Fools Errand by Robin Hobb
We were expected. A messenger had preceded us on the morning ferry. Lady Bresinga herself appeared to greet us and welcome us to her home. Servants led our horses away, and bore our baggage for us as I followed Lord Golden and the Queen's Huntswoman into the spacious entry hall of Bresinga Manor. Of oak and river stone was this imposing house built. Thick timbers and massive stonework commanded the eye, dwarfing the folk who filled the chamber. Lord Golden was the center of their attention. Lady Bresinga had taken his arm in welcome. Short and plump, the woman looked up at him approvingly as she chatted, Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes and stretched her upper lip tightly above her teeth. The lanky boy who stood at her side was likely Civil Bresinga. He was taller than Hap, yet about his age, and wore his dark hair brushed straight back above his forehead, revealing a pronounced widow's peak. He gave me an odd glance in passing, then directed his attention back to his mother and Lord Golden. An odd little shiver of awareness danced across my skin. The Wit. Someone here was Old Blood, and concealing it with consummate skill. I breathed a thought of warning to the wolf. Be smail. His acknowledgment was more subtle than the scent of night flowers when day comes, yet I saw Lady Bresinga turn her head slightly, as if to catch a distant sound. Too soon to be certain, yet I felt that Chade's and my suspicions were well founded. cav, The Huntswoman of the Queen had her own circle of admirers courting her favor. The Bresinga Huntsman was at Laurel's elbow already, telling her that as soon as she arose in the morning, he'd be pleased to show her the best uplands for game birds. His assistants stood alertly at his elbow. Later, he would escort her into a late dinner with Lady Bresinga and Lord Golden. When hunting was planned, those two could expect to share table and wine with their betters.
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In the midst of the hubbub of welcoming, little attention was paid to me. I stood, as any good servant did, awaiting my next command. A servingwoman hastened up to me. “I'll show you the chambers we've prepared for Lord Golden so that you may arrange them to his taste. Will he want a bath this evening?”
“Undoubtedly,” I replied to the young woman as I followed her. “And a light repast in his rooms. Sometimes he is taken with an appetite late at night. ” This was a fabrication on my part to be sure that I did not have to go hungry. It was expected that I would see to my master's comfort first, and then my own.
Lord Golden's unexpected visit had commanded a fine chamber as large as my entire cottage. An immense bed dominated the room. It was mounded with feather beds and fat pillows. Enormous bouquets of cut roses scented the chamber, and a veritable forest of beeswax tapers added both light and their delicate scent. By daylight, the room would look over the river and across the valley, but tonight the windows were shuttered. I opened one “for air,” and then assured the maid that I could unpack my master's garments if she would see to bathwater. A small antechamber opened off Lord Golden's for my own use. It was small, but better furnished than many servants' chambers that I'd seen.
It took me longer to unpack Lord Golden's clothing than I had expected. I was amazed at how much he had managed to fit into his packs. Not only clothing and boots, but jewelry, perfumes, scarves, combs, and brushes emerged from the compact bags. I put it all in place as best I could imagine. I tried to recall Charim, Prince Verity's servingman and valet. Standing in his shoes suddenly put all he had done in a different perspective. That good man had always been present, and always engaged in some task for Verity's comfort or convenience. Unobtrusive, yet ever ready for his master's command. I tried to think what he would do in my place.
I kindled a small fire in the hearth so that my master would be comfortable while he was drying after his bath. I turned down Lord Golden's bed and set his nightshirt out atop the linen. Then, smirking, I retreated to my own chamber, wondering what the Fool would have made of all this.
I had expected my own unpacking to be simple and it was until I got to the package of clothing from the tailor. I untied the string, and the garments seemed to burst from their confines like a blossom unfurling. The Fool had reneged on Lord Golden's promise to keep me poorly dressed. The clothing the tailor had sewn was the best quality I had ever possessed in my life. There was a set of servant's blues, better tailored than what I now wore, and of a finer weave. Two snowy shirts of linen were more elegant than what most servants wore. There was a doublet of rich blue, with dark hose with a gray stripe in it, and another in deep green. I held the green doublet up against me. The doublet's skirt came almost to my knees, longer than I was accustomed to, and yellow embroidery ran riot over it. Yellow leggings. I shook my head. There was a wide leather belt to fasten about it. Lord Golden's golden cock pheasant was embroidered on the breast of the jerkin. I rolled my eyes at my reflection. Truly, the Fool had expressed himself in these clothes for me. Dutifully I put them away. No doubt he would soon find an excuse to make me wear them.
I had scarcely finished my unpacking before I heard a step in the hallway. A knock at the door announced that Lord Golden's tub had arrived. Two servingboys carried it in, followed by three others bearing buckets of both hot and cold water. It was expected that I would mix these to ! achieve Lord Golden's preference in his bath. Then an- other lad arrived carrying a tray of scented oils that he I might choose from, and yet another with a towering stack of towels. Two men arrived carrying the painted screens that would protect him from drafts while he was enjoying his ablutions. I have not always been swift at appraising social situations, yet dim as I was, I was awakening to Lord Golden's social stature. A welcome this effusive was more likely to be accorded to royalty rather than to a landless noble of dubious origin. Obviously, his popularity at court far exceeded my initial regard of it. It chagrined me that I had not previously perceived it. Then, with unerring certainty, knew the reason for it.
