Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2)

“It will do,” I assured him. “It will probably be the soonest that his mind is clear.” I rattled my own head as if it would settle my thoughts. “There is suddenly so much to think about, so many things I must worry about. If these Piebalds know about me, then they know about the Prince.”

“Did you recognize any of them? Were they from Laudwine’s band?”

“It was dark. And they stayed well back from me. I heard a woman’s voice and a man’s, but I’m sure there were at least three of them. One was bonded with a dog, and another with a small swift mammal, a rat or a weasel or a squirrel, perhaps.” I took a breath. “I want the guards at Buckkeep’s gates to be put on alert. And the Prince should have someone accompanying him at all times. ‘A tutor of the well-muscled sort,’ as Chade himself once suggested. And I need to make arrangements with Chade, for ways to contact him if I need his help or advice immediately. And the keep should be patrolled daily for rats, especially the Prince’s chambers.”

He took a breath to speak, then bit down on his questions. Instead, he said, “I fear I must give you one more thing to think about. Prince Dutiful passed a note to me last night, demanding to know when you will begin his Skill lessons.”

“He wrote down those words?”

At Lord Golden’s reluctant nod, I was horrified. I had been aware that the Prince missed me. Linked by the Skill as we were, I must be aware of such things. I had put up my own Skill walls to keep my thoughts private from the young man, but he was not so adept. Several times I had felt his feeble efforts to reach toward me, but I had ignored them, promising myself that a better time would soon present itself. Evidently my prince was not so patient. “Oh, the boy must be taught caution. Some things should never be committed to paper, and those—”

My tongue suddenly faltered. I must have gone pale, for Lord Golden abruptly stood and became my friend the Fool as he offered me his chair. “Are you all right, Fitz? Is it a seizure coming on?”

I actually dropped into the chair. My head was spinning as I pondered the depth of my folly. I could scarcely get the breath to admit my idiocy. “Fool. All my scrolls, all my writings. I came so swiftly to Chade’s summons, I left them there in my cottage. I told Hap to close up the house before he came to Buckkeep, but he would not have hidden them, only shut the door to my study. If the Piebalds are clever enough to connect me with Hap . . .”

I let the thought trail away. I needed to say no more to him. His eyes were huge. The Fool had read all that I had so recklessly committed to paper. Not only my own identity was bared there, but also many Farseer matters better left forgotten. And personal vulnerabilities also were exposed in those cursed scrolls. Molly, my lost love. Nettle, my bastard daughter. How could I have been so stupid as to set such thoughts to paper? How could I have let the false comfort of writing about such things lull me into exposing them? No secret was safe unless it was locked solely in a man’s own mind. It should all have been burned, long ago.

“Please, Fool. See Chade for me. I have to go there. Now. Today.”

The Fool set a cautious hand to my shoulder. “Fitz. If they are gone, it is already too late. If Tom Badgerlock goes racing off today, you will only stir curiosity and invite pursuit. You may lead the Piebalds straight to them. They will be expecting you to bolt after they threatened you. They’ll be watching the gates out of Buckkeep. So, think coolly. It could be that your fears are groundless. How would they connect Tom Badgerlock to Hap, let alone know where the boy came from? Take no reckless action. See Chade first and tell him what you fear. And speak to Prince Dutiful. His betrothal is tonight. The lad holds himself well, but his is a thin and brittle façade. See him, reassure him.” Then he paused and ventured, “Perhaps someone else could be dispatched to—”

“No.” I cut him off firmly. “I must go myself. Some of what is there I will take, and the rest I will destroy.” My mind danced past the charging buck that the Fool had carved into my tabletop. FitzChivalry Farseer’s emblem graced Tom Badgerlock’s board. Even that seemed a threat to me now. Burn it, I decided. Burn the whole cottage to the ground. Leave no trace that I had ever lived there. Even the herbs growing in the garden told too much about me. I should never have left that shell of myself for anyone to nose through; I should never have allowed myself to leave my marks so plainly on anything.

The Fool patted me on the shoulder. “Eat something,” he suggested. “Then wash your face and change your clothes. Make no abrupt decisions. If we hold our course, we’ll survive this, Fitz.”