Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2)

Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2) Page 142

My eyes fell on a heavy pottery bowl, upside down on the corner of the table. There was a dead rat under it. Well, there was most of a dead rat under. I’d taken it from the ferret last night. From a sound sleep, a Wit scream of hideous pain had awakened me. It was not the ordinary snuffing of a small creature’s life. Anyone with the Wit had to become inured to those constant ripples. Usually, little creatures went like popping bubbles. Among animals, death is a daily chance one takes in the course of living. Only a human bonded to a creature could have given such a roar of dismay, outrage, and sorrow over a creature’s death.

Once jolted awake by it, I had given up all hope of going back to sleep. It was as if my wound of losing Nighteyes had suddenly been torn afresh. I had arisen and, loath to awaken the Fool, had instead come up to the tower. On the way I had encountered the ferret dragging the rat. It had been the largest, most glossily healthy rat I had ever seen. After a chase and a tussle, the ferret had surrendered it to me. There was no way I could prove that this dead rat had been someone’s Wit-beast, but my suspicions were strong. I had saved it to show it to Chade. I knew we had a spy sneaking about within the keep’s walls. Laurel’s lynched sprig of laurel was proof enough of that. Now it seemed possible that the rat and his Wit-partner had not only penetrated to the royal residence, but knew something of our hidden lairs. I hoped the old man would come to the tower this evening.

I now turned to the two old Skill scrolls we’d been piecing together. They were more challenging than the Icefyre vellums, and yet more satisfying to work on. Chade believed the two were part of the same work, based on the apparent age of the vellum and the style of lettering used. I believed they were two separate works, based on the choice of words and the illustrations. Both were faded and cracked, with portions of words or whole sentences unreadable. Both were in an archaic lettering that gave me headaches. Beside each scroll was a clean piece of vellum, with Chade’s and my line-for-line translations of the two. Looking at them, I realized that my handwriting predominated now. I glanced at Chade’s latest contribution. It was a sentence that began “The use of elfbark.” I frowned at that, and found the corresponding line in the old scroll. The illustration beside it was faded, but it was definitely not elfbark. The word Chade had translated as “elfbark” was partially obscured by a stain. But squinting at it, I had to agree that “elfbark” did seem the most likely configuration of the letters. Well, that made no sense. Unless the illustration did not pertain to that part of the text. In which case, the piece I had translated might be all wrong. I sighed.

The wine rack swung open. Chade entered, followed by Thick bearing a tray of food and drink. “Good evening,” I greeted them, and carefully set my work to one side.

“Good evening, Tom,” Chade greeted me.

“Evening, master,” dogstink Thick echoed him.

Don’t call me that. “Good evening, Thick. I thought you and I were going to meet here earlier today.”

The half-wit set the tray down on the table and scratched himself. “Forgot,” he said with a shrug, but his little eyes narrowed as he said it.

I gave Chade a glance of resignation. I had tried, but the old man’s surly stare seemed to say I had not tried hard enough. I tried to think of a way to be rid of Thick so I could discuss the rat with Chade.

“Thick? Next time you bring up wood for the fire, could you bring an extra load? Sometimes in the evening, it gets quite cold up here.” I gestured at the dwindling flames. I’d had to let it die down, as there was no more wood to fuel it.

Cold dogstink. The thought reached me clearly but he simply stood and stared at me slackly as if he had not understood my words.

“Thick? Two loads of firewood tonight. All right?” Chade spoke to him, a bit more loudly than was needed and saying each word clearly. Could he not sense how much that annoyed Thick? The man was simple, but not deaf. Nor stupid, really.

Thick nodded slowly. “Two loads.”

“You could go get it right now,” Chade told him.

“Now,” Thick agreed. As he turned to go, he gave me a brief glance from the corner of his eyes. Dogstink. More work.

I waited until he had gone before I spoke to Chade. He had set the tray on the table opposite from the scrolls. “He doesn’t try to assault me with the Skill anymore. But he uses it to insult me, privately. He knows you cannot hear him. I don’t know why he dislikes me so much. I’ve done nothing to him.”

Chade lifted one shoulder. “Well, you will both just have to get past that and work together. And you must begin soon. The Prince must have some sort of Skill coterie to accompany him on this quest, even if it’s only a serving man he can draw strength from. Court Thick, Fitz, and win him. We need him.” When I met his words with silence, he sighed. Glancing about, he offered, “Wine?”