Assassin's Quest

"It suits you," the Fool observed. He himself had dressed much as he did every day, in a woolen robe, but this one was dark blue with embroidery at the sleeves and hem. It was closer to what I had seen the Mountain folk wear. It accentuated his pallor far more than the white one had, and made plainer to my eyes the slight tawniness his skin, eyes, and hair were beginning to possess. His hair was as fine as ever. Left to itself, it still seemed to float freely around his face, but today he was binding it back.

"I did not know Kettricken had summoned you," I observed, to which he grimly replied, "All the more reason to present myself. Chade came to check on you this morning, and was concerned to find you gone. I think he half fears that you have run off with the wolf again. But in case you had not, he left a message for you. Other than those who have been in this hut, no one in Jhaampe has been told your true name. Much as it must surprise you to find that the minstrel had that much discretion. Not even the healer knows who she healed. Remember, you are Tom the shepherd until such time as Queen Kettricken feels she can speak more plainly to you. Understand?"

I sighed. I understood all too well. "I never knew Jhaampe to host intrigue before," I observed.

He chuckled. "You have visited here only briefly before this. Believe me, Jhaampe breeds intrigues every bit as convoluted as Buckkeep did. As strangers here, we are wise to avoid being drawn into them, as much as we can."

"Save for the ones we bring with us," I told him, and he smiled bitterly as he nodded.

The day was bright and crisp. The sky glimpsed overhead through the dark evergreen boughs was an endless blue. A small breeze ran alongside us, rattling dry snow crystals across the frozen tops of the snowbanks. The dry snow squeaked under our boots and the cold roughly kissed my freshly shaven cheeks. From farther off in the village, I could hear the shouts of children at play. Nighteyes pricked his ears to that, but continued to shadow us. The small voices in the distance reminded me of seabirds crying and I suddenly missed the shores of Buck acutely.

"You had a seizure last night," the Fool said quietly. It was not quite a question.

"I know," I said briefly.

"Kettle seemed very distressed by it. She questioned Chade most closely about the herbs he prepared for you. And when they did not rouse you as he had said they would, she went off in her corner. She sat there most of the night, knitting loudly and peering at him disapprovingly. It was a relief to me when they all finally left."

I wondered if Starling had stayed, but did not ask it. I did not even want to know why it mattered to me.

"Who is Kettle?" the Fool asked abruptly.

"Who is Kettle?" I asked, startled.

"I believe I just said that."

"Kettle is …" It suddenly seemed odd that I knew so little about someone I had traveled with so long. "I think she grew up in Buck. And then she traveled, and studied scrolls and prophecies, and returned to seek the White Prophet." I shrugged at the scantiness of my knowledge.

"Tell me. Do you find her … portentous?"

"What?"

"Do you not feel there is something about her, something that …" He shook his head angrily. It was the first time I had ever seen the Fool searching for words. "Sometimes, I feel she is significant. That she is wound up with us. Other times, she seems but a nosy old woman with an unfortunate lack of taste in her choice of companions."

"You mean me," I laughed.

"No. I mean that interfering minstrel."

"Why do you and Starling dislike one another so?" I asked tiredly.

"It is not dislike, dear Fitzy. On my part, it is disinterest. Unfortunately, she cannot conceive of a man who could look at her with no interest in bedding her. She takes my simple dismissal of her as an insult, and strives to make of it some lack or fault in me. Whilst I take offense at her proprietary attitude toward you. She has no true affection for Fitz, you know, only for being able to say she knew FitzChivalry."

I was silent, fearing that what he said was true. And so we came to the palace at Jhaampe. It was as unlike Buckkeep as I could imagine. I have heard it said that the dwellings at Jhaampe owe their origins to the dome-shaped tents some of the nomadic tribes still use. The smaller dwellings were still tent like enough that they did not startle me as the palace still did. The living heart tree that was its centerpole towered immensely above us. Other secondary trees had been patiently contorted over years to form supports for the walls. When this living framework had been established, mats of barkcloth had been draped gracefully over them to form the basis for the smoothly curving walls. Plastered with a sort of clay and then painted in bright colors, the houses would always remind me of tulip buds or mushroom caps. Despite its great size, the palace seemed organic, as if it had sprouted up from the rich soil of the ancient forest that sheltered it.