The Complete Farseer Trilogy

NINE

Fat Suffices

The Fool came to Buckkeep in the seventeenth year of King Shrewd’s reign. This is one of the few facts that are known about the Fool. Said to be a gift from the Bingtown Traders, the origin of the Fool can only be surmised. Various stories have arisen. One is that the Fool was a captive of the Red Ship Raiders, and that the Bingtown Traders seized the Fool from them. Another is that the Fool was found as a babe, adrift in a small boat, shielded from the sun by a parasol of sharkskin and cushioned from the thwarts by a bed of heather and lavender. This can be dismissed as a creation of fancy. We have no real knowledge of the Fool’s life before his arrival at King Shrewd’s court.

The Fool was almost certainly born of the human race, though, not entirely of human parentage. Stories that he was born of the Other Folk are almost certainly false, for his fingers and toes are completely free of webbing and he has never shown the slightest fear of cats. The unusual physical characteristics of the Fool (lack of colouring, for instance) seem to be traits of his other parentage, rather than an individual aberration, though in this I well may be mistaken.

In the matter of the Fool, that which we do not know is almost more significant than that which we do. The age of the Fool at the time of his arrival at Buckkeep has been a matter for conjecture. From personal experience, I can vouch that the Fool appeared much younger, and in all ways more juvenile than at present. But as the Fool shows little sign of ageing it may be that he was not as young as he initially appeared, but rather was at the end of an extended childhood.

The gender of the Fool has been disputed. When directly questioned on this matter by a younger and more forward person than I am now, the Fool replied that it was no one’s business but his own. So I concede.

In the matter of his prescience and the annoyingly vague forms that it takes, there is no consensus as to whether a racial or individual talent is being manifested. Some believe he knows all in advance, and even that he will always know if anyone, anywhere, speaks about him. Others say it is only his great love of saying, ‘I warned you so!’ and that he takes his most obscure sayings and twists them to have been prophecies. Perhaps sometimes this has been so, but in many well-witnessed cases, he has predicted, however obscurely, events that later came to pass.

Hunger woke me shortly after midnight. I lay awake, listening to my belly growl. I closed my eyes but my hunger was enough to make me nauseous. I got up and felt my way to the table where Verity’s tray of pastries had been, but servants had cleared it away.

Easing open the chamber door, I stepped out into the dimly-lit hall. The two men Verity had posted there looked at me questioningly. ‘Starving,’ I told them. ‘Did you notice where the kitchens were?’

I have never known a soldier who didn’t know where the kitchens were. I thanked them, and promised to bring back some of whatever I found. I slipped off down the shadowy hall. As I descended the steps, it felt odd to have wood underfoot rather than stone. I walked as Chade had taught me, placing my feet silently, moving within the shadowiest parts of the passageways, walking to the sides where floorboards were less likely to creak. And it all felt natural.

The rest of the keep seemed well asleep. The few guards I passed were mostly dozing; none challenged me. At the time I put it down to my stealth; now I wonder if they considered a skinny, tousle-headed lad any threat worth bothering with.

I found the kitchens easily. It was a great open room, flagged and walled with stone as a defence against fires. There were three great hearths, fires well-banked for the night. Despite the lateness, or earliness, of the hour, the place was brightly lit. A keep’s kitchen is never completely asleep.

I saw the covered pans and smelled the rising bread. A large pot of stew was being kept warm at the edge of one hearth. When I peeked under the lid, I saw it would not miss a bowl or two. I rummaged about and helped myself. Wrapped loaves on a shelf supplied me with an end crust and in another corner was a tub of butter kept cool inside a large keg of water. Not fancy, thank all, but the plain, simple food I had been craving all day.

I was halfway through my second bowl when I heard the light scuff of footsteps. I looked up with my most disarming smile, hoping that this cook would prove as soft-hearted as Buckkeep’s. But it was a serving-girl, a blanket thrown about her shoulders over her nightrobe and her baby in her arms. She was weeping. I turned my eyes away in discomfort.