I knew who he was. I knew his past, or far more of it than any of his admirers did. To me, he was not the exotic and fabulously wealthy nobleman of some distant Jamaillian family. To me, he was the Fool in the midst of one of his elaborate pranks, and I was still expecting that at any moment he would cease his juggling and let all his flying illusions come clattering to the ground. But there was no moment of revelation awaiting. Lord Golden was real, as real as the Fool had been to me. I stood stockstill a moment, reeling in that unveiling thought. Lord Golden was as real as the Fool. And hence, the Fool had been as real as Lord Golden.
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So who was this man that I had known for most of my life?
A hint of presence, more a scent than a thought, carried me to the window. I looked, not out over the river, but down into the bushes outside the window. Nighteyes' mind brushed softly against mine, cautioning me to control our Witbond. A pair of deep eyes looked up and met mine. Cat, his delicate touch confirmed before I had even thought to ask it. Catpiss stink on the corners of the stable, and on the underside of the bushes behind it. Cat scat buried in the rose garden. Cats everywhere.
More than one? Dutiful' s cat was a gift from this family. Perhaps they favor them as coursing animals .
That is a certainty. The stink of them is pervasive. It makes me uneasy. I have little desire to meet one in the flesh. All have known of them have learned since this afternoon, when Hap proposed that should be friendly with one . I did no more than put my nose into the door when that orange fury flew at me, all daws and spitting. know no more of them than you do. Burrich never kept cats about the stable.
He was wiser than either of its knew.
A door closed softly behind me. I whirled to the sound, but it was only Lord Golden come into the room. Whether Fool or Golden, he was still one of the few in the world who could take me by surprise. I recalled my role, straightened, and bowed to him. “Master, I have seen to arranging your things. Your bath awaits. ”
“Well done, Badgerlock. And the night air is refreshing. Is the view pleasant?”
“Excellent, sir. The room commands a wide vi
“Is it?” He crossed swiftly to the window and looked down on Nighteyes. The smile that lit his face was genuine. He drew a deep breath of satisfaction, as if savoring the air. “A good night, indeed. Doubtless many night creatures are abroad hunting tonight. May our hunting tomorrow go as well as theirs does by moonlight. Unfortunate, indeed, that I must put off my hunting until tomorrow. Tonight, I am invited to sup late with Lady Bresinga and her son Civil. But they have excused me for a bit that I might refresh myself. You will, of course, attend me at the dinner. ”
“Of course, master,” I concurred with a sinking heart. In reality I had hoped to slip out of the open window and do a bit of reconnaissance with Nighteyes.
It's nothing that I cannot manage better on my own. I shaK snuff and range outside. See that you do the same inside. The sooner we are finished with the errand, the sooner we are for home again.
That's true, I agreed, but I wondered at the slight sinking of my heart at the thought. Didn't I want to leave Buckkeep and resume my own life as soon as possible? Or was I coming to relish my role as a servingman to a wealthy fop? I asked myself sarcastically.
I took Lord Golden 's coat for him, and then eased him from his boots. As I had so often seen Charim do without paying any heed, I brushed and hung the jacket, and gave the boots a hasty dusting before setting them aside. When Lord Golden offered me his wrists, I undid the fastenings of the lacy cuffs of his shirt and set the glittering gauds aside. He leaned back in his chair. “I shall wear my blue doublet tonight. And the linen shirt with the fine blue stripe in it. Dark blue hose, I think, and the shoes with the trimming of silver chain. Lay it all out for me. Then pour the buckets, Badgerlock, and be generous with the rose oil. Then set the screens and leave me to my thoughts for a bit. Oh, and please, take some of this water into your chambers and avail yourself of it. When we dine, I shall want to smell the food, not you standing behind me. Oh. And wear the dark blue tonight. I think it will set off my own garb the better. One other thing. Put this on as well, but I counsel you to keep it covered unless you truly need it. ”
From his pocket he drew forth Jinna's charm. It coiled into my extended hand.
All this he announced with an air of genial good cheer. Lord Golden was a man well pleased with himself, looking forward to an evening of pleasant talk and hearty viands. I did as I was bade, and then gratefully retreated to my own room with wash water and a bit of applescented oil. Shortly I heard Lord Golden splashing luxuriously while humming a tune I did not know. My own washingup was a bit more restrained but just as welcome to me. I hurried, knowing that my services would soon be required again.
I struggled with my doublet, finding that it had been tailored far more closefitting than I was accustomed to. There was scarcely room to conceal Chade's roll of tools let alone the small knife that I decided I would carry. I could scarcely wear a sword into the dining room on a social occasion, but I found I did not wish to go completely unarmed. The wolf's secretive approach to the Wit tonight had infected me with wariness. I cinched the belt that secured the doublet and then pulled my hair back into its warrior tail. Some of the applescented oil persuaded my hair to lie flatter. I realized I had not heard splashing for some moments, and hastened back into Lord Golden's chamber.
