“They eat so much,” Dutiful muttered in dismay.
“Too much!” Chade suddenly agreed. We both turned to him. His eyes were bright with anger. He looked directly at me. “There’s too much rosemary on this fowl! I can’t stomach it. What is worse than a journeyman cook who thinks she knows better than the master! Heavy-handed! That’s what she is!”
“Lord Chade, this is not fowl but good venison. And I taste no rosemary in it at all.” Dutiful spoke gently but uselessly to his complaint.
“Pah!” Chade pushed his plate aside. He pointed at me with a finger gone knobbly. “My boy would agree with me, I think! He never liked her stirring the pot, Fitz did not.” He slowly surveyed the room. “Where is Fitz? Where is my boy?”
“I’m right here,” I said hopelessly.
He swung his gaze back to me. “Oh, I doubt that,” he said. He took a slow drink of his wine. As he set it down, he looked at me again and said, “I know my boy. He’d know his duty. He’d feel the spurs. He’d be long gone by now, he would.”
I found a smile and patted his hand. “The impulsive boy that ran through Buckkeep Castle with a bared sword? He’s long gone indeed, Lord Chade.”
Chade twitched. For a single moment, his green eyes locked with mine. Then he smiled vacuously. “Just as well,” he sighed slowly, “though sometimes I miss him.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Loose Ends
In this dream, everything stank. I was in a terrible place. Animals walked about without their skins. They looked like the hanging deer in the cooling sheds, after the carcasses had bled and when the hunters stripped the hides from the meat. I do not know how I knew that, for I had never seen hunters ride to the hunt, nor deer hung to bleed before skinning. The animals were dark red and purple and pink with glistening white muscles. The worst was around their staring eyes. They could not blink.
In the streets the men and women were wearing the animals’ skins. It was so clearly wrong and yet all the folk there in Wortletree thought it the most normal thing in the world. I did not want to be there. On the water, a great seabird with broad white wings called for us to hurry. They made me go.
—Dream Journal of Bee Farseer
That night, I slept not at all. I argued with myself and then took out Bee’s book. I paged through it slowly, marveling at her illustrations and strange fancies. But not even that could distract me. Chade was right. The headstrong boy I had been would have been on his way a month ago. I reminded myself of the times when I had given in to such impulses. The first time, I’d ended up in Regal’s dungeons. The second time, Regal’s Skill-coterie had nearly killed me. I could afford no mistakes this time. I well knew it would be my last. So I inventoried my resources. My Skill was restored. My body was hardened, my weapons ready. Spring would soon break. I had seen to all at Buckkeep Castle as well as I could. I would settle my affairs at Withywoods and depart.
The next day I announced that I would return to Withywoods for a visit. No one objected. Nettle filled two panniers with gifts and tokens for the servingfolk. Perseverance would go with me, for I judged he should visit his mother and perhaps remain there.
Our travel day dawned blue and clear. I had invited the Fool to join me. He had refused. I’d expected that. What surprised me was the quiet anger in his voice as he said, “While you dither and dally, I must make ready for my journey back to Clerres. When you said you could not go with me because of Bee, I understood. When you said she was stolen, and you could not leave until she was rescued, I understood. But they destroyed our child and still you do nothing.”
He waited for a response from me, and I think my silence only made his anger deeper. “I do not understand you anymore,” he said quietly. “They destroyed our child. I lie awake and plan vengeance. I push my body to grow strong. Daily I strive for endurance. I am ready the moment that you say we are going to leave here and undertake our journey. And finally you propose a journey to me. To Withywoods.” His tone was one of disgust.
I told him the truth. “I am not convinced that your health would allow you to journey back to Clerres, let alone take the vengeance you desire. You are not ready, Fool.” I did not add that he might never be.
“Yet with you or without you, it is something I must do. I have no choice. And so I make my own plans.”
“We always have choices, even when all of them seem bad.”
“I have only one path,” he insisted. He shook his head, then reached to smooth down the cloud of pale hair that stood up around his face. His voice changed. “Fitz, I have begun to have dreams again. As I did when I was a child.”
“We all have dreams.”