Fool's Quest (4 page)

“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 …?”

“How did I know?” He made a small incredulous sound. “Oh, Fitz. Why do you think I left? To leave you to find a life as close as possible to the one that I had always foreseen would follow my death. In so many futures, after my death, I saw you court Molly tirelessly, win her back, and finally take for yourself some of the happiness and peace that had always eluded you when I was near. In so many futures, I foresaw that she would die and you would be left alone. But that does not undo what you had, and that was the best I could wish for you. Years with your Molly. She loved you so.”

He resumed eating. I sat very still. My throat was clenched so tight that the pain nearly choked me. It was difficult even to breathe past that lump. Blind as he was, I think he still knew of my distress. For a long time he ate very slowly, as if to stretch out both the meal and the silence I needed. Slowly he wiped the last of the meat juices from his plate with his final bite of bread. He ate it, wiped his fingers on the napkin, and then walked his hand over to his wine. He lifted it and sipped, his face almost beatific. He set the cup down and then said quietly, “My memories of yesterday are very confusing to me.”

I held my silence.

“I had walked through most of the previous night, I think. I remember the snow, and knowing that I must not stop until I found some sort of shelter. I had a good stick, and that helps more than I can say when a man has no eyes, and bad feet. It's hard for me to walk without a stick now. I knew I was on the road to Oaksbywater. Now I remember. A cart passed me, with the driver cursing and shouting at me to get out of the way. So I did. But I found his cart tracks in the snow and knew that if I followed them, they had to lead to some sort of shelter. So I walked. My feet got numb, and that meant less pain, but I fell more often. I think it was very late when I reached Oaksbywater. A dog barked at me, and someone shouted at it. The cart tracks led to a stable. I could not get inside, but there was a pile of straw and manure outside.” He folded his lips for a moment and then said wryly, “I've learned that dirty straw and manure are often warm.”

I nodded, then realized he could not see me. “They are,” I conceded.

“I slept a bit, and then woke when the town started to stir around me. I heard a girl singing and recognized one of the old Winterfest songs from when I lived at Buckkeep. And so I knew it might be a good day to beg. Holidays bring out the kindness in some people. I thought I would beg and try to get some food in me and then, if I encountered someone who seemed kind, I would ask them to put me on the path to Withywoods.”

“So you were coming to find me.”

He nodded slowly. His hand crept back to his wine cup. He found it, drank sparingly, and set it down. “Of course I was coming to find you. So. I was begging, but the shopkeeper kept ranting at me to move on. I knew I should. But I was so tired, and the place where I had settled was out of the wind. Wind is a cruel thing, Fitz. A day that is cold but bearable when the air is still becomes a constant torment when a wind rises.” His voice fell away and he hunched his shoulders as if even the memory of wind could freeze him now.

“Then, hmm. A boy came by. He gave me an apple. Then the shopkeeper cursed me and shouted at her husband to come and drive me off. And the boy helped me to move away from the door. And …” The Fool's words trailed away. His head moved, wagging from side to side. I did not think he was aware of it. It reminded me of a hound casting about for a lost scent. Then plaintive words burst from him. “It was so vivid, Fitz! He was the son I was seeking. The boy touched me and I could see with his vision. I could feel the strength he might have, someday, if he was trained, if he was not corrupted by the Servants. I'd found him and I could not contain my joy.” Yellowish tears spilled slowly from his eyes and began to track down his scarred face. All too well, I recalled the request that he had sent his messengers to give me: that I search for the “Unexpected Son.” His son? A child he had fathered, despite all I knew of him? In the time since his messenger had reached me and then died, I'd mulled over a dozen possibilities as to who the mother of such a son might be.

“I found him,” the Fool continued. “And I lost him. When you stabbed me.”

Shame and guilt washed over me in a wave. “Fool, I am so sorry. If only I had recognized you, I never would have hurt you.”

He shook his head. One clawlike hand found his napkin. He mopped his face with it. His words came out as hoarse as a crow's caw. “What happened, Fitz? What … provoked you to try to kill me?”

“I mistook you for someone dangerous. Someone that would hurt a child. I came out of the tavern, looking for my little girl.”

“Your little girl?” His words broke through my explanation in an incredulous shout.

“Yes. My Bee.” Despite all else, I smiled. “Molly and I had a child together, Fool, a tiny girl.”

“No.” His denial was absolute. “No. Not in any future I saw did you have another child.” His brow was furrowed. Scarred as his face was, it was not easy to read his emotions, but he looked almost furious. “I
know
I would have seen that. I am the true White Prophet. I would have seen that.” He slapped his hand on the table, jerked with the pain, and cradled it to his chest. “I would have seen that,” he insisted again, more quietly.

“But we did,” I said softly. “I know it's hard to believe. We thought we couldn't. Molly told me her time for bearing was past. But then she had Bee. Our little girl.”

