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

‘I think I’ll be fine. I’ll find an empty stall in the stable and sleep there. If the hostler asks, I’ll tell him I’m in disgrace.’ I turned to go, then thought to ask, ‘Will you be able to get back into the inn, dressed like that?’

‘Just because I sometimes wear the clothes of a nobleman, don’t think I’ve forgotten all the tricks of a tumbler.’ He sounded almost offended. ‘I’ll get back in the way I got out: through the window.’

‘Good. I may take a walk about the town, to “clear my head”. And to see what I can discover. If you can make the opportunity, go to the common room. Stir the gossip-pot and see if you hear anything of strangers with a hunting cat passing through here yesterday.’ I started to add something about bloodshed in the street, but stopped myself. There was little chance it directly related to us.

‘Very well. Fitz. Go carefully.’

‘There’s no need to remind me of that.’

I started to step away from him but he suddenly caught at my arm. ‘Don’t go just yet. I’ve wanted to talk to you all day.’ He abruptly let go of me and crossed his arms on his chest. He took a ragged breath. ‘I did not think this would be so hard. I’ve played so many roles in my life. I thought it would be easy, that it might even be fun to play master to your man. It’s not.’

‘No. It’s hard. But I think it’s wise.’

‘We’ve blundered too many times with Laurel.’

I shrugged helplessly. ‘That is as it is. She knows we were both chosen by the Queen. Perhaps we can leave her in confusion and let her draw her own conclusions. They might be more convincing than anything we could fabricate.’

He cocked his head and smiled. ‘Yes. That tactic pleases me. For now, we shall discover what we can tonight, and plan an early start in the morning.’

We separated at those words. He withdrew into the darkness, vanishing as adeptly as Nighteyes could. I watched for him to cross the innyard but did not see him. I caught one brief glimpse of him as he vaulted back through the darkened window. I did not hear a sound.

Nighteyes pressed heavily against my leg.

What news? I asked him. Our Wit was as silent as the warmth of his body against me.

Bad news. Keep silent and follow .

He took me, not through the main streets of town, but away from the centre of town. I wondered where we were going, but dared not reach forth to touch minds with him. I curbed my Wit, though it dulled my senses not to share the wolf’s awareness. We ended up in a rocky field near the river’s edge. He took me to the edge of it, where large trees grew. The tall dry grasses had been tramped down flat there. I caught a whiff of cooked meat and cold ashes. Then my eyes pieced together the length of rope still hanging from a tree, and the burned-out fire beneath it. I stood very still. The night wind off the river stirred the ashes and suddenly the smell of cooked meat sickened me. I put my hand over the extinguished coals. They were sodden and cold. A fire deliberately set and deliberately drowned. I poked at them, and felt the tell-tale greasiness of dripping fat. They had been more than thorough. Hung, cut in quarters, burned, and the remains thrown in the river.

I moved well away from the fire to the shelter of the trees. I sat down on a big rock there. The wolf came and sat beside me. After a time, I remembered his meat and gave it to him. He ate it without ceremony. I sat with my hand over my mouth, wondering. Coldness moved through me where blood had once flowed. Townsmen had done this, and now they ate and laughed and sang songs at the inn. They had done this to someone just like me. Perhaps to the son of my body.

No. The blood does not smell right. It was not him.

It was a small comfort. It only meant that he had not died today. Did the townsfolk hold him somewhere? Was the lively night at the inn an anticipation of more blood-sport on the morrow?

I became aware of someone coming softly through the night towards us. She came from the direction of the town lights, but did not walk on the road. She came through the trees at the edge of the road, moving near-soundlessly.

Huntingwoman.

Laurel stepped from the shadow of the trees. I watched her as she moved purposely towards the burned patch. As I had earlier, she crouched over it, sniffing, and then touching the ashes.

I stood, making just enough sound to let her know I was there. She flinched, spinning to confront us.

‘How long ago?’ I asked the night.

Laurel sighed out a small breath as she recognized us. Then ‘Just this afternoon,’ she answered quietly. ‘My maid told me about it. Bragged, actually, of how the lad she is to marry was right in the thick of it, getting rid of the Piebald. That’s what they call them in this valley. Piebalds.’

The river wind blew between us. ‘So you came out here …?’

‘To see what was left to be seen. Which isn’t much. I feared it might be our prince, but –’

‘No.’ Nighteyes was leaning heavily against me, and I shared what we both suspected. ‘But I think it was one of his companions.’

‘If you know that much, then you know the others fled.’

I hadn’t known that, but I was shamefully relieved to hear it. ‘Were they pursued?’

‘Yes. And the men who chased them off have not returned yet. Some chased, some stayed to kill the one they had caught. It is planned that the ones who did this,’ and she indicated the rope and the fire circle with a disdainful kick, ‘will ride out in the morning. There is some anxiety that their friends have not returned yet. Tonight they’ll drink, and build up both their courage and anger. Tomorrow they’ll ride.’

‘Then we had best ride out before them, and swifter.’

‘Yes.’ Her glance travelled from me to Nighteyes and back again. We both looked around at the trampled ground and the dangling rope and the burned out-place. It seemed as if there should have been something for us to do, some gesture to make, but if there was, it escaped me.

We walked back to the inn together in near silence. I marked her dark garments and the soft-soled boots she wore, and once again I thought that Queen Kettricken had chosen well. I dirtied the night with a question whose answer I dreaded. ‘Did she tell you many details? How or why they were attacked, if the boy and the cat were with them?’

Laurel drew a deep breath. ‘The one they killed was not a stranger. He was one of their own, and they had suspected him of beast-magic for a long time. The usual stupid stories … that when other lambs died of the scours, his survived. That a man angered him, and after that, the man’s chickens died off. He came to town today with strangers, one a big man on a warhorse, one with a cat riding behind him. The others with him were also known to these folk, boys who had grown up on outlying farms. There are usually dogs at the inn. The innkeeper’s son keeps rabbit-hounds, and he had just returned from the hunt. The dogs were still excited. At the sight of the cat, the dogs went mad. They surrounded the horse, leaping and snapping. The man with the cat – our prince, most likely – drew his blade to defend the cat, and slashed at the hounds, cutting an ear off one. But that was not all he did. He opened his mouth wide, and snarled, hissing like a cat.

‘At the commotion, other men boiled out of the inn. Someone shouted “Piebald!” Another cried for a rope and a torch. The man on the warhorse laughed at them, and put his horse to kicking out at both dogs and men. One man was kicked to the ground by the horse. The mob responded with rocks and curses, and more men came out of the tavern. The Piebalds broke the circle and tried to ride off, but a lucky stone caught one of the riders on the temple and knocked him from his saddle. The mob closed on him, and he yelled at the others to ride. The girl made them all out to be cowards for fleeing, but I suspect that the one they caught delayed the mob so his companions could escape.’