Fool's Fate

Page 24

Cleansed of sweat and frustration, I ate a hasty meal of bread and soup in the guardroom. The talk there was loud and focused on the expedition, Outislander women and drink. Both were acclaimed strong and palatable. I tried to laugh at the jests, but the single-mindedness of the younger guards made me feel old and I was glad to excuse myself and hasten back to my workroom.
I took the secret passage from there down to the chamber I had occupied when I had been Lord Golden's servant. I listened carefully before I triggered the concealed door. All was quiet on the other side, and I hoped that the Fool was not there. But no sooner had I closed the portal to the hidden access than he opened the outer door of the room. I blinked at him. He wore a simple tunic and leggings, all in black, with low black shoes. The light from the window gilded his hair. Daylight reached past his silhouette into the tiny room and revealed my old cot heaped with possessions I had abandoned when I left his service. The wonderful sword he had given me nestled upon a mound of colorful and extravagant garments tailored for me. I gave the Fool a puzzled look. “Those are yours,” he said quietly. “You should take them.”
“I doubt I'd ever have occasion to dress in such styles again,” I said, and then heard how hard a rejection that sounded.
“You never know,” he said quietly, looking away. “Perhaps one day Lord FitzChivalry will again walk the halls of Buckkeep Castle. If he did, those colors and cuts would suit him remarkably well.”
“I doubt any of that would ever come to be.” That too sounded cold, so I tempered it with “But I thank you all the same. And I will take them, just in case.” All the awkwardness fell on me again like a smothering curtain.
“And the sword,” he reminded me. “Don't forget the sword. I know it's a bit showy for your taste but . . .”
“But it's still one of the finest weapons I've ever drawn. I'll treasure it.” I tried to smooth over the slight of my first refusal. I saw now that by leaving it behind when I shifted my den, I'd hurt his feelings.
“Oh. And this. Best that this come back to you now, too.” He reached to unfasten the carved wooden earring that Lord Golden always wore. I knew what was concealed within it: the freedom earring that had passed from Burrich's grandmother to Burrich, to my father, and eventually to me.
“No!” I gripped his wrist. “Stop this funeral rite! I've told you, I've no intention of letting you die.”
He stood still. “Funeral rite,” he whispered. Then he laughed. I could smell the apricot brandy on his breath.
“Take charge of yourself, Fool. This is so unlike you that I scarcely know how to talk to you anymore,” I exclaimed in annoyance, feeling the anger that uneasiness can trigger in a man. “Can't we just relax and be ourselves in the days we have left?”
“The days we have left,” he echoed. With a twist of his wrist, he effortlessly freed himself from my grip. I followed him back into his large and airy chamber. Stripped of his possessions, it seemed even larger. He went to the brandy decanter and poured more for himself, and then filled a small glass for me.
“In the days we have left before we sail,” I expanded my words for him as I took the glass. I looked around the chamber. Necessities had been left in place: a table, chairs, a desk. All else was either gone or in the process of being cleared out. Rolled tapestries and rugs were fat sausages against the wall. His workroom stood open, bare and empty, all his secrets tidied away. I walked into the room, brandy in hand. My voice reverberated oddly as I said, “You've eradicated every trace of yourself.”
He followed and we stood together looking out the window. “I like to leave things tidy. One must leave so many things incomplete in life that I take pleasure in finishing those I can.”
“I've never known you to wallow in emotion like this before. It almost seems that you are enjoying this.” I tried not to sound disgusted with him.
A strange smile twisted his mouth. Then he took a deep breath as if freed of something. “Ah, Fitz, in all the world, only you would say something like that to me. And perhaps you are right. There is drama in facing a definite end; I've never encountered these sensations before . . . yet, in a like situation, I think you would be untouched by them. You tried to explain to me once how the wolf always lived in the present and taught you to take every possible satisfaction you could from the time that you had. You learned that well. While I, who have always lived trying to define the future before I reach it, suddenly espy a place beyond which all is black. Blackness. That is what I dream of at night. And when I deliberately sit down and try to reach forward, to see where my path might go, that is all I see. Blackness.”