He nodded. ‘I thought it might be about then.’
I rode Myblack down to the market in Buckkeep Town, chaffering with her all the way. She had had half a year with a stableboy whose idea of exercising her was to take her out and let her run as much as she wanted and then bring her back. She was wilful and rude, tugging at her bit and ignoring the rein. I was ashamed of myself for neglecting her. I visited the winter market and rode home with sugared ginger and two arm-lengths of red lace. I put them in a basket with a purloined bottle of dandelion wine. I sat all night with a piece of good paper in front of me and managed to find three sentences. ‘I remember you in red skirts. You climbed up the beach cliffs in front of me, and I saw your bare, sandy ankles. I thought my heart would leap out of my chest.’ I wondered if she would even remember that long ago picnic when I had not even dared to kiss her. I sealed the note with a blotch of wax. Four times I unsealed it, trying to think of better words. Eventually, I entrusted it to Riddle as it was, and walked about for the next four days wishing I hadn’t.
On the fourth night, I worked the lever that opened the door in Nettle’s bedchamber. I did not go in and summon her, as Chade had me. Instead, I went halfway down those steep steps and left a candle burning there. Then I went back up and waited.
The wait seemed to last forever. I do not know which wakened her at last, the light or the draught, but I finally heard her hesitant tread on the stair. I had built up the fire well in the comfortable end of the room.
She peered round the corner of the concealed door, saw me, but still came in cautious as a cat. She walked slowly past the worktable with the stained scrolls stretched out on it, and more slowly past the work-hearth with its racks of tongs and measures and stained pans. She came at last to the chairs by the fireside. She had on a nightgown and a woven shawl across her shoulders. She was shivering.
‘Sit down,’ I invited her, and she did, slowly. ‘This is where I work,’ I told her. The kettle was just on the boil and I asked her, ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘In the middle of the night?’
‘I do a lot of my work in the middle of the night.’
‘Most people sleep then.’
‘I am not like most people.’
‘That’s so.’ She stood up and studied the items on the mantel above the hearth. There was a carving of the wolf that the Fool had done, and next to it, the memory stone with a similar image turned face out. She touched the handle of the fruit knife embedded there and gave me a puzzled glance. Then she reached up and set her hand to the hilt of Chivalry’s sword.
‘You can take it down if you like. It was your grandfather’s. Be careful. It’s heavy.’
She took her hand away. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Is it another secret then?’
‘No. I can’t tell you because I never knew him. He gave me to Burrich when I was five or six. I never saw him, that I can recall. I believe he looked in on me with the Skill from time to time, through Verity’s eyes. But I knew nothing of that, then.’
‘It sounds like you and me,’ she said slowly.
‘Yes, it does,’ I admitted. ‘Except that I have a chance to know you now. If we are both bold enough to take it.’
‘I’m here,’ she pointed out, settling deeper into the chair. And then she fell silent and I could not think of anything to say. Then she pointed at the Fool’s carving. ‘Is that your wolf? Nighteyes?’
‘Yes.’
She smiled. ‘He looks exactly like I thought you would. Tell me more about him.’
And so I did.
Riddle returned three days later, complaining of bad roads and the cold. A storm had followed him home. I scarcely heard him. I took the little roll of bark paper he offered me and carried it carefully up to my lair before I opened it. At first glance, it looked like a drawing. Then I realized it was a hastily-sketched map. There were only a few words on the bottom of the page. ‘Nettle said you were having a hard time finding your way back to me. Perhaps this will help.’
A deep wet snow was falling outside Buckkeep Castle. The clouds were heavy; I did not expect it would stop soon. I went to my workroom and stuffed a change of clothing into a saddlebag. I Skilled to Chade. I’ll be gone for a while.
Very well. We can finish working on that scroll-translation tonight.
You misunderstand me. I’ll be gone several days at least. I’m going to Molly.
He hesitated and I could feel how badly he wanted to object. There was too much going on for me to leave. There were translations, the refinement of his powder that I’d been helping him with, and the Calling to arrange. The scrolls cautioned that the people of the kingdom had to be prepared for the Calling, lest parents or friends think those who heard voices in their heads were going mad. Yet it also cautioned that the exact day of the Calling be kept secret, to prevent charlatans from wasting the time of the Skillmaster.
Irritably I pushed such considerations aside. I waited.
Go then. And good luck. Have you told Nettle?
Now it was my turn to hesitate. I’ve told only you. Do you think I should tell her?
The things you ask my advice on! Never the ones I hope you’ll ask me about, always the ones that … never mind. Yes. Tell her. Only because not telling her might seem deceptive.
So I reached out to my daughter and said, Nettle. I’ve had a note from Molly. I’m going to go visit her. And then the obvious occurred to me. Do you want to go along?
It’s storming outside, with worse to come by the look of it. When are you leaving?
Now.
It isn’t wise.
I’ve never been wise. The words echoed oddly in my mind, and I smiled.
Go then. Dress warmly.
I shall. Farewell.
And I went. Myblack was not pleased at being taken from her warm, dry stall to face the storm. It was a cold, wet and tedious journey. The one inn I stopped at was full of trapped travellers and I had to sleep on the floor near the hearth wrapped in my cloak. The next night, a farmer allowed me to shelter in his barn overnight. The storm did not let up and the journey only became more unpleasant, but I pushed on.
Luck had it that the snow would stop and the clouds blow clear one valley before I reached Burrich’s holding. As I pushed Myblack down the buried road toward the house, the place looked like something out of a tale. Snow was heaped on cottage and stable roof. Smoke curled up from the chimney into the blue sky. A path was already worn between the house and the barns. I pulled in Myblack and sat looking down on it. As I watched, Chivalry opened a barn door and then trundled out a barrow of dirty straw. I whistled to give him warning of a visitor and then rode Myblack down the hill. He stood unmoving, watching me come. In the yard before the house I pulled her in and sat still, trying to think of a greeting. Myblack tugged twice at her bit, and then threw her head back irritably.