Fool's Assassin - Страница 65

So, not Chade. His messenger, an overly friendly tavern girl, or a whore? So many possible ways for this evening to go very wrong. I lifted my mug, drained it, and held it out to her. “Another, please.” I put no friendliness in my voice.

She raised one brow at me. “I don’t fetch beer.” The disdain in her voice was not feigned. My hackles lifted slightly. Be wary.

I leaned closer, pretending to struggle to bring her face into focus. I knew this girl. I’d seen her somewhere, and it was frustrating and alarming that I could not recall when I had met her or under what circumstances. Someone in the market? A daughter of one of our shepherds, grown and out on her own? Well, she hadn’t called me by name; nor had her pupils reacted as if she recognized me. Play drunk. I reached up and scratched my nose, and tested her. “Not beer,” I told her. “Mulled wine. It’s cold out there.”

“I don’t fetch wine, either,” she told me. A trace of an accent in her voice. She hadn’t spent her childhood in Buck.

“That’s a pity.” I turned back to the fire.

She pushed my wet cloak to one side and boldly sat down next to me. That narrowed her roles to whore or messenger. She leaned close to me. “You look cold.”

“No. Got myself a good spot by the fire. Had some mulled wine. Just waiting for an old friend.”

She smiled. “I could be your friend.”

I shook my head in drunken confusion. “No. No, you couldn’t. My friend is much taller and older and he’s a man. You can’t be my friend.”

“Well, maybe I’m your friend’s friend. That would make you my friend, wouldn’t it?”

I let my head wobble slightly on my neck. “Maybe,” I said. I fingered my pouch at my hip and frowned. Then I smiled. “Hey. If you’re my friend’s friend, and you’re my friend, then maybe you could buy the next round?” I held up my mug hopefully with a vacuous grin and watched her face. Any whore worth her salt wouldn’t bother with a man who didn’t have enough coin to buy himself another drink.

Uncertainty rippled over her face. I hadn’t said what she expected. I suddenly felt very old. At one time I would have enjoyed this sort of intrigue. I’d always taken great pleasure in mastering the little tests that Chade had constantly set for me. I’d participated in more than one of his dramas for the benefit of befuddling others. But tonight I suddenly just wanted to meet with my old master, find out what he wanted, and then go home. Was any of this subterfuge truly necessary any longer? We were at peace and politically stable. Why did he need to employ spies and set tests for people? It was time for me to cut through the fog and move the play along. But not so brazenly that Chade would be offended. So I peered at her again and asked, “Which do you think is best? Mulled wine by a warm hearth on a cold day, or having a tankard while sitting in the shade?”

She cocked her head at me, and she was much younger than I’d thought. I was suddenly sure she hadn’t seen twenty summers. Where did I know her from? “Beer in the shade,” she said without hesitation. “Though shade can be hard to find when the sun hasn’t been out for days.”

I nodded and gathered up my wet cloak. “Why don’t we look for Chade?” I suggested, and she smiled.

I stood and she took my arm. She led the way as we threaded our way through the inn’s customers toward the base of the wooden stairs that led to the rooms above. The storm outside had grown stronger. A gust of wind buffeted the inn; the interior shutters lunged with it. An instant later the door blew wide open and stood thus, wind and rain gusting in. Amid cries from all tables for someone to shut the door, two men staggered in, leaning on each other. One of the men reached an empty table, put both hands flat on it, and stood there, just breathing. Riddle turned back to the door and slammed it shut against the storm. In the next moment I recognized Chade leaning on the table. “And there he is,” I said to my companion in a quiet voice.

“Who?” she asked me, and I knew a moment of chagrin.

“My friend. The one I was waiting for.” I slurred the words slightly, tugged free of her grip on my arm, and went to meet Chade and Riddle. I turned my head just enough that, from the corner of my eye, I was aware of her backward glance at me as she ascended the stairs. A man descending the stairs met her eyes and gave her a barely perceptible nod. A whore, then?

Well, that had been peculiar. It was not the first time that Chade and his machinations had left me in an awkward position.

“Are you all right?” I asked quietly when I reached his side. He was breathing as if he’d just run a race. I offered him my arm and he took it, a distressing sign of how battered he felt. Without a word, Riddle took his other arm. We exchanged concerned looks.

