to do that.”

Yes. My mind raced on. The horses would have served as a perfect introduction. Any other gift, Burrich would have refused. But Ruddy was rightfully his, a gift from Verity. All those years ago, Starling had told him that the Queen had sent Sooty 's colt as well, in token of services done for the Farseers. I looked at her, waiting for the rest. She was a minstrel. She loved to talk. All I need do was provide the silence.

She set her bread down. “When I am in that area, I visit them, yes. And when I return to Buckkeep, if Chade knows I have been there, he asks after them. Just as he asks after you.”

“And the Fool? Do you know his whereabouts as well?”

“No.” The answer was succinct, and I believed it true. But she was a minstrel, and for her the power of a secret was always in the telling of it. She had to add, “But I think that Burrich does. Once or twice, when I have visited there, there have been toys about, far finer than anything Burrich could afford for Nettle. One was a doll that put me very much in mind of the Fool's puppets. Another time, there was a string of wooden beads, each carved like a little face.”

That was interesting, but I did not let it show in my eyes. I asked her directly the question that was foremost on my mind. “Why would Chade consider me a threat to the Farseers? It is the only reason I know that might make him think he must kill me.”

Something akin to pity came into her face. “You truly believe that, don't you? That Chade could kill you. That I would help by luring the boy away.”

“I know Chade.”

“And he knows you.” The words were almost an accusation. “He once told me that you were incapable of completely trusting anyone. That wanting to trust, and fearing to, would always divide your soul. No. I think the old man simply wanted to see you alone so he could speak freely to you. To have you to himself, and to see for himself how you were doing, after all your years of silence.”

She had a minstrel's way with words and tone. She made it seem as if my avoiding Buckkeep had been both rude and cruel to my friends. The truth was that it had been a matter of survival.

“What did Chade talk about with you?” she asked, too casually.

I met her gaze steadily. “I think you know,” I replied, wondering if she did.

Her expression changed and I could see her mind working. So. Chade hadn't entrusted the truth of his mission to her. However, she was bright and quick and had many of the pieces. I waited for her to put it together.

“Old Blood,” she said quietly. “The Piebald threats.”

There have been many times in my life when I have been shocked and have had to conceal it. That time, I think, was most difficult for me. She watched my face carefully as she spoke. “It is a trouble that has been brewing for a time, and looks to be coming to a boil now. At Springfest, on the Night of the Minstrels, where all vie to perform for their monarch, one minstrel sang the old song about the Piebald Prince. You recall it?”

I did. It told of a princess carried off by a Witted one in the form of a piebald stallion. Once they were alone, he csi, took his man's shape and seduced her. She gave birth to a bastard son, mottled dark and light just as his sire had been. By treachery and spite, her bastard came to the throne, to rule cruelly with the aid of his Witted cohorts. The entire kingdom had suffered, until, so the song said, his cousin, of pure Farseer blood, had rallied six nobles' sons to his cause. At the summer solstice, when the sun stood at noon and the Piebald Prince's powers were weakest, they fell upon him and slew him. They hanged him, then chopped his body to pieces, and then burned the pieces over water, to wash his spirit far away lest it find a home in some beast's body. The song's method of dealing with the Piebald Prince had become the traditional way to be surely rid of Witted ones. Regal had been very disappointed that he had not been able to serve me so.

“Not my favorite song,” I said quietly.

“Understandably. However, Slek sang it well, to much applause, more than his voice truly merits. He has that quaver at the end of his notes that some find endearing, but in truth is the sign of a voice with poor control. . .” She suddenly realized she was wandering from her topic. “Feelings run high against the Witted these days. The Witted ones have been restless of late, and one hears wild tales. I have heard that in one village where a Witted man was hanged and burned, all the sheep died four days later. Just dropped in the fields. Folk said it was his family's revenge. But when they went for vengeance against his kin, they found them long gone. There was a scroll left tacked to the door of their house. All it said was, 'You deserved it.' There have been other incidents as well.”