I spoke before I thought. ‘Oh, poor deprived lad.’ He lifted his head and glowered at me. I returned his look levelly. Then a slow smile came to his face. ‘Spoken like a true friend,’ he said.
A moment later Lord Golden came through the door. In a flicker of his long fingers, he showed me a bird’s message-tube. In the next instant, it had vanished up his sleeve. Of course. He’d gone to see Starling, to see if we’d received word back from Buckkeep. And we had. No doubt Chade would have all in readiness for our return. In the next moment, his eyes took in the Prince seated at the other end of the table. If he thought it odd to find the Farseer heir sitting at table with me, watching me mend the sleeve of my shirt, he did not show it.
Not even a flick of his eyes betrayed that he had greeted me first. Instead, all his attention seemed fixed on the Prince as he addressed him. ‘Good day, my prince. If it please you, we can ride as soon as we may.’
The Prince drew a long breath. ‘It would please me, Lord Golden.’
Now Lord Golden turned to me, and gave me a smile such as I had not seen on his face for days. ‘You have heard our prince, Tom Badgerlock. Stir yourself to readiness and pack our things. And you can leave off mending that, my good man, at least for now. Never can it be said that I am a niggardly master, even to such a wretched servant as yourself. Put this on, lest you shame us all riding back into Buckkeep.’ He tossed me a bundled packet. It proved to be a shirt of homespun, far sturdier than the tattered garment in my hands. So much for a pocket up my sleeve today.
‘My thanks to you, Lord Golden,’ I replied with humble gratitude. ‘I shall strive to take better care of this one than I did of the last three.’
‘See that you do. Put it on, and then haste to Mistress Laurel, to let her know we’ll be riding soon. And on your way down to the stables to ask that the horses be readied, stop at the kitchens and request that they pack us a luncheon as well. A couple of cold birds and a meat pie, two bottles of wine, and some of the fresh bread I smelled baking as I entered.’
‘As it please you, master,’ I replied.
As I was pulling the new shirt on over my head, I heard the Prince ask sourly, ‘My Lord Golden, is it you who thinks I am an idiot, that you put on this show for me? Or is it the wish of Tom Badgerlock?’
I popped my head out hastily, not wishing to miss the look on Lord Golden’s face. But it was the Fool who greeted me. His grin was nothing short of dazzling, as he swept a wide minstrel’s bow to Dutiful, his non-existent hat brushing his knees. As he straightened, he gave me a look of triumph. It baffled me, but I found myself answering his grin with one of my own as he replied, ‘Good prince, it is neither my wish nor that of Tom Badgerlock, but of Lord Chade. He desires that we practise as much as we may, for poor actors such as ourselves need many rehearsals if we are to fool even an eye or two.’
‘Lord Chade. I should have known you both belonged to him.’ It pleased me that he did not betray I had already told him that. He was learning some discretion at least. He gave the Fool a piercing look, one with much mistrust in it. The look shifted sideways to include me. ‘But who are you?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘Who are you, the both of you?’
Without thinking, the Fool and I exchanged a look. That we conferred before we answered incensed the Prince. I could tell by the slow spots of colour that rose in his cheeks. Beyond the anger, hidden in the back of his eyes, was the boy’s fear that he had made a fool of himself to me. Had his trust been won by a contrived performance? Did the affection between the Fool and me preclude any friendship I would share with him? I saw his candour begin to close; I could see him retreating behind his regal wall. I reached hastily across the table, and violated every noble protocol that existed by seizing his hand. I let honesty flow through that touch, convincing him with Skill just as Verity had once won his mother’s trust.
‘He is a friend, my prince. The best friend I have ever had, and like to be yours as well.’ My gaze did not leave the Prince’s face as I reached my free hand towards the Fool. I heard him step up beside Dutiful. An instant later, I felt him set his ungloved fingers in mine. I brought his hand to join our clasp, his long fingers closing around both our hands.
‘If you will have me,’ the Fool offered humbly. ‘I will serve you as I served your father, and your grandfather before him.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Homecoming
As far back as our traditions go, there has been both trade and war between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands. Like the regular ebb and flow of the tides, we have traded and intermarried, and then warred and killed our own kin. What set the Red Ship war apart in that long and bloody tradition is that for the first time, the Outislanders were united under a single war leader. Kebal Rawbread was his name. Accounts of him differ, but by most tellings, he began as a pirate and raider. As both sailor and fighter, he excelled, and the men who followed him prospered. Word of their successes and the richness of the plunder they claimed brought men of like minds to follow him. He soon commanded a fleet of raiding vessels.
Even so, he might have remained no more than a prosperous pirate, raiding wherever the wind took him. Instead, he began to take steps to force all of the Out Islands under his reign. The form of coercion he used was remarkably similar to the Forging that he later employed against the people of the Six Duchies. At about that time, he decreed that all the hulls of his raiding vessels must be painted red, and that the force of his raids would be expended only on the Six Duchies coastline. It is interesting to note that at the same time that these tactical changes were occurring in Kebal Rawbread’s fleet, those in the Six Duchies first began to hear rumours of a Pale Woman at his side.
Fedwren’s An Account of the Red Ship War