“No.” He said the word stubbornly. He pinched his lips flat together, and then abruptly his chin trembled like a child's. “It can't be. Fitz, it can't be so. How can that be true? If I did not see such an immense event in your life, what else did I miss? How wrong can I have been about so many other things? Was I wrong about myself?” He fell silent for a time. His blind eyes shifted back and forth, trying to find me. “Fitz. Do not be angry that I ask this, for I must.” He hesitated and then asked in a whisper, “Are you sure? Can you be positive? Are you certain the child was yours, and not just Molly's?”

“She is mine,” I said flatly. I was astonished at how much insult I took at his words. “Definitely mine,” I added defiantly. “She has a Mountain look to her, like my mother.”

“The mother you scarcely remember.”

“I remember her enough to say that my child looks like her. And I remember Molly well enough to know that Bee is my daughter. Without question. Fool, this is not worthy of you.”

He lowered his eyes and stared at his lap. “So few things are, anymore,” he decided. He rose with a lurch that shook the table. “I'm going back to bed. I don't feel well.” He shuffled away from me, one knotted hand feeling the air before him while the other curled protectively near his chin.

“I know you're not well,” I replied, suddenly repentant for how harshly I'd rebuked him. “You are not yourself, Fool. But you will be again. You will be.”

“Do you think so?” he asked. He did not turn toward me but spoke to the empty air in front of him. “I am not certain of that myself. I've spent over a decade with people who insisted that I was never who I thought I was. Never the White Prophet, only a boy with vivid dreams. And what you have just told me makes me wonder if they had the right of it.”

I hated seeing him so defeated. “Fool. Remember what you told me so long ago. We move now in a time that you never foresaw. One where we are both alive.”

He made no response to my words. He reached the bed, groped along the edge, then turned and sat down on it. Then he more crumpled than lay down, pulled the covers up over his head, and was completely still.

“I tell you the truth, old friend. I have a daughter, a small girl who depends on me. And I cannot leave her. I must be the one to raise her, to teach her and protect her. It's a duty I can't forsake. And one I do not want to.” I tidied as I spoke, wiping away the food he had spilled, corking the remainder of the wine. I waited and my heart continued to sink as he made no response. Finally I said, “What you asked me to do last night. I'd do it for you. You know that. If I could, I would. But now I ask you, as you asked me last night: For my sake, understand that I must say no to you. For now.”

The silence unspooled like a dropped ball of yarn. I'd said the words I must, and their sense would soak into him. He was not a selfish man, nor a cruel one. He'd recognize the truth of what I had told him. I couldn't go anywhere with him, no matter how badly someone needed to be killed. I had a child to raise and protect. Bee had to come first. I smoothed the bedclothes on my side of the bed. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep. I spoke softly.

“I can't be here this evening,” I told him. “Chade has a task for me. It may be very late before I come back. Will you be all right alone?”

Still no response. I wondered if he truly had fallen asleep that quickly, or if he was sulking.
Leave it alone, Fitz,
I counseled myself. He was a sick man. Rest would do more for him than anything else.

I'd not eaten much, but my appetite was gone. I tidied our table. The Fool was either asleep or feigning it perfectly. I resigned myself to silence from him. With some trepidation, I dressed myself in the clothing that Chade had provided for Lord Feldspar. It fit me well enough, though it was looser around the chest and belly than I had expected. I was surprised at how comfortable it was. I transferred a few of the items from one concealed pocket to another. I sat down to put on the shoes. They had more of a heel than I was accustomed to, and extended far past my foot before terminating in upcurled toes decorated with little tassels. I tried a few steps in them, and then walked the length of the chamber five times until I was certain that I could move with confidence and not trip myself.

Chade had a large looking-glass of excellent quality, as much for his own vanity as for the training of his apprentices. I recall one long night when he had me stand in front of it for most of a watch, trying to smile first sincerely, then disarmingly, then sarcastically, then humbly … his list had gone on and on, until my face ached. Now I lifted a branch of candles and looked at Lord Feldspar of Spiretop. There was also a hat, rather like a soft bag, edged with gilt embroidery and a row of decorative buttons and incorporating a fine wig of brown ringlets. I set it on my head and wondered if it was supposed to wilt over to one side as much as it did.

Chade kept a tinker's tray of odd jewelry in the cupboard. I chose two showy rings for myself and hoped they would not turn my fingers green. I warmed water, shaved, and inspected myself again. I had just resigned myself to creeping out of the room under the smelly garments from Lady Thyme's old wardrobe when I felt a slight draft. I stood still, listening, and at just the right moment I asked, “Don't you think it's time you entrusted me with the trick of triggering that door?”

