Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2)

“Padget?”

“One of the men that you killed! Don’t pretend you don’t know his name! You had to know who he was to find him. And I know that he knew who you were. And his poor cousins were too frightened to even claim his body. For fear of being linked with him. Because it might make people think they were like him. But that is what I don’t understand, Tom.” She paused, and in a quiet voice said, “Because you are like he was. You’re one, too. Why hunt and kill your own kind?”

I had just lifted up my teacup. I set it down carefully. I took a breath, thinking I would speak. Then I let it out, waited, and began again. “I’m not surprised there is gossip about this. What folk say to the guard and what they say to one another are two different things. And I know there were Piebald scrolls put about town, claiming all sorts of wild things. So. Let us speak bluntly. Padget was Witted. Like me. That isn’t why I killed him, but it is true. It is also true that he was a Piebald. Which I am not.” At her look of confusion, I asked her, “Do you know what a Piebald is, Jinna?”

“Witted are Piebalds,” she said. “Some of your kind say ‘Old Blood’ instead. It’s all one.”

“Not quite. Piebalds are Witted who betray other Witted. They are the ones who post the little notices that say, ‘Jinna is Witted and her beast is a fat yellow cat.’ ”

“I am not!” she exclaimed indignantly.

I perceived she thought that I had threatened her. “No,” I agreed calmly. “You are not. But if you were, I could destroy your livelihood and perhaps even take your life by making it public. That is what the Piebalds do to other Witted.”

“But that makes no sense. Why would they do that?”

“To make the other Witted do what they want.”

“What do they want them to do?”

“The Piebalds are seeking to gather power to themselves. To gain that, they need money and people willing to do what they tell them.”

“I still don’t understand what they want.”

I sighed. “They want the same things most Witted want. They want to exercise their magic openly, without fear of the noose or flame. They want to be accepted, not to have to live with their talents hidden. Suppose you could be killed, simply for being a hedge-witch. Would not you want to change that?”

“But hedge-witches do no harm to anyone.”

I watched her face carefully as I said, “Neither do Witted.”

“Some do,” she rejoined instantly. “Oh, not all of them, no. But when I was but a child my mother kept two milk goats. They both up and died on the same day. And only the week before that she had refused to sell one to a Witted woman. So you see, Witted are like anyone else. Some of them are vengeful and cruel, and use their magic to that end.”

“The Wit doesn’t work that way, Jinna. That is like me saying a hedge-witch could look in my hand, and put a line there that would make me die sooner. Or blaming you because you looked at my son’s hand, said he had a short lifeline, and then he died. Would that be your fault? For saying what you’d seen there?”

“Well, of course not. But that’s not the same as killing someone’s goats.”

“That is what I’m trying to tell you. I can’t use the Wit to kill anyone.”

She cocked her head at me. “Oh, come, Tom. That great wolf of yours would have killed that man’s pigs if you’d told him to, wouldn’t he?”

I sat a long time silent. Then I had to say, “Yes. I suppose he would have. If I were that sort of a man, I might have used the wolf and my Wit that way. But I’m not.”

Her silence lasted even longer than mine did. At last, very unwillingly, she said, “Tom. You killed three men. And a horse. Wasn’t that the wolf in you? Wasn’t that your Wit?”

After a time, I stood up. “Good-bye, Jinna,” I said. “Thank you for your many kindnesses.” I walked toward the door.

“Don’t go like this,” she begged me.

I halted, miserable. “I don’t know any other way to go. Why did you even let me inside your door today?” I asked bitterly. “Why did you try to see me when I was hurt? It would have been a greater kindness simply to turn away from me than to show me what you truly thought of me.”

“I wanted to give you a chance,” she said dismally. “I wanted . . . I hoped there was some other reason. Something besides your Wit.”

Hand on the latch, I paused. I detested my last lie, but it had to be told. “There was. There was a purse that belonged to Lord Golden.” I did not look back to see if she believed me. She already had more truth than was safe for her to own.