Fool’s Quest

And so I left him. It seemed a poor way to part and I was silent as we rode away from Buckkeep Castle. I rode a sturdy mare from the stables that did not mind the panniers. Perseverance rode at my stirrup, likewise silent. I think he more dreaded than welcomed the thought of a visit home.

Our journey was uneventful. The weather held fair; my guard was well behaved at the inns and Foxglove seemed pleased with them. As we drew closer to Withywoods my heart grew heavy and Perseverance morose. As we left the road and entered the long driveway, the drooping birches with their burden of snow arched over us and dimmed the day. At one point Perseverance turned his head and stared, and I knew that was where he had fallen to a Chalcedean arrow. Neither of us spoke of it.

We saw the burnt stables before we glimpsed the house. I’d given orders that the remainder of the barn and the bones of those who had perished there be burned on the site. Now the debris had been cleared away, leaving an ashy black area of trampled snow around the stone foundation. New timbers were rising; one end was already closed in. A bulldog came barking and snarling to meet us. A girl ran out to seize his collar and drag him back.

“It’s the master!” shouted someone in the stables, and I saw someone hurry toward the house. Several hands came to take my horse and Foxglove’s mount and direct the guard where they could stable their beasts. I released Perseverance to help them.

Steward Dixon greeted us in a coat festooned with bone buttons dyed yellow and green, obviously enjoying his elevated status. I could think only that he was not Revel. He told me that all had rejoiced at news of Lady Shun’s rescue. He hoped she was doing well, for he recalled her fondly. He hoped she would soon return. I told him quietly she was settled now in Buckkeep. He asked after FitzVigilant and said he was missed. I replied that he, too, was settled in Buckkeep. Then, in an altered tone, he lowered his eyes and said all were saddened to hear of the loss of Lady Bee. “Such a little thing she was, and still so sweet, even if she was odd. Some might say she was not meant for this harsh world.” I stared at him and he turned red. Abruptly he asked if I would rest or take refreshment, but instead I asked him to show me what had been done in my absence. I had already noted that the entry doors had been skillfully repaired.

So he walked me past mended hangings, empty places where tapestries had been removed for repair, reinforced doorjambs, and walls that no longer bore the scars of blades.

My bedchamber had been put to rights. The locked chest where I kept my personal items had withstood the raiders. Next was Bee’s room. Dixon spoke as softly as if he were in the presence of a dying man. “I allowed her maid to tidy it, sir, and put all back as it was kept before . . .” His voice trailed away. He opened the door and waited for me to enter. I looked at the smoothly spread bedding, at the little cloak on its hook and the paired slippers by the hearth. All tidy and neat. Everything there but the child. I reached past Dixon and closed the door. “The key, if you please,” I said to him, and he produced his large ring of keys and indicated it to me. I held out my hand and he stared for a moment before he fumbled it free of the others. I locked the door and pocketed the key.

“Proceed,” I told him and we moved on to Shine’s room. It was meticulously tidied as it never had been when she was in residence. “Pack it all up,” I told the luckless steward. “And send it on to her at Buckkeep.”

“As you wish, sir.” He sighed. He knew that he faced a monumental task.

I directed him to do the same for Lant’s belongings. Dixon inquired whether I would send a new scribe to be teacher and help to keep the accounts. In my grief I’d neglected to think of such things. The children of the manor deserved better from me. I promised I would.

I dismissed him at the doors of my personal study. The shattered lock had been artfully repaired. Inside, the Fool’s carving still rested on the mantel. The scroll racks had been repaired, and someone had attempted to tidy my desk. I had no heart for this yet. I closed and locked the doors and walked away.

Dixon had ordered a fine meal prepared to welcome us. Foxglove complimented him and the kitchen staff, and he glowed. I ate it and then retired to spend the night looking at the ceiling of the room I had shared with Molly. I have never been a man to pray, and if I were, El the heartless god of the sea would be more likely to listen to me than gentle Eda of the fields. But to someone or something or perhaps to Molly, that night I poured out my apologies and deep desire to somehow redeem myself. I promised to exact payment: pain for pain, blood for blood. It seemed to me that nothing and no one listened to me, but in the very darkest hours of the night, I felt Nettle’s touch on my thoughts.

Are you all right?

You know I am not.