It was in the time of Queen Dextrous that the head scribe at Buckkeep Castle was given the additional duty of instructing any ‘willing’ child in the keep in the art of letters. It has been said that she decreed this because of her great dislike of Scribe Martin. Certainly many Buckkeep scribes who came after Martin seemed to think it more punishment than honour.
—Scribe Fedwren, On the Duties of Scribes
And so, again, I had erred. And badly. I walked slowly down the corridor, my little child by my side. She did not take my hand. She walked just out of my arm’s reach, and I knew that was no accident. If pain can radiate as heat from a fire, then that was the cold that I felt from her stiff little form. I had been so sure that I was doing it right. That she would be delighted with her new room and furnishings that took her size into consideration. And in my eagerness to deceive the staff about the ‘guest’ who had gone missing, I had destroyed precious mementos, irreplaceable pieces of her childhood.
I took her to my bedchamber. It was a different place to the last time she had been there. I’d gathered all my clothing and bedding and sent for the launderer. The man had made two trips with a very large basket, disapproval pinching his narrow nose nearly closed. That evening, when I returned to my room, my featherbed had been aired and turned, all surfaces dusted and the room otherwise tidied. I hadn’t authorized it; I suspected Revel. That night, I slept on linens washed clean of the sweat of grief, on pillows that had not been soaked with my tears. The tapers for my candleholders were plain white ones, unscented, and the nightshirt I donned was soft and clean against my skin. I had felt like a traveller who had been on a long and arduous journey, and arrived at a faceless inn.
I was not surprised when Bee halted just inside the door and stared around in dismay. It could have been any man’s room. Or no one’s. She looked around the room and then back at me.
‘I want my things back.’ She spoke clearly. There was no trace of huskiness in her voice, no strain of tears held back. I took her to a storage chest under the window, unlocked it and opened it. She looked in and grew very still.
Inside were not only the items I had removed from her room on that cruel and frantic evening, but many another memento as well. I had the first garment Bee had ever worn, and a ribbon stolen many years ago from Molly’s hair. I had her mother’s brush and looking-glass, and her favourite belt, leather dyed blue with pouches laced to it. Burrich had made it for her and the buckle was worn thin with use. She had worn it until the day she died. There was a small casket that held not only her mother’s jewellery, but each of Bee’s baby teeth.
Bee found her books, and her nightgowns. ‘The candles are in my study, kept only for you,’ I reminded her. She found and gathered several small figurines. She did not speak, but by her folded lips, I knew there were other significant items missing.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, when she turned from the trunk with her arms full of her precious items. ‘I should have asked you. If I could bring back your cherished things, I would.’
She turned, and fleetingly, her eyes met mine. Anger and pain smouldered in a banked fire there. Abruptly, she set her armful down on my bed. ‘I want my mother’s belt-knife,’ she announced.
I looked down into the chest. The little knife rode on the belt, where it had for years. It had a bone handle, and at some time Molly or perhaps Burrich had wrapped it with a strip of leather to keep it from slipping. It had a blue sheath to match the leather belt. ‘The belt will be too big for you for many years,’ I said. It was an observation, not an objection. I had never thought of it going to anyone except Bee.
‘I just need the knife and sheath now,’ she said. She met my eyes again with that sliding glance. ‘To protect myself.’
I drew a deep breath and took Molly’s belt from the chest. I had to take several little pouches off the belt before I could slide the sheathed knife free. I held it out toward Bee, haft first, but as she reached for it, I drew it back. ‘Protect yourself from what?’ I demanded.
‘Assassins.’ She asserted it quietly. ‘And people who hate me.’
Those words hit me like stones. ‘No one hates you!’ I exclaimed.
‘They do. Those children that you have decided will take lessons beside me. At least three of them hate me. Maybe more.’
I sat down on the edge of the bed, Molly’s knife loose in my hands. ‘Bee,’ I said rationally. ‘They scarcely know you, so how could they hate you? And even if they dislike you, I doubt that the children of the keep would dare t …’
‘They threw stones at me. And chased me. He slapped me so hard my mouth bled.’
