Golden Fool

“So you’ll do nothing for now.”



“Oh, I’ll do a lot of things,” I muttered. “I just won’t go out and immediately kill Laudwine.”



The Prince laughed aloud, and I suddenly realized how carelessly I had spoken before him. I was fortunate that he had assumed that I was joking. I forced a smile to my face. “I’ll take these things up to Thick and see what else he has to tell me. And you must remember to go about your day as normally as possible.”



He did not look pleased at that, but he conceded the necessity of it. I departed by way of the mantel door. As I climbed the uneven stairs and negotiated the narrow passages, I tried to think through for myself the significance of Laudwine’s presence in Buckkeep Town. Kettricken had called for the Witted to negotiate with her. Since he was the head of the Piebald faction, it made sense that he would come forward to present their views. But as a man who had all but kidnapped the Prince, hoping to take over his life, I was amazed that he dared to stand before Kettricken. She might not hang him for being Witted, but he certainly deserved to die for how he had plotted against the Farseers. And yet, there was the rub. She could level no charges against him without revealing that her son was Witted. All the events around Dutiful’s disappearance had been hushed up or explained away. The nobles of his court believed he had simply gone apart from them for a time to meditate. I wondered if Laudwine intended to use all those circumstances as a club against the Farseers. I sighed, and hoped there would be other, more moderate Old Blood folk that would also step forward. Laudwine, I felt, represented the worst and most extreme of our kind. His sort had made us hated and feared. If he stepped forward alone, claiming to represent all the Witted, that reputation would live on.



I pushed such thoughts aside as I reached Chade’s chamber. I entered to find Thick sitting disconsolately on the hearthstones before the dwindling fire. He stared into the flames, his tongue protruding from his mouth. “Did you think I’d forgotten?” I asked him as I came in.



He turned to me, and as his eyes lifted and he beheld the items I carried, a terrible wave of gratitude rushed out from him and enveloped me. He stood up, literally trembling with excitement. “Let’s put these things on the table,” I suggested. He seemed struck dumb. He wiggled like an eager puppy as I pushed scrolls and inkpots carefully out of my way and set down the items one by one. “Prince Dutiful helped me get these things for you,” I told him. “See, here is the pink sugar cake. It’s still warm from the oven. Here is a bowl of raisins for you, and candied nuts. He thought you might like to try the nuts. And the peacock feather, the feather with the eye in it. All for you.”



He didn’t try to touch any of it. He stood, staring, his hands clasping one another on top of his rounded belly. His mouth worked as he thought through what I had said. “Prince Dutiful?” he said at last.



I pulled out a chair for him. “Sit down, Thick. Your prince sends you these things for you to enjoy.”



He slowly sank into the chair. His hands crept onto the table, and finally one finger dared to touch the edge of the feather. “My prince. Prince Dutiful.”



“That’s right,” I said.



I had expected him to immediately stuff his mouth with cake and raisins. Instead, he sat for a time with his one stubby finger just touching the shaft of the feather. Then he picked up the pink sugar cake and turned it all over, looking at it from every angle. He carefully set it back on the table. Carefully he drew the bowl of raisins toward him. He took one raisin, looked at it, sniffed it, and then put it in his mouth. He chewed it very slowly, and swallowed it before he took another. I could feel the focus he put into this activity. It was as if he Skilled each raisin, comprehending completely what it was before he ate it.



I had plenty of time. Even so, the task of hauling water to the Fool’s chambers and then up into Chade’s room was laborious. Before I was finished, the scar on my back ached abominably, and I well understood Thick’s distaste for the task. I poured the last bucket into the copper and set it to heat while I set up the washtub. Thick paid no attention to me. He was still consuming the raisins one at a time. The pink sugar cake sat on the table in front of him, untouched. His concentration was absolute. As I idly watched him eat, I realized that his teeth gave him problems. Chewing seemed difficult. When he began on the nuts, it became even more evident. I left him alone as he worked his slow way through them. When he was finished, I thought he would finally eat the sugar cake. Instead, he set it in front of himself and admired it. After some time had passed and the hot water began to steam, I asked him gently, “Aren’t you going to eat your cake, Thick?”