I halted outside it when I heard soft voices from within. I could not make out the words, but I recognized the speakers. Swift said something, and the Fool replied teasingly. The boy chuckled. It sounded peaceful and friendly. I felt a strange twinge of exclusion, and almost retreated to my tent. Then I rebuked myself for jealousy. So the Fool had befriended the boy. Very likely, it was the best thing that could happen to Swift. As I could not knock to announce myself, I cleared my throat loudly, and then stooped to lift the tent flap. A slice of light fell on the snow. ‘May I come in?’
There was the tiniest of pauses, and then, ‘If you wish. Try to leave the snow and ice outside.’
He knew me too well. I brushed the damp snow from my leggings, and then shook it from my feet. Crouching, I entered and let the tent flap fall closed behind me.
The Fool had always had the unique talent of creating a small world for himself when he wished to retreat. The tent was no exception. When I had visited it before, it had been charming, but empty. Now he occupied it and filled it with his presence. A small metal firepot in the centre of the floor burned near smokelessly. A smell of cooking, something spicy, lingered in the air. Swift sat cross-legged on a tasselled cushion while the Fool was half-reclined on his pallet. Two arrows, one a dull grey, the other brightly painted and obviously the Fool’s work, rested across Swift’s knees.
‘Did you require me, sir?’ Swift asked quickly. I could hear his reluctance to leave in his voice.
I shook my head. ‘I didn’t even know you were here,’ I replied.
As the Fool sat up, I saw what had made Swift laugh. A tiny marionette dangled from his hand, with five fine black threads going to each of the Fool’s fingertips. I had to smile. He had carved a tiny jester, done in black and white. The pallid face was his own, as it had been when he was a boy. White down hair floated around the little face. A twitch of one long finger set the creature’s head to nodding at me. ‘So what brings you here, Tom Badgerlock?’ the Fool and his puppet asked me. A shift of his finger made the little jester cock his head inquiringly at me.
‘Fellowship,’ I replied after a moment’s pondering. I sat down on the opposite side of the fire from Swift. The boy gave me a resentful look and then glanced away.
The Fool’s face was neutral. ‘I see. Welcome.’ But there was no warmth in the words; I was an intruder. An awkward silence fell and I perceived in full the mistake I had made. The lad knew nothing of the connection between the Fool and me. I could not speak freely. Indeed, I could suddenly think of nothing at all to say. The boy sat staring glumly at the fire, obviously waiting for me to leave. The Fool began to unfasten the marionette from his fingertips, one string at a time.
‘I’ve never seen a tent like this. Is it from Jamaillia?’ Even to me, my query sounded like a polite nothing said to a chance acquaintance.
‘The Rain Wilds, actually. The fabric is Elderling-made, I suspect, but I chose the patterns sewn into it.’
‘Elderling-made?’ Swift sat up with the avidity of a boy who senses a tale. A very faint smile played about the Fool’s mouth. I suspected that he had seen the quickening of interest in my face, too.
‘So the Rain Wild people say. Those who live far up the Rain Wild River. They say that once there were great cities there, and that the cities were the homes of the Elderlings. What exactly or who the Elderlings were is harder to tell. But in some places, buried deep in the muck of the Rain Wild swamps, there are cities of stone. Sometimes, one can find a way into them, and within whatever chambers have remained dry and intact, discover the treasures of another time and people. Some of the items they rescue are magical, with uses and abilities that not even the Rain Wilders completely understand. At other times, they find things that are just as we might make ourselves, but of a different quality.’
‘Like this arrow?’ Swift held up the grey arrow. ‘You said it came from the Rain Wilds. I’ve never seen wood such as this.’
The Fool’s eyes flickered to me and then away. ‘It’s wizardwood, a very rare wood. Even more rare than the fabric of this tent, which is finer than silk, and stronger than silk. I can crush all the fabric into a wad I could hold concealed inside my hand, yet stretched over the poles of the tent, it is sturdy, and so strongly woven that it holds warmth in and wind out.’
Swift reached out to run a wondering finger down one wall. ‘It’s nice in here. Warmer than I had thought a tent could be. And I like the dragons on the walls.’
‘So do I,’ the Fool said. He reclined on his pallet again as he stared into the firepot. The tiny flames found twin homes in his eyes. I leaned back, away from the light, and studied him. There were planes and angles to his face that had never been there when we were children. His hair had seemed to gain substance with colour. It no longer floated wildly around his face when it was loose, as it was now. Sleek as a horse’s mane but far finer, it hung to his shoulders. ‘The dragons are why I am here.’
For a fraction of a moment, his eyes flickered to mine. I crossed my arms on my chest and leaned back deeper into the shadows.
‘There are dragons in the Rain Wilds,’ he went on, speaking to Swift. ‘But only one that is hearty and strong. Tintaglia is her name.’
The boy edged even closer to him. ‘Then the Bingtown Traders spoke truth? They have a dragon?’
The Fool cocked his head as if considering the answer. Again, that ghost of a smile bent his mouth. Then he shook his head. ‘That is not something I would say. Rather, I would say that there is a dragon in the Rain Wilds, and Bingtown falls within the territory she claims as her own. She is a magnificent creature, blue as good steel and silver as a gleaming ring.’
‘Have you seen her, your own self?’
‘Indeed I have.’ The Fool smiled at the boy’s wonder. ‘And had words with her.’
Swift drew his breath in. He seemed to have forgotten my hulking presence. Yet I wondered to which of us the Fool spoke as he said, ‘This tent is one of the gifts she persuaded the Rain Wild folk to give me.’
‘Why did she ask them to give you gifts?’
‘She told them to give me gifts because she knew that I would serve her purpose unswervingly. For we have known each other, in other days and shapes.’
‘What do you mean?’ The boy suspected he was being teased. I feared he was not.
‘I am not the first of my kind to have dealings with dragon kind. And she has all the memories of her race. They cascade through her mind like bright beads sliding on a string. Back they go, past the serpent she was once to the egg that serpent came from, to the dragon that laid that egg, to the serpent that dragon was, to the egg that serpent hatched from, to the dragon that laid that egg, to the serpent that dragon –’
‘Enough!’ the boy laughed breathlessly. The Fool’s tongue juggled the words like pins.
‘Back to where she knew another such as I. And perhaps, had I a dragon’s memory, I might have been able to say to her, “ah, yes, I do recall, and that is exactly how it was. Such a pleasure to meet you again.” But I have not a dragon’s memory. And so I had to take her word for it that I was as trustworthy a fellow as she was ever likely to meet.’