“I suppose I will have to, now that you are Lord Feldspar and inhabiting the room below.” Chade stepped around the corner, halted, and then nodded his approval at my attire. “The trigger is not where you'd think it would be. It's not even on this wall. Look here.” He walked to the hearth, swung a brick aside, mortar and all, and showed me a black iron lever. “It's a bit stiff. I'll have the boy grease it later.” And so saying, he pulled the lever and the draft was abruptly closed off.

“How do you open the door from my old room?” I'd lost count of how many hours I'd spent searching for that trigger when I was a boy.

He sighed and then smiled. “One after another, my secrets have fallen to you. I'll confess, I've always been amused by your inability to find that one. I thought that surely you would stumble on it by accident if nothing else. It's in the drapery pull. Close the curtains completely, and then give a final tug. You won't see or hear a thing, but you can push the door open. And now you know.”

“And now I know,” I agreed. “After half a century of wondering.”

“Surely not half a century.”

“I'm sixty,” I reminded him. “And you started me in the trade when I was less than ten. So, yes, half a century and more.”

“Don't remind me of my years,” he told me, and then sat down with a sigh. “It's unfair of you to prate of passing time when it seems to touch you not at all. Tip your hat a bit more to the back. That's it. Before you go, we'll redden your nose a little and give you higher color in your cheeks so it will appear you've begun your drinking early. And we'll thicken your brows.” He tilted his head to consider me critically. “That should be enough to keep anyone from recognizing you. What's this?” he demanded, pulling Bee's parcel toward him.

“Something that I'd like to dispatch immediately to Withywoods. Things for Bee. I had to leave her quite abruptly, in a very peculiar way. It's the first Winterfest since her mother died. I'd hoped to be there with her.”

“It will be on its way within the day,” he promised me gravely. “I sent a small troop of guards there this morning. If I'd known you had a message, I would have sent it with them. They'll travel swiftly.”

“It has little gifts for her from the market. For a late Winterfest surprise. Wait, you sent a troop of guards? Why?”

“Fitz, where are your wits? You left Shun and FitzVigilant there, unprotected. You haven't even door guards. Luckily I've one or two fellows about the place who know their business. Not much muscle among them, but keen eyes. They'll warn Lant if they see anything threatening. And weather permitting, my troop will be there in three days or so. They're a rough band, but I've seen that their commander is bringing them around. Captain Stout keeps them on a taut leash, until he lets them loose. And then nothing stops them.” He sounded very satisfied with his choice. He drummed his fingers on the table edge. “The daily bird hasn't arrived, but sometimes that happens when the weather is foul.”

“Daily bird?”

“Fitz, I am a thorough man. I watch over my own. That includes you, for all your years there. And now, when a messageless bird arrives, I know that all is well for Lant and Shun as well. It's only sensible.”

I'd known he had at least one watcher in place at Withywoods. I hadn't realized that a daily report was sent to him. Well, not a report. A bird with no message meant all was well. “Chade, I'm ashamed that I gave no thought to the safety of Shun and FitzVigilant when I brought the Fool here. You entrusted them to me. It was a dire situation: I'm afraid it drove all other thoughts out of my head.”

He was nodding as I spoke, his face grave and his mouth without expression. I'd disappointed him. He cleared his throat and very deliberately shifted the topic. “So. Do you think you can masquerade as Lord Feldspar for an evening or three? It would be very handy for me to have a man mingling with the crowd who knew how to listen and how to steer a conversation.”

“I think I can still do that.” I felt abashed at failing him. This was the least I could do. “What were you hoping to discover?”

“Oh, the usual. Anything interesting. Who is trying to make deals out of sight of the crown? Who has been offering bribes to get better trading terms; who has been taking bribes? What is the general feeling about placating the dragons? Of course, the most valuable information you can discover would be any little facts that we aren't expecting.”

“Do I have any specific targets?”

“Five. No, six, perhaps.” He scratched his ear. “I trust you to find a trail and follow it. I'll make some suggestions, but keep your ears open for any interesting propositions.”

And for the next few hours he educated me in the various seesaws of power currently in play in the Six Duchies. He described each of the four men and two women that he wished me to spy upon, right down to their preferences for drink, which ones used smoke, and the two who were rumored to be meeting behind their spouses' backs. Chade gave me a swift tutoring on copper mining so that I could at least appear knowledgeable, and advised me to maintain a crafty silence should anyone ask me detailed questions about my operations or the new vein of ore we had reportedly discovered.

And for a time, I put my life back in the old man's hands. It would not be fair to say that I forgot my grief at losing Molly or stopped worrying about Bee or resigned myself to the Fool's declining health. What I did was step outside of my real life and step back into one in which all I had to do was obey Chade's directives and report back to him what I had learned. There was deep comfort in that. It was almost healing to discover that despite all I had been through, all my losses and all my daily fears and worries, I was still Fitz and this was something I was still very good at.