A terrible cold anger welled in me. ‘Who did this? When?’
She looked away from me. She stared at the corner of the room. I think she fought tears. She spoke very quietly. ‘It was years ago. And I’m not going to say. Your knowing would only make it worse.’
‘I doubt that,’ I said harshly. ‘Tell me who chased you, who dared to stone you, and they will be gone from Withywoods this very night. They and their parents with them.’
Her blue glance slid past me as a swallow skims past a cliff. ‘Oh, and that would make the other servants love me well, wouldn’t it? A nice life I should have then, with the other children fearful of me and their parents hating me.’
She was right. It made sickness well up in me. My little girl had been chased and stoned and I had not even known. Even knowing, I could not think of a way to protect her. She was right. Anything I did would only make it worse. I found myself handing her the sheathed knife. She took it from me and for a moment I think she was disappointed I had yielded to her. Did she know that I was admitting there were some times when I could not protect her? As Bee tugged the short knife free of its sheath, I wondered what Molly would have done. It was a simple blade, showing the wear of much honing. Molly had used it for everything: cutting tough stems on flowers, shaving a wormhole from a carrot, or digging a splinter from my thumb. I glanced at my hand, remembering how she had held it tight and mercilessly dug out the ragged shard of cedar.
Bee had reversed her grip on the knife, holding it as if she were going to stab downward with it. She made several passes at the air, teeth clenched.
‘Not like that,’ I heard myself say. She scowled at me from under lowered brows. I started to take the knife from her hand, and then realized that would not do. I drew my own belt-knife. It looked like Molly’s, a short, sturdy blade meant for the dozen odd chores that might demand a knife during the day. I held it loosely in my hand, palm up, the haft resting lightly. I balanced it. ‘Try this.’
Grudgingly, she reversed her grip on the blade. She balanced it in her hand, and then gripped it tight. She poked the air with it, and then shook her head. ‘I’m stronger with it the other way.’
‘Perhaps. If you have an obliging enemy who will stand still while you stab him. But you’ll have to get close to him. If I hold a knife like this, it lets me force someone to stay back from me. Or I can reach out and cut someone before he can get close to me. Or, I may choose to do a wide slash.’ I demonstrated that for her. ‘The way you were holding your blade, you can’t slash effectively. Nor hold off more than one attacker.’
I could see in her bunched shoulders how much she wanted to be right. It irritated her that she had to recognize she was wrong. In a small, gruff voice she conceded with, ‘Show me.’ And even more grudgingly. ‘Please.’
‘Very well.’ I stepped well clear of her and took up a stance. ‘It starts with your feet. You need to be balanced and ready, your weight set so that you can sway aside, or take a sudden step forward or back without losing your balance. Knees a little bent. See how I can move my body from side to side?’
She took a stance opposite me and copied me. She was limber, my little girl, and slender as a snake.
I set my knife down and armed myself with the sheath. ‘Now, here’s our first game. Neither one of us is allowed to move our feet. Or step forward or step back. I’m going to try to touch you with the tip of this sheath. You have to move aside and not let it touch you.’
She looked at the bared blade in her hand and then at me.
‘For now, set that aside. Begin by avoiding my blade.’
And so I danced with my daughter, a swaying counterpoint to one another. At first, I touched her effortlessly, tapping her upper arm, her breastbone, her belly, her shoulder. ‘Don’t watch the knife,’ I suggested. ‘Watch all of me. By the time the knife is moving toward you, it’s almost too late. Watch my whole body, and see if you can tell when I’m going to try to tap you, and where.’
I was not as rough with her as Chade had been with me. Chade’s jabs had left little bruises, and he had laughed at me every time he scored a hit. I was not Chade and she was not me. Bruising her or mocking her would not wring greater effort from her. As I recalled, it had provoked me to anger, and led to errors and swifter defeat. I was not, I reminded myself, trying to teach my daughter to be an assassin. I merely wanted to teach her how to avoid a knife.