She scarcely gave me a glance anyway. She set her bundled baby down on top of the table, fetched a bowl and dipped it full of cool water, muttering all the time. She bent over the babe. ‘Here, my sweet, my lamb. Here, my darling. This will help. Take a little. Oh, sweetie, can’t you even lap? Open your mouth, then. Come now, open your mouth.’

I couldn’t help but watch. She held the bowl awkwardly and tried to manoeuvre it to the baby’s mouth. She was using her other hand to force the child’s mouth open, and using a deal more force than I’d ever seen any other mother use on a child. She tipped the bowl, and the water slopped. I heard a strangled gurgle, and then a gagging sound. As I leapt up to protest, the head of a small dog emerged from the bundle.

‘Oh, he’s choking again! He’s dying! My little Feisty is dying and no one but me cares. He just goes on snoring, and I don’t know what to do and my darling is dying!’

She clutched the lap-dog to her as it gagged and strangled. It shook its little head wildly and then seemed to grow calmer. If I hadn’t been able to hear its laboured breathing, I’d have sworn it had died in her arms. Its dark and bulgy eyes met mine, and I felt the force of the panic and pain in the little beast.

Easy. ‘Here, now,’ I heard myself saying. ‘You’re not helping him by holding him that tight. He can scarce breathe. Set him down. Unwrap him. Let him decide how he is most comfortable. All wrapped up like that, he’s too hot, so he’s trying to pant and choke all at once. Set him down.’

She was a head taller than I and for a moment I thought I was going to have to struggle with her. But she let me take the bundled dog from her arms, and unwrap him from several layers of cloth. I set him on the table.

The little beast was in total misery. He stood with his head drooping between his front legs. His muzzle and chest were slick with saliva, his belly distended and hard. He began to retch and gag again. His small jaws opened wide, his lips writhed back from his tiny, pointed teeth. The redness of his tongue attested to the violence of his efforts. The girl squeaked and sprang forward, trying to snatch him up again, but I pushed her roughly back. ‘Don’t grab him,’ I told her impatiently. ‘He’s trying to get something up, and he can’t do it with you squeezing his guts.’

She stopped. ‘Get something up?’

‘He looks and acts as if he’s got something lodged in his gullet, Could he have got into bones or feathers?’

She looked stricken. ‘There were bones in the fish. But only tiny ones.’

‘Fish? What idiot let him get into fish? Was it fresh or rotten?’ I’d seen how sick a dog could get when it got into rotten, spawned-out salmon on a river bank. If that was what this little beast had gobbled, he didn’t have a chance.

‘It was fresh, and well-cooked. The same trout I had at dinner.’

‘Well, at least it’s not likely to be poisonous to him. Right now, it’s just the bone. But if he gets it down, it’s still likely to kill him.’

She gasped. ‘No, it can’t! He mustn’t die. He’ll be fine. He just has an upset stomach. I just fed him too much. He’ll be fine! What do you know about it anyway, kitchen-boy?’

I watched the feist go through another round of convulsive retching. Nothing came up but yellow bile. ‘I’m not a kitchen-boy. I’m a dog-boy. Verity’s own dog-boy, if you must know. And if we don’t help this little pup, he’s going to die. Very soon.’

She watched, her face a mixture of awe and horror, as I gripped her little pet firmly. I’m trying to help. He didn’t believe me. I prised his jaws open and forced my two fingers down his gullet. The feist gagged even more fiercely, and pawed at me frantically. His claws needed cutting, too. With the tips of my fingers I could feel the bone. I twiddled my fingers against it, and felt it move, but it was wedged sideways in the little beast’s throat. The dog gave a strangled howl and struggled frantically in my arms. I let him go. ‘Well. He’s not going to get rid of that without some help,’ I observed.

I left her wailing and snivelling over him. At least she didn’t snatch him up and squeeze him. I got myself a handful of butter from the keg and plopped it into my stew bowl. Now, I needed something hooked, or sharply curved, but not too large … I rattled through bins, and finally came up with a curved hook of metal with a handle on it. Possibly it was used to lift hot pots off the fire.

