“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.
I had expected that one of our noble guests would propose bypassing the tax collectors of the Six Duchies, but when I was finally targeted it was by a young man from Farrow. He was not a lord or a merchant, but the son of a man who operated freight barges on the river. He smiled and spoke me fair and made a dedicated effort to ply me with stronger drink. He was not one of Chade’s targets, but his sly hints that there was money to be made by a man who knew how to bypass the taxing agents at the river- and seaports made me think he was a thread that would bear following. I used the Skill to reach out mentally to Chade and became aware that my old mentor was using Thick’s strength to help him be fully aware not only of King Dutiful but of several of the coterie members. I kept my sending to him private and small as I drew his attention to my drinking partner.
I separated myself from the young man to mingle and wander for several hours more. Winterfest was a significant holiday and the dukes and duchesses of all the Six Duchies were in attendance. I saw and was not seen as I recognized many an old friend or acquaintance from my earlier years. Duchess Celerity of Bearns had aged gracefully. Several lifetimes ago she had taken a fancy to FitzChivalry. I hoped she had had a good life. The little lad trotting at her heels was probably a grandson. Perhaps even a great-grandson. There were others, not just nobles but servingfolk and tradesmen. Not as many as I would have recognized a score of years ago. Time’s nets had dragged many of them from this life.
The night grew deep, and the room was warm with the press of bodies and the sweat of the dancers. I was not surprised when the young river trader sought me out to introduce me to a very friendly sea captain from Bingtown. He introduced himself as a New Trader, and immediately shared with me that he had little patience for the Bingtown system of tithes and levies on foreign goods. “The Old Traders are wedged in their ways. If they will not shake off the past and realize they must open their doors to less restricted trade, well, there are those who will find a window.” I nodded to him and asked if I might call on him the day after Winterfest. He gave me a small shingle of wood with the name of his ship and his own name lettered onto its smooth surface. He was staying at the Bloody Hounds near the warehouse docks and would look forward to my visit. Another fish for Chade’s net.
For a time, I indulged myself and took a seat at one of the lesser hearths to hear a minstrel recite a traditional Winterfest tale. When I went seeking some chilled cider, a young woman who had had too much to drink caught me by the arm and demanded that I dance the next measure with her. She could not have been more than twenty, and to me she suddenly seemed a foolish child in a dangerous place. I wondered where her parents were and how they could leave her drunken and alone in the midst of the festival.
But I danced with her, one of the old partner-dances, and despite my fancy toes and lifted heels managed to keep to the steps and mark the time correctly. It was a merry dance, and she was a pretty girl with dark curls and brown eyes and layers upon layers of skirts, all in shades of blue. Yet by the end of the dance I was filled to brimming with loneliness and a deep sadness for all the years that were now behind me. I thanked her, escorted her to a seat near the hearth, and then slipped away. My Winterfest eve, I thought, was over, and I suddenly missed a little hand in mine and big blue eyes looking up at me. For the first time in my life, I wished my little girl had the Skill so that I could reach out to her across the snowy distance and assure her that I loved her and missed her.
As I sought my room, I knew that Chade would be as good as his word. Doubtless a messenger was already in the saddle on his way to Withywoods, my parcel and note in his pack. Yet it would be days before she received it and knew that I had thought of her in the midst of the festivities. Why had I never accepted Chade’s offer to give me a Skilled apprentice at Withywoods, one who could, in my absence, relay news and messages from there? It would have still been a poor substitute for holding my child in my arms and whirling her in a dance at midnight, but it would have been something.
I miss her so.
I had been hearing the sounds and smelling the smells for some time. In my dazed state, the roasting meat of Winterfest had been enticing, and the crackling sound of the huge logs in the grand hearth in the Great Hall. A minstrel was tuning some sea-pipes, the deepest-voiced of traditional wind instruments.
But now I was awake and I stared in horror. This was no celebration of Winterfest eve. This was the opposite of a gathering to drive darkness from our homes. This was a wallowing in destruction. The stables were burning. The charring meat was dead horses and men. The long, low tones that had seemed to be the slow waking of musical instruments were the confused moaning of the folk of Withywoods.
My folk.
I rubbed my eyes, wondering what had happened. My hands were heavy and floppy, with no strength. They were stuffed into immense fur mittens. Or were they huge white furry paws? Not mine?
A jolt. Was I me? Was I someone else, thinking my thoughts? I shivered all over. “I’m Bee,” I whispered to myself. “I’m Bee Farseer. Who has attacked my home? And how came I to be here?”
I was bundled warmly against the cold, enthroned like a queen in the bed of an open sleigh I did not recognize. It was a marvelous sleigh. Two white horses in red-and-silver harness waited stoically to pull it. To either side of the driver’s seat, cleverly wrought iron hangers held lanterns with glass sides and worked iron scrolls as decorations. They illuminated the cushioned seat for the driver and a passenger, and the gracefully curved edges of the sleigh’s bed. I reached out, thinking to run my hand over the finely polished wood. I could not. I was rolled and wrapped and weighted with blankets and furs that bound my sleepy body as effectively as knotted ropes. The sleigh was drawn up at the edge of the carriageway that served the once-grand doors of Withywoods. Those doors were caved in now, broken and useless.
I shook my head, trying to clear my mind of cobwebs. I should be doing something! I
I turned my eyes away from the leaping orange flames of the burning stable and looked toward the manor. People, all the people I had known my whole life, were gathered in front of the tall doors of Withywoods. They weren’t dressed for the snow. They wore the clothes they had donned that morning for the day’s work inside the manor. They huddled together, hugging themselves or clinging to one another for warmth. I saw several shorter figures and finally my blurry vision made out that they were the children I had earlier concealed. Against my stern admonition, they had come out and betrayed themselves. My slow thoughts put together the burning stable and the hidden children. Perhaps they had been wise to come out. Perhaps the raiders would burn the house next.