She improved rapidly, and soon I was the one being poked at with a sheath. The first time I allowed her to hit me, she stopped and then stood very still. ‘If you don’t want to teach me, then say so,’ she said coldly. ‘But don’t pretend I’ve learned something I haven’t.’
‘I just didn’t want you to get discouraged,’ I excused my subterfuge.
‘And I just don’t want to think I’ve learned something I haven’t. If someone wants to kill me, I need to be able to kill him back.’
I stood still and fought to keep a smile from forming in my face or eyes. She would not have taken it well. ‘Very well, then,’ I said, and after that, I was honest with her. It meant that she did not touch me again that afternoon, but it also meant that my back ached and I was sweating before she conceded that she’d had enough instruction for one day. Her short hair was damp and stood up in spikes as she sat down on the floor to thread the knife’s sheath onto her belt. When she stood up, the knife hung heavy on her child’s body. I looked at her. She didn’t lift her eyes to mine. She suddenly looked to me like a neglected puppy. Molly had never let her run about in such disarray.
I felt as if I were tearing a piece from my heart as I lifted Molly’s silver-backed brush and horn comb from my trove. I set it with her other treasures. I had to clear my throat before I spoke. ‘Let’s take these to your new room. Then I want you to use your mother’s brush to smooth your hair. It’s still too short to tie back. But you can put on one of your new tunics.’ Her fuzzy head nodded. ‘I think we will keep the knife lessons private, shall we?’
‘I wish you had kept all my lessons private,’ she muttered sullenly.
‘Do we need to talk about that?’
‘You do things without asking me,’ she complained.
I crossed my arms on my chest and looked down on her. ‘I’m your father,’ I reminded her. ‘I don’t ask your permission to do what I think is right.’
‘It’s not about that! It’s about not knowing before it happens. It’s about …’ she faltered. Then she looked up at me and fought to keep her gaze on mine as she told me earnestly, ‘They will try to hurt me.’
‘I am sure your tutor will keep order among his students.’
She shook her head wildly and made a noise like a cornered cat. ‘They don’t have to hit me to hurt me. Girls can …’ Her clenched fists suddenly opened wide into claws. She clasped her own little head in taloned hands and squinched her eyes shut tight. ‘Forget that I asked you. I will take care of this myself.’
‘Bee,’ I began warningly, but she interrupted me with, ‘I told you. Girls don’t have to hit to hurt.’
I did not let it go. ‘I want you to understand why I invited the other children to be taught as well.’
‘I do understand.’
‘Then tell me why.’
‘To show everyone that you are not a stingy man. Or hard-hearted.’
‘What?’
‘Perse— The stable-boy. He told me that some people say you have a dark look to you, and that after Mother died, they feared you would become harsh with the servants. You didn’t. But this will show that you are actually a good man.’
‘Bee. It’s not about me showing anybody anything. In Buckkeep Castle, any child that wishes to learn is allowed to come to lessons at the Great Hearth. I, a bastard, was allowed to come there and learn. And so I think that, in my turn, I will allow any child who wishes to learn the chance to learn.’
She wasn’t looking at me. I took a deep breath and nearly added more words, but then sighed instead. If she didn’t understand what I had told her, more words would only weary her. She looked aside from me when I sighed.
‘It’s the right thing to do.’
When I didn’t respond, she added, ‘My mother would have wanted to learn. And if she were here, I know she would have insisted that every child receive the chance. You are right.’ She began to gather up her trove. It quickly filled her arms. She didn’t ask for help but just tucked her chin over it to hold it to her chest. In a very quiet voice she added, ‘But I wish you weren’t right, and I did not have to learn alongside them.’ I opened the door for her and followed her out.
We had almost reached the door of her room when I heard the tapping of hard-soled slippers and looked back to see Shun bearing down on me like a ship under full sail. ‘Holder Badgerlock!’ she hailed me imperiously. Bee’s pace increased. I halted and turned to face Shun, giving my daughter an opportunity to flee.
