Robin Hobb - The Complete Tawny Man Trilogy - Fool’s Errand, The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate

We rode on through the remainder of the daylight. Lord Golden ostensibly led us, but in reality we followed the road. As the light faded, I began to look for a likely camping spot. Nighteyes seemed to pluck the thought from the air, for he surged ahead of our horses to crest a low rise in the road. When he disappeared over it, I knew he wanted us to follow. ‘Let’s go just a bit further,’ I suggested despite the gathering darkness. And at the top of the hill, we were rewarded with the sparse lights of a little village in the folds of the valley before us. A river wound past it; I could smell it, and the smoke of cook-fires. My stomach awoke from its resignation and growled loudly.

‘There will be an inn down there, I’ll wager,’ Lord Golden announced enthusiastically. ‘Real beds. And we can get provisions for tomorrow.’

‘Dare we ask for word of the Prince?’ Laurel asked. Our weary horses seemed to sense there might be something better than grass and creek water for them tonight. They picked up their pace as they went down the hill. I saw no sign of Nighteyes, but I had not expected to.

‘I’ll make some quiet inquiries,’ I volunteered. I imagined that Nighteyes already was doing that. If they had passed through the village and paused at all, the cat would have left some sign.

With unerring instinct, Lord Golden led us to an inn. It was a grand building for such a small town, built of black stone and boasting a second storey. The hanging signboard chilled my heart. It was the Piebald Prince, neatly divided into his head and four quarters. It was not the first time I had seen him depicted that way; in fact, it was the commonest way to see him, but a sense of foreboding hung over me. If either Golden or Laurel were given pause by the sign, they did not betray it. Light spilled wide from the inn’s open door, and talk and good cheer flowed out with it. I smelled cooking food and Smoke and beer. The level of the laughter and shouted conversation was a pleasant roar. Lord Golden dismounted and told me to take the horses to the hostler. Laurel accompanied him into the noisy common room as I led the animals around to the darkened back of the inn. In a few moments, a door was flung open, and light stabbed out into the dusty innyard. The hostler appeared, wiping his interrupted meal from his lips, and bearing a lantern. He took the horses from me and led them off to the stable. I more felt than saw Nighteyes in the deeper darkness at the corner of the inn. As I approached the inn door, a shadow detached itself and brushed past me. In that brief touch, I knew his thoughts.

They were here. Be cautious. I smell man’s blood in the street in front of this place. And dogs. Usually dogs are here, but not tonight.

He blurred into the night before I could ask him any details. I went in through the back door with an uneasy heart and an empty belly. Inside, the innkeeper informed me that my master had already commanded his finest room, and I was to bring all the bags up. Wearily I turned back to the stables. While I appreciated Lord Golden’s ruse to let me have a good look inside the stables, I was suddenly afflicted with a weariness that could barely be suppressed. Food and sleep. I didn’t even need a bed. I would have been happy to drop where I stood.

The hostler was still putting grain into our horses’ feed-bins. Perhaps because I was there, they got a more generous shake of oats. I saw nothing unusual in the stables. There were three plug-horses of the kind such a place usually kept for hire, and a battered cart. A cow in a byre probably provided the milk for the guests’ porridge. I disapproved of the chickens roosting in the rafters. Their droppings would foul the horses’ food and water, but there was little I could do about it. There were only two other horses stabled there, not enough to be the mounts of those we followed. There were no hunting cats tethered in empty stalls. Well, nothing was ever easy. The hostler was competent at his work, but not talkative, nor even curious. His clothing was pungent with Smoke; I suspected the herbs had mellowed him past caring much about anything. I got our bags and, heavily-laden, made my way back to the inn.

The finest room was up a flight of worn wooden steps. The climb taxed me more than it should have. I knocked at the door, then managed to open it for myself. It was the finest room in the sense that it was the best sitting room at the inn. Lord Golden was enthroned in a cushioned chair at the head of a scarred table. Laurel sat at his right hand. There were mugs in front of them and a large earthenware pitcher. I smelled ale. I managed to set the bags down inside the door instead of just dropping them. Lord Golden deigned to notice me. ‘I’ve ordered food, Tom Badgerlock. And arranged rooms for us. As soon as they’ve made the beds up, they’ll show you where to take the bags. Until then, do be seated, my good man. You’ve well earned your keep today. There’s a mug for you.’

He nodded to a seat at his left, and I took it. Someone had already poured the ale for me. I’m afraid I drained off that first mug without any other thought than that it was sustenance after a long day. It was neither the best nor the worst brew I’d ever tasted, but few draughts had been as welcome as that one. I set the empty mug down on the table and Lord Golden nodded permission at the pitcher. As I refilled our mugs, the food arrived. There was a roast fowl, a large bowl of buttered peas, a meal pudding with treacle and cream, crisp trout on a platter, bread, butter and more ale. Before the serving-boy left, Lord Golden added another request. He had badly bruised his shoulder that morning; would the boy bring him a slab of raw meat from the kitchen to draw the soreness from the swelling? Laurel served Lord Golden and herself and then passed the dishes on to me. We ate in near silence, all of us very intent on the food. In a short time, the fowl and fish had been reduced to bones on the platters. Lord Golden rang for the servants to clear away. They brought a berry pie with clotted cream for a sweet, and more ale. The slab of raw meat came with it. As soon as the servant was gone, Lord Golden neatly wrapped it in his napkin and handed it to me. I wondered with weary gratitude if anyone would notice its later disappearance. A short time later I became aware that I had eaten more than I should have done, and drunk more than was wise. I had that sodden, overly full feeling that is so miserable after one has been hungry all day. Lassitude crept over me. I tried to hide my yawns behind my hand and pay attention to the hushed conversation between Lord Golden and Laurel. Their voices seemed distant, as if a noisy river rushed between them and me.

‘One of us should have a quiet look round,’ Laurel was insisting. ‘Perhaps some questions asked downstairs would discover where they were going, or if they are known around here. It could be they are close by.’

‘Tom?’ Lord Golden prodded me.

‘I already have,’ I said softly. ‘They were here. But they either moved on already, or are at a different inn. If a town this size has more than one inn.’ I leaned back in my chair.

‘Tom?’ Lord Golden asked me with some annoyance. In an aside to Laurel he observed, ‘It’s probably the Smoke. He’s never had any head for it. Just walking through the fumes puts him into a fog.’

I pried open my eyes. ‘Beg pardon?’ I asked. My own voice sounded thick and distant in my ears.

‘How do you know they were here?’ Laurel demanded. Had she asked that before?

I was too tired to think of a good answer. ‘I just do,’ I replied shortly, and then directed my words to Lord Golden as if we had been interrupted. ‘There’s also been blood spilled in the street outside the inn. We should go carefully around here.’