When he had finished schooling me for my task, he tilted his head toward the Fool's bed. “How is he?”

“Not himself. In pain and emotionally frail. I upset him and he went back to his bed. And immediately fell asleep.”

“Not surprising. You're wise to let him sleep.” He picked up Bee's parcel, weighed it in his hand, and smiled indulgently. “I doubt that any child in Buckkeep Castle will get a heftier sack of holiday loot than this. I've an excellent courier. He'll ride out tonight.”

“Thank you,” I said humbly.

He wagged a dismissive finger at me and then left, taking the package with him. I descended the hidden staircase to the room that had been mine when I was young and closed the door behind me. I halted there briefly to admire the staging of the room. There was a traveling case, of good quality but dusty and battered as if it had come a long way. It was open and partially unpacked, with items of clothing draped carelessly over the chair. Several of the new-appearing items featured a plenitude of buttons. I made a cursory examination of the trunk's contents. In addition to a selection of clothes that would fit me and were not obviously new, there was all that a man would be likely to pack for an extended stay. Anyone who sought to slip the lock on my room and inspect my things would most likely be convinced that I was indeed Lord Feldspar, right down to my monogrammed kerchiefs. I tucked one of those into my pocket and descended to the merrymaking of Winterfest eve in Buckkeep.

And, oh, how I loved it. There was music and excellent food; drink of all manner flowed freely. Some people were enjoying smoke in tiny braziers at their tables. Young ladies in their best dresses flirted outrageously with young men in bright and impractical garb. More buttons. And I was not the only one in heeled slippers with twirled toes. Indeed my footwear was among the more modest in that regard. It made the lively dances of Winterfest a true contest of agility, and more than one youngster was brought low by an untimely slip.

I had only one bad moment, when I glimpsed Web across the room. I became aware of Buckkeep's Witmaster in a way that I can't describe. I think as he quested toward me with his Wit, wondering why I seemed familiar, I somehow became aware of the magic's touch on me. I turned away and made an excuse to leave that area of the room. I did not see him again that evening.

I located those Chade had bid me find, and insinuated myself into conversations. I appeared to drink a great deal more than I really did, and thoroughly enjoyed playing the role of a mildly inebriated lordling who bragged indiscreetly about the newfound wealth of his holdings. I moved among the merchants and tradesfolk rather than near the dais where the nobility and royalty congregated to socialize with trade delegates from Bingtown, Jamaillia, and Kelsingra. I caught only passing glimpses of Lady Kettricken, dressed in a simple gown of pale yellow with trim of Buckkeep blue.

King Dutiful and Queen Elliania passed through the chamber, pacing sedately, accepting and bestowing greetings from the lesser nobles and well-placed merchants. Dutiful was appropriately solemn and kingly. He had recently begun to cultivate a well-groomed beard, which added to his gravitas. The queen smiled, and her hand rode on the back of Dutiful's forearm. Her crown sat on a short crop of black curls not much longer than mine; I'd heard she had not allowed her hair to grow since she had lost a girl infant. This marked sign of her continued mourning troubled me even as I too well understood it, but I was glad to see her at the gathering.

The wild girl I had once watched leaping her pony over obstacles was a child no longer. She was small and dark, and one might have expected tall, blond Kettricken, the former Queen of the Six Duchies, to dominate the festivities. But she did not. The two had come into an accord years ago, and balanced each other well. Whereas Kettricken urged the kingdom to embrace new ways, new trading partners, and new ways of doing things, Elliania was a traditionalist. Her matriarchal upbringing in the Out Islands had imbued her with confidence in her right to rule. Her two sons walked behind her, impeccably attired in Buckkeep blue, yet every silver button on their garments featured their mother's leaping narwhal. I'd known them as babies and as small boys. Those days were long gone now. They were young men now, and Prince Integrity wore the simple crown of the king-in-waiting. Prince Prosper favored his Outislander mother but had developed the Farseer brow. I smiled as the royal family passed, tears of pride stinging my eyes. Our doing, the Fool's and mine. Peace between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands at last. I feigned a cough to dab at my watering eyes. I turned aside hastily and pushed my way deeper into the crowd. That sort of behavior would never suit Lord Feldspar.
Control yourself, Fitz.

Lord Feldspar, Chade and I had decided, bore a greedy merchant's heart beneath his noble title. He would have no tender feelings toward his rulers, only a stony resolve to retain as much of his tax money as he could. I played my role well. To every minor noble that deigned to introduce himself, I muttered disconsolately over how much of my taxes had gone to fund these festivities and snarled at the thought of my money used to subsidize meat herds for dragons. Dragons! Those with the bad fortune to live near the dragons' hunting territories should feed them. Or move. It was not up to me to pay for their poor choices! I insinuated myself into conversations near my targets and made sure my complaints were audible.