‘Good afternoon, Lady Shun,’ I greeted her, assuming a smile I did not feel.
‘I need to speak to you,’ she called breathlessly, steps before she had reached a conversational distance. When she halted, she began without greeting or preambles, ‘So, when are my music lessons to begin? And my dance instructor should come from Buckkeep Castle itself, if not from Jamaillia. I wanted to be sure you realized that. I don’t wish to be hampered by knowing only the old steps.’
I kept my smile with difficulty. ‘Music lessons. I am not sure that Scribe FitzVigilant is prepared to teach—’
She shook her head impatiently, her auburn curls flying. The motion propelled her scent to me. Molly had always worn perfumes of flowers and herbs: ginger and cinnamon, rose and lily. The fragrance that reached me from Shun had no recollection of a garden. A headache almost immediately assaulted me. I stepped back and she stepped forward as she continued. ‘I’ve already spoken to him, three days ago. He agrees with you that he is not qualified to teach me to play an instrument or sing, but suggested that if the manor hosted some minstrels for the winter, they were often pleased to instruct young ladies in musical accomplishments for a modest stipend.
‘So, then I asked him about dancing and—’
‘Scribe FitzVigilant is still recovering. When did you speak to him?’
‘When I went to his rooms to wish him well, of course. The poor fellow, I thought, sent away from Buckkeep Castle and the pleasures of the court to this backwater! I was sure he must be lonely and bored in his convalescence so I called on him, and engaged him in conversation to cheer him. I fear he is not a skilled conversationalist, but I well know how to pose questions and draw a shy fellow out of his shell. So, when I asked him if he could dance and he told me he did, well enough, I asked if he might teach me some of the newer steps and he said he feared that his health would prevent him from dancing gracefully for a time. That was when he suggested I might need an instructor. So of course, I told Riddle, and … he didn’t speak to you, did he? For a serving-man, he is most forgetful! To the point of uselessness. It’s a wonder to me that you keep him on at all!’
I was casting my mind back over recent conversations with Riddle, trying to scavenge a clue to what she was talking about. I was distracted to think she had bothered poor FitzVigilant with her chatter. ‘Riddle is actually Lady Nettle’s man, only loaned to Lord Chade for your safekeeping. And to look in on young Lady Bee, her sister.’
‘Her “sister”.’ Shun smiled. She cocked her head at me and regarded me with a trace of sympathy. ‘I respect you, Holder Badgerlock. Truly, I do. Living in your stepdaughter’s home, maintaining it so diligently. And offering haven to the bastards of Buckkeep. FitzVigilant and myself and Bee. Tell me. What lord fathered her that she must hide here with you? I’m thinking her father was from Farrow. I’ve heard that wheat hair and cornflower eyes are more common there.’
Such a surge of emotions. If I had not possessed the benefit of Chade’s years of training, I think that for the first time in my life I would have struck an unarmed woman. I stared at her, masking everything I felt from her empty smile. Or was it? Was she seeking to hurt me? Truly, Bee was right. A girl did not need to hit to hurt someone. I could not tell if the blow she had dealt me was intended or not. She had her head cocked, smiling at me confidentially, as if begging for a stray bit of gossip. I spoke slowly and softly. ‘Bee is my true daughter, the child my loving wife bore to me. No taint of bastardy touches her.’
Her gaze changed, her sympathy apparently deepening. ‘Oh, dear. I beg your pardon. I thought that surely, as she does not resemble you at all … but of course, I am sure you know what is true in that regard. So there are only three bastards seeking sanctuary at Withywoods. Myself and FitzVigilant, and of course, you.’
I matched her tone perfectly. ‘Of course.’
I heard a soft tread and looked past her to see Riddle approaching. His movements slowed as if he had seen a crouching lynx or a snake poised to strike. Uncertainty turned to dismay as he accepted that he might have to attempt to protect Shun from me. When had the man come to know me so well? I stepped back from her, putting myself beyond striking distance and saw his shoulders relax, and then tighten again as Shun shadowed my movement, putting herself back in harm’s way. His eyes met mine for a moment and then he strode lightly up to join us. When he touched Shun on the shoulder, she jumped. She had been completely unaware of his approach.