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“Lord Golden, do you require my assistance?” “Scarcely. ” A shadow of the Fool was in Golden's drawled sarcasm. He emerged from behind the screen, fully dressed, and adjusting the fall of lace at his cuffs. A small smile of pleasure at surprising me was playing about his mouth as he lifted his eyes to me. Abruptly, the smile faded. For a time he simply stared at me, mouth slightly ajar. Then his eyes lit. As he advanced to me, satisfaction shone in his face. “It's perfect,” he breathed. “Exactly as I had hoped. Oh, Fitz, I always imagined that, had I the chance, I could show you off as befitted you. And look at you. ”
His use of my name was as astonishing as the way he gripped my shoulders and propelled me toward the immense mirror. For a moment I looked only at the reflection of his face over my shoulder, alight with pride and satisfaction. Then I shifted my gaze and stared at a man I scarcely recognized.
His directions to the tailor must have been very complete. The doublet encased my shoulders and chest. The white of the shirt showed at the collar and the sleeves. The blue of the doublet was Buck blue, my family color, and even if I now wore it as a servant, the cut of the doublet was not that of servant but of soldier. The tailoring made my shoulders look broad and my belly flat. The white of the shirt contrasted with my dark skin and eyes and hair. I gazed at my own face in consternation. The sharpness of my scars had faded with my youth. There were lines on my brow and starting at the corners of my eyes, and somehow these lessened the severity of the scar's passage down my face. I had long ago accepted the modification of my broken nose. The streak of white in my hair was more noticeable with my hair drawn back in a warrior's tail. The man who looked back at me from the mirror put me somewhat in mind of Verity, but even more of the portrait of King'inWaiting Chivalry that still hung in the hall at Buckkeep.
“I look like my father,” I said quietly. The prospect of that both pleased and alarmed me.
“Only to someone seeking that resemblance,” the Fool replied. “Only someone knowing enough to peer past your scars would see the Farseer in you. Mostly, my friend, you look like yourself, only more so. You look like the FitzChivalry that was always there, but kept hidden by Chade's wisdom and subterfuge. Did you never wonder at how your clothes were cut, simply and almost rough, to make you look more stablehand and soldier than prince's bastard? Mistress Hasty the seamstress always thought the orders came from Shrewd. Even when she was allowed to indulge in her fripperies and fashion, it was only the ones that drew attention to themselves and her sewing skills and away from you. But this, Fitz, this is how I have always seen you. And how you have never seen yourself. ”
I looked back at the glass. I think I speak truth when I say that I have never been a vain man. It took a moment for me to accept that, while I had aged, the change was one of maturity rather than of degeneration. “I don't look that bad,” I conceded.
The Fool's smile went broader. “Ah, my friend, I have been places where women would have fought one another with knives over you. ” He lifted a slender hand and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And now, I fear I must wonder if my fancy has succeeded too well. You will not pass without remark. But perhaps that is for the best. Flirt a bit with the kitchen maids, and who knows what they will tell you?”
I rolled my eyes at his mockery. His gaze met mine in the mirror. “Nothing finer than we two has dined in these halls before,” he decided emphatically. He squeezed my shoulder, and then stood straight, abruptly Lord Golden again. “Badgerlock. The door. We are expected. ” I jumped to obey my master. Somehow, those few moments with the Fool had restored my tolerance for this new charade of ours. I even found my interest warming to it. If Prince Dutiful were here at Galeton, as suspected he was, we would find him out before the night was through. Lord Golden preceded me through the door and I followed two steps behind him and to his left.
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool
The Tawny Man 1 - Fools Errand
Chapter XVI
CLAWS
The depredations of the Red Ship War took their heaviest tolls on the Coastal Duchies. Old fortunes were decimated, family lines failed, and onceproud holdings were reduced to ashy ruins and weedy courtyards. Yet in the wake of the war, just as seedlings sprout in the spring after a lightning fire , so too did many of the minor nobility find their fortunes swelling. Many of the humbler holdings had escaped the raiders' attention. Flocks and crops survived, and what would once have seemed secondary properties, came to be seen as places of plenty. The lesser onis and ladies of these land
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t . SCRIBE DUVLEN, “A HISTORY OF THE EARWOOD LINE”
Lord Golden moved with the grace and certainty that is supposedly bonebred in the nobility. Unerringly he led me to an elegant antechamber where his hostess and her son awaited him. Laurel was there, attired in a simple gown of jbs soft cream trimmed with lace. She was deep in conversation with the Bresinga Huntsman. I thought that the gown did not suit her as well as her simple tunic and riding breeches had, for her tanned arms and face seemed to make the dainty lace at the collar and belled sleeves incongruous on her. Lady Bresinga was elaborately flounced and draped for dinner, the abundance of her garments swelling the proportions of her bust and hips. There were three other guests: a married couple and their daughter of about seventeen, obviously local gentry. All had been waiting for Lord Golden.