“Terrible storm. Let’s get a place by the fire,” Chade suggested. His lips were dark, and he breathed noisily through his nose. His “disguise” was limited to soberly colored garb of an excellent weave and a plain cut. His steel-gray hair hinted at his age, but his face and bearing did not betray it. He had outlived his brother and all three of his nephews and I suspected he would outlast me, his grandnephew. But tonight the journey had taken a toll on him and he needed rest. The Skill could maintain his body but it could not make him a young man again.

I surveyed the crowded room. The place I had saved near the hearth had closed up as soon as I vacated it. “Unlikely,” I told him. “But two of the upstairs rooms have hearths in them. I’ll ask if either is empty.”

“Arrangements were made. Riddle, please make sure my requests were granted,” Chade told me. Riddle nodded, dismissed for now. He and I exchanged a look. Riddle and I had a long history, longer than his friendship with Nettle. Long before he had met and courted my daughter, he had been my brother-in-arms. In our little war with the Pale Woman on Aslevjal Island, I had left him as worse than dead. He’d forgiven me for that. I’d forgiven him for being Chade’s spy upon me. We understood each other, perhaps better than Chade realized. And so the nod we shared was that of old fellowship. He was a typical Buckman, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and garbed tonight to blend in with the tavern’s crowd. He moved off, effortlessly eeling through the crowd without anyone scowling at being displaced. It was a talent I envied him.

“Let’s sit down until Riddle comes back,” I suggested and set an example. The table was an undesirable one, placed near the draft of the door, and away from both the hearth and the kitchen. It was as private a place to chat as we could wish for in such a busy place. Chade sank ungracefully into a chair across the table from mine. His eyes wandered the room; he glanced up the stairs and nodded slightly to himself. I wondered if he was looking for someone, or if it was merely an old assassin’s habit to be aware of anyone who might be a danger. I waited for him to broach his business.

“Why so busy in here?” he asked me.

“A caravan of horse and cattle traders passing through, is what the talk at the fire was about. Three merchants, six hands. They’d expected to make the next town before they stopped for the night, but the weather forced them in here. I hear they’re not too pleased with leaving their stock in open corrals for the night, but it was the best this place could offer them. The working hands will be sleeping in the barn lofts tonight. The merchants claim to have some top-quality stock and say they’re worried about thieves, but I heard two stable boys referring to their horses as used-up hacks. One merchant doesn’t say much, but the tack on his riding horse is Chalcedean style. And his personal horse is a pretty good one.”

He nodded and despite his weariness, his mouth twisted with wry amusement. “I taught you that,” he said with satisfaction. His eyes met mine, and the fondness in them startled me. Was he becoming sentimental in his old age?

“Reporting to you, correctly and completely, was one of the first things you taught me,” I agreed. We were both silent for a moment, thinking of all else he had taught me.

I had rebelled and escaped the fate of being the king’s assassin. Chade had never wished to. He might no longer live like a hidden spider in the secret passageways of Buckkeep Castle, he might be hailed as Lord Chade now and openly advise King Dutiful, but I had no doubt that if King Dutiful thought a man needed killing, Chade could still rise to the occasion.

He was breathing more easily now. A tavern boy appeared, thunked down two heavy mugs of hot buttered rum, and waited. Chade smiled at me. I tipped my head at him, shook my head, and then with a faked show of reluctance found coins inside my belt and paid for our drinks. As the lad moved away, I asked Chade, “Was it harder than you expected to bring Riddle through the pillar with you?”

He didn’t deny it. “He took it better than I did,” Chade admitted. “Even if I did borrow strength from him to do it.” He lifted his steaming mug, drank, and sighed. His eyes above the rim roved the room again.

I nodded, and then had to ask, “How did you do it? He’s not Skilled.”

“No. But Nettle has taught him to lend strength to her when she needs it, and that creates a sort of opening … well, that’s not the right word. A handle? I’m not sure what to call it. Rather like a horse with a halter always on, there’s a place to clip a lead when he’s needed. He serves her in that capacity, as a source of strength. And in a few others as well.”