‘I’ve arranged a meeting with Revel for you,’ he lied quickly. ‘I think he is our best source for an appropriate music instructor for you. And perhaps a dancing master as well.’
She bristled, perhaps offended at being touched, and while he had her attention, I walked away, leaving him with the problem. Unfair, perhaps, but safer for all of us.
In the safety of my study, with the door closed, I finally allowed myself to feel everything she had roused in me. Fury was foremost. How dared she, a guest in my home, speak so of my daughter! The slur on Molly’s name was equally unforgivable. But bafflement followed fury. Why? Why had Shun who depended on my goodwill, said such things? Was she so blind to all levels of courtesy that she regarded such a question as acceptable? Had she been deliberately trying to insult or wound me, and if so, why?
Did she truly believe Molly had cuckolded me? Did others look at Bee’s pale hair and blue eyes and think me a fool?
I controlled my glance as I sat down at my desk, sparing only a flicker of a look at the wall above my worktable. Across Bee’s peephole, I had coaxed a thread of spider silk, and trapped a tiny bit of bird down in it. It hung motionless save when Bee was in residence. It had given a tiny jiggle as I crossed the room. She was there now. I wondered if she had preceded me to the study, or if she had used her badly hidden pantry entrance. I hoped she was not weeping over her father’s idiocy in disposing of her treasures. Her anger was hard for me to bear, but weeping would have been worse.
I looked down at the scroll on my desk. I had no real interest in it at the moment; it was written in an archaic style in faded ink, and was something Chade had sent to me to be re-copied. It dealt with a Skill-exercise for new students. I doubted it would interest my daughter. The hair I had left across one corner of it was undisturbed. So. She had not thumbed through my papers today. I remained certain that she had done so previously. I was not sure when she had begun to read papers left in my study, so I could not be certain just what she had seen of my personal writing. I sighed to myself. Every time I thought I had stepped forward to being a better parent, I discovered a new failing. I had not confronted her about her investigation of her father; I had known she could read, and I had been careless. In my own youth, I had read more than one missive or scroll that Chade had left carelessly lying about.
Or so I had thought. I wondered if he did then as I did now, which was to leave out only those which I thought might intrigue her mind or educate her. My private thoughts I recorded in a ledger which I now wrote in only within my bedchamber. Even if she had known of the sliding compartment in the great chest at the foot of my bed, she would not have been able to reach it.
I thought of calling her out of her hiding place and decided against it. Let her have her private place in which to sulk or mourn.
There was a tap at my door. ‘Riddle,’ I said, and he eased the door open. He peered round it, cautious as a fox, and then sidled in, closing the door softly behind him.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.
‘No harm done,’ I replied. I was not sure if he was apologizing for Shun accosting me about music lessons, or if he had overhead her remarks about bastards and was offering sympathy. In either case, ‘I’ve no desire to discuss it now.’
‘I’m afraid we must,’ he offered. ‘Revel was delighted with Lady Shun’s request. He thinks it would be absolutely marvellous for you to have music and dancing at Withywoods again. He says there’s an old man in Oaksbywater who can no longer croak out a note, but can teach Lady Shun to coax a tune from a harp. And Revel has offered himself as a dancing master to her, “only, of course, until a more suitable partner can be discovered for such a lady”. I will add that Lady Shun was not greatly pleased when he eagerly suggested that Bee might also profit from instruction in dance and music.’
I saw the glint in his eye and surmised, ‘But you accepted on her behalf.’
‘I’m afraid I could not resist,’ he admitted, and I saw the cobweb stir, as if someone had either sighed or drawn in a breath. Little spy. What was bred in the bone, I supposed, would not be beaten out of the flesh.
