Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2)

“Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose I’d better.” Then he took a step toward me. “Tom. I’m so sorry,” he said, and his awkward hug took away much of the earlier hurt he had dealt me. Then he lifted his eyes to mine to ask earnestly, “You’ll come by tomorrow night, won’t you? I need to talk to you. It’s very important.”

“I’ll come by tonight. If Jinna does not mind.” I looked past Hap’s shoulder at her as I released him from my embrace.

“Jinna won’t mind at all,” she assured me, and I hoped only I could hear the extra note of warmth in her voice.

“So. I’ll see you tonight. When you’re sober. Now to bed with you, boy.” I rumpled his wet hair, and he muttered a good night. He left the room to seek his bedchamber and I was suddenly alone with Jinna. A log collapsed in the fire and then the small crackling of its settling was the only sound in the room. “Well. I must go. I thank you for letting me wait for Hap here.”

Jinna set down her knitting again. “You are welcome, Tom Badgerlock.”

My cloak was on a peg by her door. I took it down and swirled it around my shoulders. She reached up suddenly to fasten it for me. She pulled the hood of it up over my shorn head, and then smiled as she tugged at the sides of the hood to pull my face down to hers. “Good night,” she said breathlessly. She lifted her chin. I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her. I wanted to, and yet I wondered that I allowed myself to do it. Where could it lead, this exchange of kisses, but to complications and trouble?

Did she sense my reservations? As I lifted my mouth from hers, she gave her head a small shake. She caught my hand in hers. “You worry too much, Tom Badgerlock.” She lifted my hand to her mouth and put a warm kiss on the palm of it. “Some things are far less complex than you think they are.”

I felt awkward, but I managed to say, “If that were true, it would be a sweet thing.”

“Such a courtier’s tongue.” Her words warmed me until she added, “But gentle words won’t keep Hap from running aground. You need to take a firm hand with that young man soon. Hap needs some lines drawn or you may lose him to Buckkeep Town. He wouldn’t be the first good country lad to go bad in a town.”

“I think I know my own son,” I said a bit testily.

“Perhaps you know the boy. It’s the young man I fear for.” Then she dared to laugh at my scowl and add, “Save that look for Hap. Good night, Tom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Jinna.”

She let me out, and then stood in her doorway watching me walk away. I glanced back at her, a woman watching me from a rectangle of warm yellow light. The wind stirred her curly hair, blowing it about her round face. She waved to me, and I waved back before she shut the door. Then I sighed and pulled my cloak more tightly around me. The worst of the rain had fallen, the storm decayed to swirling gusts that seemed to lurk in wait at the street corners. It had made merry with the festival trim of the town. The blustering gusts sent fallen garlands snaking down the street, and whipped banners to tatters. Usually the taverns had torches set in sconces to guide customers to their doors, but at this hour they were either burned out or taken down. Most of the taverns and inns had closed their door for the night. All the decent folk were long abed, and most of the indecent ones, too. I hurried through the cold dark streets, guided more by my sense of direction than my eyes. It would be even darker once I left the cliff-side town behind and began the winding climb through the forest toward Buckkeep Castle, but that was a road I had known since my childhood. My feet would lead me home.

I became aware of the men following me as I left the last scattered houses of Buckkeep Town behind. I knew that they were stalking me, not merely men on the same path as myself, for when I slowed my steps, they slowed theirs. Obviously they had no wish to catch up with me until I had left the houses of town behind me. That did not bode well for their intentions. I had left the keep unarmed, my country habits telling against me. I had the belt knife that any man carries for the small tasks of the day, but nothing larger. My ugly, workaday sword in its battered sheath was hanging on the wall in my little chamber. I told myself it was likely that they were no more than common footpads, looking for easy prey. Doubtless they believed me drunk and unaware of them, and as soon as I fought back, they would flee.

It was thin solace. I had no wish to fight at all. I was sick of strife, and weary of being wary. I doubted they would care. So I halted where I was and turned in the dark road to face those who came after me. I drew my belt knife and balanced my weight and waited for them.