Golden Fool

Page 23

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Charl of Bright’s Guard. I’ve no need to be ashamed of my name or company.”
“Nor I,” I assured him. “Tom Badgerlock, man to Lord Golden. Who expects me shortly. Good day.”
“Lord Golden’s serving man. I might have known.” He gave a snort of disgust and turned to his fellows to confirm his superiority. “You don’t belong in here. This place is for the guardsmen. Not pages and lackeys and ‘special servants.’ ”
“Is it?” I let a smile crook the corner of my mouth as I ran my gaze over him insultingly. “No pages or lackeys. That surprises me.” All eyes on us now. Hopeless to avoid notice. I’d have to establish myself as Tom Badgerlock. He reddened to my insult, and then swung.
I leaned aside to let his blow go past, then took a step forward. He was ready for my fists, but instead I kicked his feet out from under him. It was a move more befitting a brawler than a noble’s guardsman, and it obviously shocked him. I kicked him again as he went down, driving the air out of him. He fell gasping, to sprawl perilously near the firebox, and I stepped forward to place my foot on his bare chest, pinning him. I snarled down at him. “Let it go, lad. Before it gets ugly.”
Two of his companions stepped forward, but “Hold!” shouted Blade, and they halted. The old guardsman stepped forward, one hand pressed to the small of his back. “Enough! I won’t have it in here.” He glared at the man that was likely the guards’ commander. “Rufous, get that pup of yours under control. I came here to ease my back, not to be annoyed by an ill-trained braggart. Get that boy out of here. You, Badgerlock, take your foot off him.”
Despite his years, or perhaps because of them, old Blade still commanded universal respect from the guardsmen. As I stepped back, the boy came to his feet. He had both murder and chagrin in his eyes, but his commander barked, “Out, Charl. We’ve all had enough of you today. And Fletch and Lowk, you can both go with him, for being fools enough to step forward for a fool.”
So the three of them went hulking past me, sauntering as if they didn’t care. There was a surge of muttering among the guardsmen, but most of it seemed to be agreement that the young man was more churl than Charl. I sat back down, deciding that I’d give them the time to get dressed and be clear of the steams before I left. To my dismay, Blade walked stiffly over and sat down beside me. He offered me his hand, and as I gripped it, it was still the callused hand of a swordsman. “Blade Havershawk,” he introduced himself gravely. “And I know the scars of a man-at-arms when I see one, even if that pup didn’t. You’re welcome to use the steams; ignore that boy’s wrangling. He’s new to his company and still trying to overcome the fact that Rufous took him on as a favor to his mother.”
“Tom Badgerlock,” I replied. “And many thanks to you. I could see he was trying to curry favor with his fellows by it, but I’ve no idea why he chose me. I’d no wish to fight the boy.”
“That much was plain, as plain as that it was lucky for him you did not. As for why, well, he’s young and listens too much to gossip. It’s no basis for judging a man. Do you hail from about here, Badgerlock?”
I gave a short laugh. “Buck in general is where I hail from, I suppose.”
He gestured at the scratches on my throat and asked, “And how did you come by those marks?”
“A she-cat,” I heard myself say, and he took it for a bawdy jest and laughed. And so for a time, we chatted, the old guardsman and myself. I looked into his seamed face, nodded and smiled to his old man’s gossip, and saw no spark of recognition at all. I should have felt reassured, I suppose, that even an old friend like Blade did not recognize FitzChivalry Farseer. Instead, it unleashed a welling of gloom in me. Had I been that forgettable, that unremarkable, to him? I found it hard to keep my mind on his words, and when I finally excused myself from his company, it was almost a relief to leave him, before I could give in to the irrational impulse to betray myself, to drop a word or a phrase that would hint to him that he had once known me before. It was a boy’s impulse, a hunger to be recognized as significant, close kin to the impulse that had made young Charl attempt to spark a fight with me.
I left the steam chamber and walked through to the washing chamber, where I sluiced the last of the salt from my skin and toweled myself dry. I went back into the first room, dressed, and headed out feeling clean but not renewed. A glance at the sun told me it was nearly time for Lord Golden’s afternoon ride. I headed for the stables, but as I started to go in, I met a stable hand leading Myblack, Malta, and an unfamiliar gray gelding. All the mounts were groomed to gleaming and already saddled. I explained to him I was Lord Golden’s man, but he regarded me with suspicion until a woman’s voice greeted me, with, “Ho, Badgerlock? Do you ride with Lord Golden and our prince today?”