‘Well. Doubtless it will do her no harm,’ I mercilessly replied, and the cobweb stirred again. ‘Time and past time that my daughter received the education of a lady.’ Better music and dancing, I thought to myself, than the lessons in blood points and poisons. Perhaps if she was put out of my influence in the area of her education, I could refrain from raising her as I had been raised. Burning bodies by moonlight, and fighting with knives. Oh, well done, Fitz. Well done. And yet, in a dim corner of my mind, a sage old wolf opined that the smallest cub was the one that needed the sharpest teeth.
Riddle was still watching me. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’ I asked reluctantly.
He gave a tight nod. ‘Yes. But from a different source. I’ve a message from Chade.’
That piqued my interest. ‘You have? And how, perchance, did that message reach you?’ And did I dare let him relay it with Bee listening?
He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Pigeon.’ He proffered a tiny scroll to me. ‘You can read it yourself, if you wish.’
‘He sent it to you. Did he intend we both know whatever is in it?’
‘Well, it’s a peculiar note, especially coming from Chade. He offers a cask of Sandsedge brandy, apricot brandy, if I can discover exactly how you deduced FitzVigilant’s maternal line.’
A shiver of almost knowing ran over my skin. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what we are discussing here.’ For an instant, I debated shushing him, wondering if a secret were about to be shared that my little daughter had no right to know.
Riddle shrugged, and uncoiled the tiny scroll. He held it close to his face to read it, and then moved it out until his eyes could focus on the minute lettering. He spoke its words aloud. ‘Huntswoman or gardener’s girl, he surmised. And the huntswoman it was. A cask of apricot Sandsedge brandy if you can discover for me how he narrowed it to those two …’
I smiled as Riddle’s voice faltered. ‘And the rest, no doubt, for your eyes alone?’
Riddle raised his brows. ‘Well, perhaps he intended it that way, but how I could keep it from you, I don’t know. He ardently desires to know why this is such an important piece of information to you.’
I leaned on my elbows and steepled my fingers, tapping them against my lips as I considered. ‘It probably isn’t,’ I told him bluntly. Would the small listener in the wall behind me have put the shards together as quickly as I had? Most likely. It was not a difficult riddle.
‘I was seeking for a child born of either of those women. But not sired by Lord Vigilant. Unles …’ It was my turn to let my words trickle away as a peculiar thought came to me. Many a bastard had been blessed with a mother deceptive enough to proclaim him the product of the rightful marriage bed. Was this a case of a mother finding a more acceptable illegitimacy for her son? Would Laurel have conceived by the Fool, and then claimed the child was the offspring of another tryst? No. Not only did I believe that the huntswoman would have cherished any babe that Lord Golden fathered on her, but the age was wrong. FitzVigilant might be Laurel’s son, but he could not be the Fool’s. And knowing Laurel as I had, I doubt she would willingly have ceded a lovingly conceived child, no matter his bastardy, to his father’s sole care. There was more of a tale there than I had the heart to know; something dark. A rape? A dishonest seduction? Laurel had left a child to be raised by a man who acknowledged him but was either incapable or unwilling to protect him as he grew. Why? And why did Chade and Nettle seem to value him so?
I met Riddle’s inquiring look. ‘In truth, it’s entirely coincidence. I was looking for someone else, a much older offspring. Chade won’t believe that, so he won’t pay his bribe. A pity. Apricot Sandsedge brandy is hard to come by. It’s been years since I’ve tasted it.’ I drew my thoughts back from following that memory. Too late. It had coupled with my Fool’s quest. Could FitzVigilant be the unexpected son he had bade me seek? Only if, unbeknownst to me or Chade, Lord Golden had returned to the Six Duchies, had an assignation with Huntswoman Laurel, and then abandoned her. And she had blamed the child on Lord Vigilant? No. There was no sense to be found there.
Riddle was still regarding me speculatively. Might as well make use of his curiosity. ‘That visitor we had, the one who left without saying farewell? She brought me a message from an old friend. Lord Golden, to be precise.’
