LITMIR.BIZ

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declared that I would not be an assassin any more. It is strange to know that when you gave a boy what you thought was the best of yourself you actually crippled him. His frantic glance left me feeling small and shamed. I should have done better by him. I would do better by him. I heard myself speak the words before I even knew I had thought them. ‘I do have old friends at Buckkeep. I can borrow the money for your apprenticeship fee.’ My heart lurched at the thought of what form the interest on such a loan might take, but I steeled myself. I would go to Chade first, and if what he asked of me in return was too dear, I would seek out the Fool. It would not be easy to humbly ask to borrow money, but –

      ‘You’d do that? For me? But I’m not even really your son.’ Hap looked incredulous.

      I gripped his hand. ‘I would do that. Because you’re as close to a son as I’m ever likely to get.’

      ‘I’ll help you pay the debt, I swear.’

      ‘No, you won’t. It will be my debt, taken on freely. I’ll expect you to pay close attention to your master and devote yourself to learning your trade well.’

      ‘I will, Tom. I will. And I swear, in your old age, you shall lack for nothing.’ He spoke the words with the devout ardency of guileless youth. I took them as he intended them, and ignored the glowing amusement in Nighteyes’ gaze.

      See how edifying it is when someone sees you as tottering towards death?

      I never said you were at your grave’s edge.

      No. You just treat me as if I were brittle as old chicken bones.

      Aren’t you?

      No. My strength returns. Wait for the falling of the leaves and cooler weather. I’ll be able to walk you until you drop. Just as I always have.

      But what if I have to journey before then?

      The wolf lowered his head to his outstretched forepaws with a sigh. And what if you jump for a buck’s throat and miss? There’s no point to worrying about it until it happens.

      ‘Are you thinking what I am?’ Hap anxiously broke the seeming silence of the room.

      I met his worried gaze. ‘Perhaps. What were you thinking?’

      He spoke hesitantly. ‘That the sooner you speak to your friends at Buckkeep, the sooner we will know what to expect for the winter.’

      I replied slowly. ‘Another winter here would not suit you, would it?’

      ‘No.’ His natural honesty made him reply quickly. Then he softened it with, ‘It isn’t that I don’t like it here with you and Nighteyes. It’s just that …’ he floundered for a moment. ‘Have you ever felt as if you could actually feel time flowing away from you? As if life was passing you by and you were caught in a backwater with the dead fish and old sticks?’

      You can be the dead fish. I’ll be the old stick.

      I ignored Nighteyes. ‘I seem to recall I’ve had such a feeling, a time or two.’ I glanced at Verity’s incomplete map of the Six Duchies. I let out my breath and tried not to make it a sigh. ‘I’ll set out as soon as possible.’

      ‘I could be ready by tomorrow morning. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be –’

      ‘No.’ I cut him off firmly but kindly. I started to say that the people I must see, I must see alone. I caught myself before I could leave him wondering. Instead, I tipped a nod towards Nighteyes. ‘There are things here that will want looking after while I am gone. I leave them in your care.’

      Instantly he looked crestfallen, but to his credit he took a breath, squared his shoulders and nodded.

      Beside the table, Nighteyes rolled to his side, and then onto his back. Here’s the dead wolf. Might as well bury him, all he’s fit for is to lie about in a dusty yard and watch chickens he’s not permitted to kill. He paddled his paws vaguely at the air.

      Idiot. The chickens are why I’m asking the boy to stay, not you.

      Oh? So, if you woke up tomorrow and they were all dead, there would be no reason we could not set out together?

      You had better not, I warned him.

      He opened his mouth and let his tongue hang to one side. The boy smiled down at him fondly. ‘I always think he looks as if he’s laughing when he does that.’

      I didn’t leave the next morning. I was up long before the boy was. I pulled out my good clothes, musty from disuse, and hung them out to air. The linen of the shirt had yellowed with age. It had been a gift from Starling, long ago. I think I had worn it once on the day she gave it to me. I looked at it ruefully, thinking that it would appal Chade and amuse the Fool. Well, like so many other things, it could not be helped.

      There was also a box, built years ago and stored up in the rafters of my workshop. I wrestled it down, and opened it. Despite the oily rags that had wrapped it, Verity’s sword was tarnished with disuse. I put on the belt and scabbard, noting that I’d have to punch a new notch in the belt for it to hang comfortably. I sucked in a breath and buckled it as it was. I wiped an oily rag down the blade, and then sheathed the sword at my hip. When I drew it, it weighed heavy in my hand, yet balanced as beautifully as ever. I debated the wisdom of wearing it. I’d feel a fool if someone recognized it and asked difficult questions. I would feel even stupider, however, if my throat were cut for lack of a weapon at my side.

      I compromised by wrapping the jewelled grip with leather strips. The sheath itself was battered but serviceable. It looked appropriate to my station. I drew it again, and made a lunge, stretching muscles no longer accustomed to that reach. I resumed my stance and made a few cuts at the air.

      Amusement. Better take an axe.

      I don’t have one any more. Verity himself had given me this sword. But both he and Burrich had advised me that my style of fighting was more suited to the crudity of an axe than this graceful and elegant weapon. I tried another cut at the air. My mind remembered all Hod had taught me, but my body was having difficulty performing the moves.

      You chop wood with one.

      That’s not a battleaxe. I’d look a fool carrying that about with me. I sheathed the sword and turned to look at him.

      Nighteyes sat in the doorway of the workshop, his tail neatly curled about his feet. Amusement glinted in his dark eyes. He turned his head to stare innocently into the distance. I think one of the chickens died in the night. Sad. Poor old thing. Death comes for all of us eventually.

      He was lying, but he had the satisfaction of seeing me sheath the sword and hurry to see if it were so. All six of my biddies clucked and dusted themselves in the sun. The rooster, perched on a fence post, kept a watchful eye on his wives.

      How odd. I would have sworn that fat white hen looked poorly yesterday. I’ll just lie out here in the shade and keep an eye on her. He suited his actions to his thought, sprawling in the dappling shade of the birches while staring at the chickens intently. I ignored him and went back into the cabin.

      I was boring a new hole in the swordbelt when Hap woke up. He came sleepily to the table to watch me. He came awake when his eyes fell on the sword waiting in its sheath. ‘I’ve never seen that before.’

      ‘I’ve had it for a long time.’

      ‘I’ve never seen you wear it when we went to market. All you ever carried before was your sheath-knife.’

      ‘A trip to Buckkeep is a bit different from a trip to market.’ His question made me look at my own motives for taking the blade. When last I had seen Buckkeep, a number of people there wished me dead. If I encountered any of them and they recognized me, I wanted to be ready. ‘A city like that has a lot more rogues and scoundrels than a simple country market.’

      I finished boring the new belt notch and tried it on again. Better. I drew the sword and heard Hap’s indrawn breath. Even with the handle wrapped in plain leather, there was no mistaking

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