‘Sit down,’ I told the maid.

She gaped at me, and then sat obediently on the bench I’d pointed to.

‘Now hold him firmly, between your knees. And don’t let him go, no matter how he claws and wiggles or yelps. And hold onto his front feet, so he doesn’t claw me to ribbons while I’m doing this. Understand?’

She took a deep breath, then gulped and nodded. Tears were streaming down her face. I set the dog on her lap and put her hands on him.

‘Hold tight,’ I told her. I scooped up a gobbet of butter. ‘I’m going to use the fat to grease things up. Then I’ve got to force his jaws open, and hook the bone and jerk it out. Are you ready?’

She nodded. The tears had stopped flowing and her lips were set. I was glad to see she had some strength to her. I nodded back.

Getting the butter down was the easy part. It blocked his throat, though, and his panic increased, pounding at my self-control with his waves of terror. I had no time to be gentle as I forced his jaws open, and then put the hook down his throat. I hoped I wouldn’t snag his flesh. But if I did, well, he would die anyway. I turned the tool in his throat as he wiggled and yelped and pissed all over his mistress. The hook caught on the bone and I pulled, evenly and firmly.

It came up in a welter of froth and bile and blood. A nasty little bone, not a fish bone at all, but the partial breastbone of a small bird. I flipped it onto the table. ‘And he shouldn’t have poultry bones either,’ I told her severely.

I don’t think she even heard me. Doggie was wheezing gratefully on her lap. I picked up the dish of water and held it out to him. He sniffed it, lapped a bit, and then curled up, exhausted. She picked him up and cradled him in her arms, her head bent over his.

‘There’s something I want from you,’ I began.

‘Anything.’ She spoke into his fur. ‘Ask, and it’s yours.’

‘First, stop giving him your food. Give him only red meat and boiled grain for a while. And for a dog that size, no more than you can cup in your hand. And don’t carry him everywhere. Make him run about, to give him some muscle and wear down his nails. And wash him. He smells foul, coat and breath, from too-rich food, or he won’t live but another year or two.’

She looked up, stricken. Her hand went up to her mouth. And something in her motion, so like her self-conscious touching of her jewellery at dinner, suddenly made me realize who I was scolding. Lady Grace. And I had made her dog piss on her nightrobe.

Something in my face must have given me away. She smiled delightedly and held her feist closer. ‘I’ll do as you suggest, dog-boy. But for yourself? Is there nothing you’d ask as reward?’

She thought I’d ask for a coin or ring or even a position with her household. Instead, as steadily as I could, I looked at her and said, ‘Please, Lady Grace. I ask that you ask your lord to man Watch Island’s tower with the best of his men, to put an end to the strife between Rippon and Shoaks Duchies.’

‘What?’

That single word question told me volumes about her. The accent and inflection hadn’t been learned as Lady Grace.

‘Ask your lord to man his towers well. Please.’

‘Why does a dog-boy care about such things?’

Her question was too blunt. Wherever Kelvar had found her, she hadn’t been high-born, or wealthy before this. Her delight when I recognized her, the way she had brought her dog down to the familiar comfort of a kitchen, by herself, wrapped in her blanket, told of a common girl elevated too quickly and too far above her previous station. She was lonely, and uncertain, and uneducated as to what was expected of her. Worse, she knew that she was ignorant, and that knowledge ate at her and soured her pleasures with fear. If she did not learn how to be a duchess before her youth and beauty faded, only years of loneliness and ridicule could await her. She needed a mentor, someone secret, like Chade. She needed the advice I could give her, right now. But I had to go carefully, for she would not accept advice from a dog-boy. Only a common girl might do that, and the only thing she knew about herself right now was that she was no longer a common girl, but a duchess.