One of his eyebrows lifted slightly. If he was surprised that she had been a messenger, he covered it well. ‘You and Lord Golden were very close, as I recall.’
He said it so neutrally, it meant nothing at all. Or perhaps everything. ‘We were close,’ I agreed quietly.
The silence stretched longer. I was mindful of the small listener behind the wall. I cleared my throat. ‘There is more. The messenger said she was hunted. That her pursuers were close.’
‘She would have been safer if she had stayed here.’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps she didn’t think so. I know she feared that danger would follow her to my household. But she also told me that Lord Golden was trying to return, but that he, too, had to evade pursuers.’ I weighed my risks. In for a copper, in for a gold. ‘Lord Golden may have fathered a child when he was in the Six Duchies. The messenger came to tell me that this son could be in great danger. That Lord Golden wished me to find him and protect him.’
Riddle was silent, organizing all I had told him. He spoke cautiously. ‘You think that FitzVigilant might be Lord Golden’s son?’
I shook my head. ‘He’s the wrong age. Huntswoman Laurel was one of the women I thought might be a possible mother for this “unexpected son”.’
‘More to the point, he has the wrong father. Laurel the Huntswoman was his mother, Chade now says. But Vigilant claimed him as son. Unless the lad had two fathers …’
‘Or was claimed by someone who didn’t father him.’ I pointed out. Then I sighed.
‘He’s still too young. Unless Lord Golden had paid another visit to Buck.’
We both fell silent. Would he have returned to Buck and not contacted me? I didn’t think so. Why would he have returned?
‘What do you know of Lord Vigilant?’ I asked Riddle.
‘Not a great deal. He’s a bit of a boor, and his estates were in disorder for some years. When I first heard of FitzVigilant, I was surprised that Lord Vigilant had been able to persuade any woman to lie down beside him, let alone that he, a single man, would recognize a bastard. But perhaps that does make sense, if he thought the boy his only chance for an heir. But he did take hold and hired a good man to help him in the running of his estates, and when he began to prosper, he married. I think that was when his troubles began. What Lady would want a previous bastard to take precedent over her rightfully born sons? It wasn’t long after that when FitzVigilant was sent to Buckkeep, and wound up in Chade’s care.’ He thought a moment longer. ‘I cannot see any connection between him and a possible child conceived by the same lady many years earlier.’
I shook my head. ‘No. Just a peculiar coincidence. I opened a poke expecting a piglet and found a cat. But it doesn’t end my search for this son. I think I might be wise to make inquiries of Huntswoman Laurel herself.’
Riddle shook his head. ‘That would be difficult. She is many years gone, Fitz. I remember when she left Buckkeep Castle, much to Queen Kettricken’s disappointment. She had been instrumental, until then, in dealing with the Old Blood faction. She left so suddenly there was rumour that she had quarrelled with someone in a high position, but if she did, it was well hushed. And before the year was out, we had word of her death.’
I pondered this. Had Laurel fled Buckkeep to keep a pregnancy private and to bear a secret child? It was a mystery many years old, and far outside my concern. I was sad to know she was gone. She had been kind to me. I shook my head and let her go. ‘Riddle. As you are out and about, can you keep an ear open for any gossip about my messenger?’
‘Of course. I’ve heard nothing of her pursuers. You know that. But I may do better at tracking her. You think she fled to … where?’
To a pile of ash in the sheep pens. ‘I don’t know. But I am more curious as to where she came from and who pursued her. I’d be as interested in what you might discover of her and those who hunted her before she came here as after she left.’
‘I’ll keep an ear open. I suspect she would have come up the Buck River. I’ll make some enquiries on my way back to Buckkeep.’
‘And I take that to mean that you wish to leave here soon.’
‘My task is done, and then some. I delivered my package safely to you, as I was ordered. I didn’t mind helping for a time, but I do have things I must get back to.’
I nodded slowly, feeling hollow. I hadn’t realized how much I’d slipped into depending on him until he spoke of leaving. Riddle was someone who knew the man I once had been, someone I could speak openly to; that had been a comfort. I’d miss him. My voice did not betray that. ‘How soon must you leave?’
