He considered the question carefully. “My body has not been accustomed to regular meals for quite some time. It is almost strange to know that I can ask you for food and you will give it to me.” He coughed, turning aside as he did so and hugging his belly against the strain. The coughing went on for some time. I fetched him water and he sipped from the cup, only to go off into an even worse spate of coughing and wheezing. When he could draw a full breath and speak, tears had tracked down his cheeks from the effort. “Wine, if we have it. Or brandy. Or more water. And something to eat. But not a lot, Fitz. I must go slowly.”
“That’s wise,” I told him, and found that the pot held a creamy chowder of whitefish, onions, and root vegetables. I served him up a shallow bowl of it and was relieved when his groping fingers found the spoon I’d placed within his reach. I set a cup of water next to it. I regretted that his eating would put an end to his tale-telling, for it was rare beyond rare for the Fool to be so forthcoming. I watched him spoon up soup carefully and convey it to his mouth. Another spoonful …
He stopped. “You’re watching me so closely that I can feel it,” he observed unhappily.
“I am. I apologize.”
I rose and poured a small amount of brandy into a cup. Then I arranged myself in the chair with my feet outstretched toward the fire and took a measured sip of the brandy. When the Fool spoke, it surprised me. I continued to watch the fire, and listened without comment as he spaced his tale out with slow mouthfuls of the chowder.
“I remember how you warned the prince … well, he’s King Dutiful now, isn’t he? How you warned him about using the Skill-pillars to go to an unfamiliar destination. You are right to worry about that. Prilkop assumed the pillars would be just as they were the last time he’d used them. We stepped into the pillar in the map-city and suddenly found ourselves facedown on the ground with barely room to struggle out from under the stone.” He paused to eat more chowder.
“The pillar had been toppled. Deliberately, I suspect, and we were fortunate that whoever had done it had not been more thorough. It had fallen so that the top of it rested on the rim of a fountain’s bowl. Long dry and deserted: That city was not like Kelsingra. It showed the signs of ancient war and more recent pillaging. Deliberate damage. The old city was on the highest hills on an island. As to where exactly that island is, I could not tell you. It was unfamiliar to me. Decades ago, when I first traveled here, I did not pass through the place. Nor did I on my return journey here.” He shook his head. “When we journey back, I do not think we can rely on that path. What would happen to us if there was no room to emerge from a stone? I’ve no idea. And no wish to discover it.”
More soup, and a bit spilled. I said nothing, and watched only out of the corner of my eye as he groped for the napkin, found it, and wiped at his chin and nightshirt. I sipped more brandy and took care that my cup made a small sound as I set it back on the table.
“When we had bellied out from under the pillar, it took us half a day to hike through the ruins. The carvings, what little remained of them, reminded me of what I’d seen in Kelsingra and on Aslevjal. Most of the statues had been shattered, and many of the buildings had been raided for stone. The city was broken. I’d hear a shout of laughter and half a sentence whispered by my ear, and then a distant bit of music. The discord rang terribly against me. I tell you, if I had had to remain there any longer than we did, I would have gone mad. Prilkop was heartsick. Once, he said, it had been a place of beauty and peace. He hurried me through it despite how weary I was, as if he could not bear to witness what it had become.
“Are you drinking brandy without me?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes. But it’s not very good brandy.”
“That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard for not sharing with a friend.”
“It is. Will you have some?”
“Please.”
I fetched another cup and poured him a small measure. While I was up, I added a log to the fire. I suddenly felt very comfortable and weary in a good way. We were warm and dry on a winter night, I’d served my king well this evening, and my old friend was at my side and slowly recuperating. I felt a twinge of conscience as I thought of Bee, so far away and left to her own devices, but comforted myself that my gifts and letter would soon be in her hands. She had Revel and I liked her maid. She would know I was thinking of her. Surely after I had spoken to both Shun and Lant so severely, they would not dare to be cruel to her. And she had her riding lessons with the stable lad. It was good to know she had a friend, one she had made on her own. I dared to hope she had other household allies I knew nothing about. I told myself I was foolish to worry about her. She was actually a very capable child.
The Fool cleared his throat. “That night, we camped in the forest at the edge of the broken city, and the next morning we hiked to where we could look down on a port town. Prilkop said it had grown greatly since last he had seen it. Its fishing fleet was in the harbor, and he said there would be other ships coming from the south to buy the salted fish and fish oil and a coveted leather made from very heavy fish skin.”