Robin Hobb - The Golden Fool

‘Not directly, of course. Patience had to explain to me what it meant. She showed the letters to me when I complained that I knew little of my father. They were very disappointing. Only four of them, and they were short and boring for the most part. He is fine, he hopes Chivalry and Lady Patience are well. Usually he is asking his brother to have a word with one duke or another, to smooth over some political difference. Once he asks him to send him an accounting of how the taxes were apportioned in a previous year. Then there would be a few lines about the harvest or how the hunting has been. But there was always a word or two about you at the end. “The Tom-cat that Burrich adopted seems to be making himself at home.” “Near stepped on Burrich’s Tom-cat as he ran through the courtyard yesterday. He seems to get bigger every day.” That’s how they named you in the letters, against spies and even, at first, against Patience reading them. In the last one, you are just “Tom”. “Tom had crossed Burrich and been walloped for it. He seemed remarkably unrepentant. In truth, Burrich is the one I pitied.” And at the end of each letter, a few lines about looking forward to the new moon or hoping that the full moon tides will be good for clamming. Patience explained that was how they set up a time to Skill to one another, when they could go apart from other people and be undisturbed. Our fathers were very close, you know. It was very difficult for them to be separated when Chivalry moved to Withywoods. They missed one another deeply.’

Tom. And Patience had, I thought, so carelessly hung that name on me. And I had kept it and little known its history. The Prince was right. Buckkeep Castle was stuffed full of secrets, and half of them were not secrets at all. They were only the things we dared not ask one another for fear the answers would be unbearably painful. I had never asked Patience to tell me about my father; never asked her or Verity what Chivalry had thought of me. Reluctance to ask metamorphosed into secrets. Silence had let me assume the worst of my father. He had never come to see me. Had he watched me through his brother’s eyes? Should I blame them for not telling me what they, perhaps, had assumed I knew? Or should I blame myself for never demanding to know?

‘The tea is brewed,’ Dutiful announced, and lifted the teapot. For the first rime, I became aware that the boy was serving me, much as I would have served Chade or Shrewd at his age. With respect and deference. ‘Stop,’ I said, and put out a hand to cover his. I forced the teapot back to the table. As I picked it up and poured my own tea, I warned him, ‘Dutiful, my prince. Listen to me. I must be Tom Badgerlock to you, in every way. Today, for now, we will speak of this. But after this, I must revert to my role as Tom Badgerlock. You must see me as him, and you must see Lord Golden only as Lord Golden. You have been handed a blade with no handle. There is no safe way to grip nor wield this secret that you know now. You rejoice in knowing who I am, and in seeing me as a link to your father. I wish, with all my heart, that it was as simple and good as that. But this secret, breathed in the wrong company, brings us all down. We know that our queen would try to protect me. Think what it would do. I am not only a known user of the Wit, but also the supposed murderer of King Shrewd. Not to mention that I killed several of Galen’s Coterie, before a room full of witnesses. Nor am I as dead as many think I should be. For me to be revealed as living would stir the hatred and fear of the Witted to new heights just as our Queen is trying to put an end to their persecution.’

‘To our persecution,’ the Prince corrected me mildly. He sat back in his chair and pondered it a bit, as if working out the consequences for himself. He looked uncomfortable as he said, ‘You’ve already accidentally put a crimp in the Queen’s plans. Despite all Chade’s efforts to take no official interest in your fate, there were still rumours that the death of “Keppler”, Padget and that other man went unpunished simply because they were suspected to be Witted.’

‘I know. Chade told me. And that you were accused of having the Wit as well.’

The Prince bowed his head to that. ‘Yes. Well, I do, don’t I? And the Piebalds know that, and perhaps some of those who style themselves Old Blood know it as well. Right now, the Old Blood have an interest in keeping my secret. They want this convocation as much as the Queen does. But the deaths of those three men have made them far more cautious. They talk now of demanding more sureties before they will commit to endangering themselves by coming here.’

‘They want hostages.’ My mind made the leap. ‘They want an exchange of people, some of ours to hold at risk while their folk are in our hands. How many?’

The Prince shook his head. ‘Ask that of Chade. Or my mother. From the way they argue, I suspect that she communicates directly with the Old Bloods, and only tells the old man what she thinks he needs to know. It frustrates him. I think she has managed to calm their fears and reschedule the meeting. Chade swore that it would he impossible without granting them ridiculous demands. Yet she had done it. But she will not tell Chade how, and that agitates him. She has reminded him that she is Mountain-bred, and that granting a demand he would see as “ridiculous”, or accepting a risk that he would declare “unacceptable” are for her a matter of principle.’

‘I can’t think of anything he would find more upsetting than to see a pie he couldn’t get his fingers into.’ I spoke mildly even as I wondered uneasily where Kettricken’s Mountain ethics on being Sacrifice for her people might lead us.

Dutiful seemed to sense my reservations. ‘I agree. And yet, in this, I will side with my mother. It is time she forced him to cede the upper hand to her. If she does not insist upon it now, it does not bode well for me to have any real power when I come to the throne.’

His words put a chill down my spine. He was right. The only reassuring part was that he could look at it so levelly and coolly. Then a wry thought twisted my perception. The Prince could see Chade’s machinations because he was as much Chade’s student as he was Kettricken’s Mountain son. He spoke on as casually as if we were discussing the weather.

‘But, that is not what we were talking about. You say your true identity cannot become known. I agree that cannot happen right now. There would definitely be a faction interested in ensuring your death. A great many people would hate and fear you. And the Farseers would he accused of sheltering a regicide simply because you were one of the family. Even more interesting might be how it would affect both the Old Bloods and the Piebalds. The Witted Bastard has been a rallying point for them for years, and the rumour of your survival is like a revered legend amongst them. To hear Civil speak of you, you are almost a god.’

‘You haven’t discussed me with Civil?’ Alarm flooded me.

‘Of course not! Well, not you as you. The legend of FitzChivalry, the Witted Bastard, is what we have discussed. And only in passing, I assure you. Though I think your identity would be as safe with Civil as it is with me.’

I sighed, heartsick and weary. ‘Dutiful. Your loyalty is admirable. But I doubt Civil’s. The Bresingas have betrayed you twice. Will you allow them to do it a third time?’

He looked stubborn. ‘They were coerced, Tom… It feels strange to call you that, now.’

I refused to be distracted. ‘Become accustomed to it again. And if Civil is threatened again, and again spies for them, or worse?’

‘He has no one left for them to threaten.’ He halted suddenly and looked at me. ‘You know, I have neither apologized nor thanked you. I sent you to Civil’s aid without considering that it might be a risk to you. And you went, and you saved my friend’s life, even though you yourself don’t like him much. As a result, you nearly died.’ He cocked his head at me. ‘How do I thank you for that?’