‘I had a dream,’ I said, suddenly inspired. ‘So clear. Like a vision. Or a warning. It woke me and I felt I must come to the kitchen.’ I let my eyes unfocus. Her eyes went wide. I had her. ‘I dreamed of a woman, who spoke wise words and turned three strong men into a united wall that the Red Ship Raiders could not breach. She stood before them, and jewels were in her hands, and she said, “Let the watchtowers shine brighter than the gems in these rings. Let the vigilant soldiers who man them encircle our coast as these pearls used to encircle my neck. Let the keeps be strengthened anew against those who threaten our people. For I would be glad to walk plain in the sight of both king and commoner, and let the defences that guard our people become the jewels of our land”. And the King and his dukes were astounded at her wise heart and noble ways. But her people loved her best of all, for they knew she loved them better than gold or silver.’

It was awkward, not near as cleverly spoken as I had hoped to make it. But it caught her fancy. I could see her imagining herself standing straight and noble before the King and astonishing him with her sacrifice. I sensed in her the burning desire to distinguish herself, to be spoken of admiringly by the people she had come from. This would show them she was now a duchess in more than name. Lord Shemshy and his entourage would carry word of her deed back to Shoaks Duchy. Minstrels would celebrate her words in song. And her husband for once would be surprised by her. Let him see her as someone who cared for the land and folk, rather than the pretty little thing he had snared with his title. I could almost see the thoughts parade through her mind. Her eyes had gone distant and she wore an abstracted smile.

‘Good night, dog-boy,’ she said softly, and glided from the kitchen, her dog cuddled against her breast. She wore the blanket around her shoulders as if it were a cloak of ermine. She would play her role tomorrow very well. I grinned suddenly, wondering if I had accomplished my mission without poison. Not that I had really investigated whether or not Kelvar was guilty of treason; but I had a feeling that I had chopped the root of the problem. I was willing to bet that Watch Island tower would be well-manned before the week was out.

I made my way back up to my bed. I had pilfered a loaf of fresh bread from the kitchen and this I offered to the guards who readmitted me to Verity’s bedchamber. In some distant part of Baykeep someone brayed out the hour. I didn’t pay much attention. I burrowed back into my bedding, my belly satisfied and my spirit anticipating the spectacle that Lady Grace would present tomorrow. As I dozed off, I was wagering with myself that she would wear something straight and simple and white, and that her hair would be unbound.

I never got to find out. It seemed but moments later that I was shaken awake. I opened my eyes to find Charim crouched over me. A dim light from a lit candle made elongated shadows on the chamber walls. ‘Wake up, Fitz,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘A runner’s come to the keep, from Lady Thyme. She requires you immediately. Your horse is being made ready.’

‘Me?’ I asked stupidly.

‘Of course. I’ve laid out clothes for you. Dress quietly. Verity is still asleep.’

‘What does she need me for?’

‘Why, I don’t know. The message wasn’t specific. Perhaps she’s taken ill, Fitz. The runner said only that she required you immediately. I suppose you’ll find out when you get there.’

That was slim comfort. But it was enough to stir curiosity in me, and in any case, I had to go. I didn’t know exactly what relation Lady Thyme was to the King, but she was far above me in importance. I didn’t dare ignore her command. I dressed quickly by candlelight and left my room for the second time that night. Hands had Sooty saddled and ready, along with a ribald jest or two about my summons. I suggested how he might amuse himself the rest of the night and then left. I was waved out of the keep and through the fortifications by guards who had been advised of my coming.

I turned wrong twice in the town. It all appeared different by night, and I had not paid much attention to where I had been going earlier. At last I found the inn-yard. A worried innkeeper was awake and had a light in the window. ‘She’s been groaning and calling for you for most of an hour now, sirrah,’ she told me anxiously. ‘I fear it’s serious, but she will let no one in but you.’

I hurried down the hall to her door. I tapped cautiously, half-expecting her shrill voice to tell me to go away and stop bothering her. Instead, a quavering voice called out, ‘Oh, Fitz, is that finally you? Hurry in, boy. I need you.’