‘Three days from now.’
I nodded again, knowing that he was allowing me time to adapt to his absence. He added, ‘By then, Lant should be up and around, so you’ll have at least one man at your back.
‘He did not watch his own back very well. I doubt I shall trust him with mine. Or Bee’s.’
Riddle nodded and admitted, ‘He does not have the edge you and I have. But that does not make him completely incompetent. He’s young yet. You should get to know him better.’
‘I will. As soon as he feels better. I thought he might want some privacy to heal.’
He cocked his head slightly. ‘Not everyone is as solitary as you are, Tom. Lant is very social. Being away from Buckkeep Castle is going to be hard on him. You should know that he actually welcomed Shun’s visit. And that when he is healed, if she needs a dancing partner for practice, he’s excellent. He’s a very witty conversationalist, well educated and affable. He was very popular with the ladies of the court, despite his low birth.’
‘I should visit him.’
‘Yes, you should. He is a bit in awe of you. Whatever you did to him the first time he met you, the effect has not worn off. It took a great deal of courage for him to come here, not only to seek permission to teach your daughter, but to hope for your protection. It was a bit … humiliating. But Chade told him it was really his only choice.’
I hadn’t seen it in that light before. And it was interesting to know that Riddle knew of my first encounter with FitzVigilant. Still Chade’s man, in some ways. I said nothing of that, but observed, ‘He thinks I’m still angry with him.’
Riddle nodded. ‘He’s well enough to come to table and move about Withywoods. But he’s been behaving as if you confined him to his rooms.’
‘I see. I’ll take care of that this afternoon.’
‘Tom, he’s a youngster, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be a friend to you. Get to know him. I think you’ll like him.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ I lied. Time to end this conversation. Bee had heard enough.
Riddle’s ability to understand what I didn’t say sometimes made me uncomfortable. He looked at me almost sadly. He spoke more quietly. ‘Tom. You need a friend. Lant is young, I know, and your first introduction was … poorly considered. Begin again. Give him a chance.’
And so that afternoon, I tapped on the door of FitzVigilant’s chambers. Bulen opened the door immediately. I saw Revel’s hand in the improved fit of his livery and tamed hair. I surveyed the tutor’s room unobtrusively, and found him to be a man of tidy habits, but not overly so. The medicinal unguents that Chade had prepared for him were neatly arrayed on the mantel. The smell of arnica oil flavoured the room. FitzVigilant himself was seated at a worktable, writing a letter. Two pens were at the ready, and a pot of ink and small blotter. On the other end of the table, a gaming cloth was laid out with a Stones puzzle on it. I wondered who had taught him the game. Then I reined my thoughts sharply and kept my focus on my target.
He came to his feet immediately and bowed, then stood silently, regarding me with trepidation. There is a way that a man stands when he does not wish to appear aggressive but is ready to defend himself. FitzVigilant stood like that, but when coupled with the defeated look on his face, he was almost cowering. I felt sick. I recalled what it was to have lost all confidence in my body. This was a man already subdued. I wondered how broken he was, if he would ever recover enough to be any sort of a man-at-arms. I tried to keep pity from my face. ‘Scribe FitzVigilant, I am pleased to see you up and about. I came to ask if you were well enough to begin joining us for meals.’
He didn’t meet my eyes as he bobbed his head. ‘If that would please you, sir, I shall begin doing so.’
‘We would enjoy your company. It will give not only Bee but the rest of the household staff an opportunity to know you better.’
He bowed again. ‘If it would please you, sir’
‘It would,’ I interrupted. ‘But only if you are comfortable also.’
For a time, our eyes met, and he was a boy standing naked by a hearth as a trained assassin ripped through his clothes. Yes. A bit of awkwardness to the beginning of our relationship. One we would have to overcome. The silence held, and something changed in him as determination set on his face.
‘Yes. I shall be there, Holder Badgerlock.’