“Motley?”
“The crow,” he seemed embarrassed to reply. “Before she went down to you, we were talking, well, not really, though she knows quite a few words and almost seems to make sense sometimes. I asked her, ‘What’s your name?’ Because, well, because it was so quiet up here. At first she said random things in reply. ‘Stop that!’ and ‘It’s dark’ and ‘Where’s my food?’ And finally she said back to me, ‘What’s your name?’ It rattled me for a moment, until I realized she was just mimicking me.” A tentative smile dawned on his face.
“So you named her Motley?”
“I just started calling her Motley. And shared my food with her. You said she came down to you and you painted her. Where is she now?”
I hated to tell him. “She came down the stairs and tapped at the secret door. I let her into my room, where she ate half my breakfast. I left the window open for her; I suspect she’s gone by now.”
“Oh.” The depth of disappointment in his tone surprised me.
“I’m sorry.” He said nothing. “She’s a wild creature, Fool. It’s for the best.”
He sighed. “I am not certain you are correct about that. Eventually, the ink will fade, and then what? Her own kind attacks her, Fitz. And crows are flock birds, unaccustomed to being solitary. What will become of her?”
I knew he was right. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “But I also don’t know what else I can do for her.”
“Keep her,” he suggested. “Give her a place to be and food. Shelter from storms and her enemies.” He cleared his throat. “The same things that King Shrewd offered to a misfit creature.”
“Fool, I scarcely think that’s a valid comparison. She’s a crow, not a youngster alone in the world.”
“A youngster. In appearance. Young in terms of my kind, yes. Na?ve and unlearned in the wider world in which I found myself. But almost as different from King Shrewd as a crow is from a man. Fitz, you know me. You’ve been me. You know that you and I are as much unlike as we are alike. As like and unlike as you and Nighteyes were. Motley, I think, is as like me as Nighteyes was like you.”
I pinched my lips shut for a moment and then relented. “I’ll go and see if I can find her for you. And if I can find her, and if she will come, I’ll bring her up here to you. And set out water and food for her.”
“Would you?” His scarred smile was beatific.
“I will.” And I rose in that moment, and went down the steps and opened the door to my room. Where I found Motley waiting.
“Dark,” she informed me gravely. She hopped up a step, then the next one, and on the third one she turned to look back at me. “What’s your name?” she demanded of me.
“Tom,” I said reflexively.
“Fitz—Chivalry!” she squawked derisively, and continued her hopping ascent.
“FitzChivalry,” I agreed, and found myself smiling. I followed her to make her comfortable.
Chapter Ten
Tidings
REPORT FOR MY MASTER
Befriending the scarred man has not been as difficult as we thought it might be. I have realized that part of my reluctance for this assignment was that I feared his appearance. My greatest hurdle, I now perceive, was that I needed to overcome my fear of him before I could lull his fear of me.