The Golden Fool. Robin Hobb

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СКАЧАТЬ The only light came from the cracked shutter over the little window at the end of the room. How small the space suddenly seemed. The sparse furnishings that had sufficed for Burrich and I were long gone, replaced by the clutter of a stable. Twisted bits of old harness, broken tools, moth-eaten blankets: all the horsey litter that folk set aside, thinking that perhaps one day they will mend it or that it might come in useful in a pinch, filled the chamber where I had spent my childhood.

      How Burrich would have hated this! I thought to myself. I wondered that Hands allowed such clutter to gather, and then decided that he probably had more pressing matters to attend to. The stables were a larger and grander concern than they had been during the years of the Red Ship War. I doubted that Hands sat up at night greasing and mending old harness.

      Laurel misinterpreted the look on my face. ‘I know. It smells up here, but it’s private. I would have seen you in your own room, but Lord Golden was too busy playing the grand noble.’

      ‘He is a grand noble,’ I pointed out, but the flashing look she gave me stilled my tongue. Belatedly it came to me that Lord Golden had bestowed much attention on Laurel during our journey, yet not a word had they exchanged last night. Oh.

      ‘Be that as it may, or be you whom you may.’ She dismissed her annoyance with us, obviously intent on graver matters. ‘I received a message from my cousin. Deerkin didn’t intend the warning for you; he intended it for me. I doubt that he would approve my passing it on to you, for he has ample reasons not to be fond of you. The Queen, however, seems to hold you in some regard. And it is the Queen I am sworn to.’

      ‘As we both are,’ I assured her. ‘Have you shared these tidings with her as well?’

      She looked at me. ‘Not yet.’ She admitted. ‘It may be that there is no need to, that this is a matter you can handle yourself. And it is not as easy for me to manage a quiet moment with the Queen as it is for me to summon you.’

      ‘And the warning?’

      ‘He bade me flee. The Piebalds know who I am and where I live. I am twice a traitor, to their way of thinking. For by my family connection, they consider me Old Blood. And I serve the hated Farseer regime. They will kill me if they can.’ Her voice betrayed no emotion as she recounted the threat to herself. But she lowered her tone and looked aside from me as she added, ‘And the same is true of you.’

      Silence floated between us. I watched dust particles dancing in the thin sunlight through the shutters and pondered. After a time, she spoke again.

      ‘This is the gist of it. Laudwine still languishes, recovering from your chopping off his forearm. In the wake of our little adventure, many of his followers have abandoned him, to return to the true Old Blood ways. Old Blood families have put pressure on their sons and daughters to forsake the Piebalds’ extreme politics. There is a feeling amongst many that the Queen genuinely intends to better the lot of the Old Blood folk. As it has become known that her own son is Witted, they have a kindlier feeling towards her. They are content to wait, for a short time at least, to see how she will treat us now.’

      ‘And those who remain amongst the Piebalds?’ I asked unwillingly.

      Laurel shook her head. ‘Those who remain with Laudwine are the ones most dangerous and least reasonable. He attracts those who desire to shed blood and wreak havoc. They desire revenge more than justice, and power more than peace. Some, like Laudwine, have seen family and friends put to death for the crime of being Witted. Others have hearts that pump more madness than blood. They are not many but as they place no limits on what they will do to attain their goals, they are as dangerous as a vast army.’

      ‘Their goals?’

      ‘Simple. Power for themselves. Punishment for those who have oppressed the Witted. They hate the Farseers. But even more, they hate you. Laudwine feeds their hatred. He wallows in hate and offers it to his followers as if it were gold. You have stirred their wrath against all Old Blood who “grovel before the Farseer oppressors”. Laudwine’s Piebalds bring reprisals against the Old Blood who came to your aid against the Piebalds. Some homes have been burned. Flocks have been scattered or stolen. Those sort of attacks are already happening, but worse is threatened. The Piebalds say they will expose any that will not side with them against the Farseers. It thrills them that we should be killed by the folk we will not rise against. The Piebalds say that all Old Blood must either stand with them or be purged from the community.’ Her face had gone both grave and pale. I knew there was a real threat to her family, and it curdled my stomach to think that I was partially responsible for provoking it.

      I took a breath. ‘Only some of what you tell me is news to me. Only a few nights ago I was stalked on the road from Buckkeep Town by Piebalds. I am only surprised that they let me live.’

      She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that did not dismiss my danger, only the possibility of understanding the Piebalds. ‘You are a special target for them. You struck Laudwine’s hand from his arm. You are Old Blood, serving the Farseers and directly opposing the Piebalds.’ She shook her head. ‘Take no comfort that they have left you alive when they could have so easily killed you. It only means that they have some use for you that requires you to be alive. My cousin hinted as much, when he warned me, for he said that perhaps I had mixed myself with worse company than I thought. The Piebald rumour is that Lord Golden and Tom Badgerlock were not what they seemed to be – small surprise to me that was, but Deerkin seemed to think it portentous.’

      She paused, as if to give me time to reply. I said nothing but thought much. Had someone firmly connected Tom Badgerlock to the Witted Bastard of song and legend? And if so, what use would they have for me that required me alive? If they had wanted to take me hostage and use me against the Farseers, they could have done so that night. But my thoughts were cut off as Laurel scowled at my silence and then resumed her talk.

      ‘The raids and attacks against their own stir Old Blood against them, even amongst some who once called themselves Piebalds. Some raids, it seems, are carried out to settle old scores or for personal profit rather than for any “lofty” Piebald motives. No one restrains them. Laudwine is still too weak to resume full leadership. He is feverish and febrile from the loss of his arm. Those closest to him hate you doubly for that; they will be swift as wildfire to set their vengeance against you. Witness that you have been back in Buckkeep only a few days, and they have already located you.’

      We stood silent in the dusty room for a time, both of us following thoughts too dark to share. At last, Laurel spoke reluctantly.

      ‘You understand that Deerkin still has ties to those in the Piebalds. They try to lure him back. He must … pretend to side with them. To protect our family. He walks a thin and dangerous line. He hears things that are very dangerous for him to repeat, and yet he has sent word.’ Her words trickled away. She stared at the obscured window as if she could truly see what was beyond it I knew what she was trying to express. ‘You should speak to the Queen. Tell her that Deerkin must appear a traitor to the crown for the sake of keeping your family safe. Will you flee, as he bids you?’

      She shook her head slowly. ‘Flee where? To my family? Then I plunge them into more danger. Here, at least, the Piebalds must reach into danger’s mouth to extract me. I will stay here and serve my queen.’

      I wondered if Chade would be able to protect her, let alone her cousin.

      Her voice was flat when she spoke again. ‘Deerkin hears hints that the Piebalds are forming an alliance with outsiders. “Powerful folk who would be happy to destroy the Farseers and leave Laudwine’s folk in power”.’ She gave me a worried glance. ‘That sounds like a silly boast, doesn’t it? It couldn’t be real, could it?’

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