I took a deep breath and lifted the latch. I went into the semi-darkness of the stuffy room, holding my breath against the various smells that assaulted my nostrils. Death-stench could hardly be worse than this, I thought to myself.

Heavy hangings draped the bed. The only light in the room came from a single candle guttering in its holder. I picked it up and ventured closer to the bed. ‘Lady Thyme?’ I asked softly. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Boy.’ The voice came quietly from a dark corner of the room.

‘Chade,’ I said, and instantly felt more foolish than I care to remember.

‘There’s no time to explain all the reasons. Don’t feel bad, boy. Lady Thyme has fooled many folk in her time, and will continue to. At least I hope so. Now. Trust me and don’t ask questions. Just do what I tell you. First, go to the innkeeper. Tell her that Lady Thyme has had one of her attacks and must rest quietly for a few days. Tell her on no account to disturb her. Her great-grand-daughter will be coming in to care for her –’

‘Who –’

‘It’s been arranged already. And her great-grand-daughter will be bringing in food for her and everything else she needs. Just emphasize that Lady Thyme needs quiet and to be left alone. Go and do that now.’

And I did, and I appeared jolted enough that I was very convincing. The innkeeper promised me that she would let no one so much as tap on a door, for she would be most reluctant to lose Lady Thyme’s good opinion of her inn and her trade. By which I surmised that Lady Thyme paid her generously indeed.

I re-entered the room quietly, shutting the door softly behind me. Chade shot the bolt and kindled a fresh candle from the glimmering stump. He spread a small map on the table beside it. I noticed he was dressed for travelling – cloak, boots, jerkin and trousers all of black. He looked a different man, suddenly, very fit and energetic. I wondered if the old man in the worn robe was also a pose. He glanced up at me and for a moment I would have sworn it was Verity the soldier I was facing. He gave me no time to muse.

‘Things will have to go here however they will go between Verity and Kelvar. You and I have business elsewhere. I received a message tonight. Red Ship Raiders have struck, here, at Forge. So close to Buckkeep that it’s more than just an insult; it’s a real threat. And done while Verity is at Neatbay. Don’t tell me they didn’t know he was here, away from Buckkeep. But that’s not all. They’ve taken hostages, dragged them back to their ships. And they’ve sent words to Buckkeep, to King Shrewd himself. They’re demanding gold, lots of it, or they’ll return the hostages to the village.’

‘Don’t you mean they’ll kill them if they don’t get the gold?’

‘No.’ Chade shook his head angrily, a bear bothered by bees. ‘No, the message was quite clear. If the gold is paid, they’ll kill them. If not, they’ll release them. The messenger was from Forge, a man whose wife and son had been taken. He insisted he had the threat correct.’

‘I don’t see that we have a problem,’ I snorted.

‘On the surface, neither do I. But the man who carried the message to Shrewd was still shaking, despite his long ride. He couldn’t explain it, not even say if he thought the gold should be paid or not. All he could do was repeat, over and over again, how the ship’s captain had smiled as he delivered the ultimatum, and how the other raiders had laughed and laughed at his words.

‘So, we go to see, you and I. Now. Before the King makes any official response, before Verity even knows. Now attend. This is the road we came by. See how it follows the curve of the coast? And this is the trail we go by. Straighter, but much steeper and boggy in places, so that it has never been used by wagons. But faster for men on horseback. Here, a small boat awaits us; crossing the bay will cut a lot of miles and time from our journey. We’ll beach here, and then on up to Forge.’

I studied the map. Forge was north of Buckkeep; I wondered how long our messenger had taken to reach us, and if by the time we got there the Red Ship Raiders’ threat would already have been carried out. But it was no use wasting time on wondering.

‘What about a horse for you?’

‘That’s been arranged, by the one who brought this message. There’s a bay outside with three white feet. He’s for me. The messenger will also provide a great-grand-daughter for Lady Thyme, and the boat is waiting. Let’s go.’