Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2)

Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2) Page 192

“He’ll be fine for you,” someone said. I suspected it was the one called Padget. “He’s told us a lot already, haven’t you, dummy? The old man’s taken a liking to him. Hasn’t he, Thick? Don’t you work for Lord Chade himself now? Tell him about Lord Chade and his special room.” And then, obviously speaking to Laudwine and not Thick, “This was sheer good fortune. When the stable boy first dragged him down here, I thought as you do, that he’d be useless. But up at the keep, they let this moron wander wherever he wishes. He knows things, Laudwine. You just have to know how to drag them out of him.” I could not see Padget through Thick’s eyes, but I felt him. A large man, wide rather than tall, threatening, who could make pain with his hands without hitting.

Then another voice spoke, a woman’s voice. “He’s worked well for us, horseman. Don’t try to change . . . what is your saying? To change horses in the middle of the stream? Yes. If you wish what we have to offer, then do not disrupt what is working well for us.”

I’d heard her voice before, I thought. I pummeled my memories, trying to place it, but could only decide that she was someone from inside the keep. I kept the thought tiny and to myself, fearful of breaking the unwinding thread of Thick’s memories. He had been confused and frightened that day, overshadowed by the arrival of the tall man with one arm, and intimidated by the way they all spoke over and past him. Yet never once did the man who gripped his arm let him go.

Laudwine’s voice was the hammering of a smith’s blows. “I don’t care what is working well for you, woman, nor do I care for your offer. My vengeance belongs to me, and I won’t sell it to you for your foreign gold. I care nothing about this Chade. I want Lord Golden’s head, yes, and the bloody arm of that dog that works for him. Or have you forgotten that, Padget, in your quest to sell the Piebalds out? That Lord Golden owes me a life, and his traitorous servant an arm?”

“I haven’t forgotten, Laudwine. I was with you, man!” Padget’s voice was the low rumble of a rolling wagon wheel, grinding out anger and rebuke. “Do you forget it was me who rode double with you that day, to keep you from falling from your saddle? When she made her offer, I only thought, well, what do we care how they die? Let her have them, and let us use her gold for our cause, to bring the Farseer’s false throne down.” Now his voice rose with self-righteousness, but it merged with the distant bleat of a goat in Thick’s mind.

“Shut up!” Laudwine’s voice was hot and heavy, ringing like hammers on red iron. “I care how they die! Their deaths belong to me! And my blood vengeance is not for sale. ‘Our’ cause will wait until my cause has been satisfied. I told you what I wanted, Padget. I want to know when they rise and where they eat, when they ride and where they sleep. I want to know when and where I can kill them. That’s what I want to know. Can your half-wit give us that?” Each word fell like a sledge blow, and they shaped Padget’s anger.

“Yes. He can. And he’s already given us a lot more than that, if you’d only listen to me. This Lord Chade and what the dummy knows of him, that is important knowledge. But if all you want is revenge, with no thought of what more we can have, well, you can have that. If you ask him right. Tell him, Dummy. Tell him about the stinking traitor dog who chopped his arm off, and what the old man calls him. Then maybe he’ll realize I’ve done better for the Piebalds while he was healing than he ever did for them when he had two hands.”

And then Thick recalled the sound of a hand striking meaty flesh, and Laudwine’s voice following it, a trifle out of breath at the effort. “Remember your place, Padget. Or lose it.”

Thick made a sharp movement, rocking forward, his hands clasped over his head. He made small animal sounds to himself as he rocked briefly, agitated at recalling the witnessed violence. “Na, na, na,” he begged, and for a time I let him be. I held scissors and comb aloft from him and waited for him to calm himself. There was cruelty in what I did, forcing the stubby little man to relive his fear. I had no taste for it, and yet do it I must. So I waited until he quieted, and as subtly as I knew, I used the Skill to soothe him and take him back again to that room. “It’s all right to think about it,” I suggested. “You’re safe now, here. They can’t find you here or hurt you here. You’re safe.” Through our Skill link, I felt him scowl. He resisted. I pushed gently, and suddenly his memories flowed again.

Thick took a long breath and sighed it out. I resumed my grooming of him. I think the stroking of the comb and the tickling of the falling hair had half-stupefied him. I doubted that anyone touched him much, and seldom with gentleness. His muscles were loosening like a stroked puppy. He made an affirmative noise.