LITMIR.BIZ

       FIFTEEN Galeton

      Since the time of the Piebald Prince, the scouring of the Witted has been accepted within the Six Duchies as matter-of-factly as enforced labour for bad debt or flogging for thieves. It was the normal way of the world, and unquestioned. In the years following the Red Ship War, it was natural that the purging should begin in earnest. The Cleansing of Buck had freed the land of the Red Ship Raiders and the Forged ones they had created. Honest folk hoped to purify the Six Duchies of unnatural taints completely. Some were, perhaps, too swift to punish on little evidence. For a time, accusations of being Witted were enough to make any man, guilty or not, tremble for fear of his life.

      The self-styled Piebalds took advantage of this climate of suspicion and violence. While not revealing themselves, they publicly exposed well-known figures who were possessed of the Wit but never spoke out against the persecution of their more vulnerable fellows. It was the first attempt by the Witted as a group to wield any sort of political power. Yet it was not the effort of a people to defend themselves against unjust persecution, but the underhanded tactic of a duplicitous faction determined to seize power for themselves by any available means. They had no more loyalty to themselves than a pack of dogs.

      Delvin’s The Politics of the Piebald Cabal

      As it turned out, my race to the ferry landing was of small use. The ferry was there and tied up, and so it would remain, the captain told me, until an expected cargo of two waggons of sea salt arrived. When Lord Golden and Laurel arrived, which, to speak fairly, was not so much longer after I did, the captain remained adamant. Lord Golden offered him a substantial purse to leave without the waggons, but the captain shook his head with a smile. ‘I’d have your coins once, and nice as they might clink, I could only spend them once. I wait for the waggons at Lady Bresinga’s request. Her coins come to me every week, and I’ll not do anything to risk her ill-will. You’ll have to wait, good sir, begging your pardon.’

      Lord Golden was little pleased with this, but there was nothing he could do. He told me to remain there with the horses, and took himself off to the landing inn where he could have a mug of ale in comfort while he waited. It was in keeping with our roles, and I harboured no resentment. I told myself this several times. If Laurel had not been with us, perhaps he would have found a way for us to share some time without compromising our public roles. I had looked forwards to a companionable journey with him and time in which we did not have to maintain our façade of master and servant but I resigned myself to what was necessary. Still, something of my regrets must have showed in my face, for Laurel came to keep pace with me as I walked the horses about in a field near the ferry landing. ‘Is something troubling you?’ she asked me.

      I glanced at her in some surprise at the sympathy in her voice. ‘Just missing an old friend,’ I replied honestly.

      ‘I see,’ she answered, and when I offered no more on the topic, she observed, ‘You’ve a good master. He held no grudge against you that you beat him in our race. Many’s the master who would have found a way to make you regret your victory over him.’

      The idea startled me, not as Tom Badgerlock but as Fitz. It had never occurred to me that the Fool might resent a race fairly won. Plainly I was not fully settled into my role. ‘That’s true, I suppose. But the victory was his as much as mine. He chose the horse, and at first I was not much impressed with the beast. But she can run, and in running she showed a spirit I didn’t suspect she had. I think I can make a good mount of her yet.’

      Laurel stepped back to run a critical eye over my black. ‘She seems a good mount to me. What made you doubt her?’

      ‘Oh.’ I searched for words that would not make me sound Witted. ‘She seemed to lack a certain willingness. Some horses want to please. Your Whitecap is one, and Malta another. My black seems to lack that. But as we get to know one another, perhaps it will come.’

      ‘Myblack? That’s her name?’

      I shrugged and smiled. ‘I suppose so. I hadn’t given her one, but, yes, I suppose that’s what I’ve been calling her.’

      She gave me a sideways glance. ‘Well, it’s a little better than Blacky or Queenie.’

      I grinned at her disapproval. ‘I know what you mean. Well, she may yet show me a name that fits her more truly, but for now she’s Myblack.’

      For a time we walked in silence. She kept glancing up the roads that led down to the ferry landing. ‘I wish those waggons would come. I don’t even see them.’

      ‘Well, the land rises and falls a good deal along here. They may crest a hill anytime and come into view for us.’

      ‘I hope so. I’d like to be on our way. I’d hoped to reach Galeton before full dark. I’d like to get up in the hills as soon as possible and take a look around.’

      ‘For the Queen’s quarry,’ I supplied.

      ‘Yes.’ She glanced aside from me for a time. Then, as if making sure I understood that she did not break a confidence, she said bluntly, ‘Queen Kettricken told me that both you and Lord Golden are to be trusted. That I need hold nothing back from either of you.’

      I bowed my head to that. ‘The Queen’s confidence honours me.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Why?’ I was startled. ‘Well, such confidence from such a great lady to one like me is –’

      ‘Unbelievable. Especially when you arrived in Buckkeep Castle but a few days ago.’ Her eyes met mine squarely.

      Kettricken had chosen her confidante well. Yet her very intelligence could be a threat to me. I licked my lips, debating my answer. A small piece of truth, I decided. Truth was easiest to keep straight in later conversations. ‘I have known Queen Kettricken of old. I served her in several confidential ways during the time of the Red Ship war.’

      ‘Then it was for her that you came to Buckkeep rather than Lord Golden?’

      ‘I think it is fair to say I came for myself.’

      There was a time of silence. Together we led our horses to the river and allowed them to drink. Myblack showed no caution of the water, wading out to drink deep. I wondered how she would react to boarding the ferry. She was big and the river was wide. If she decided to give trouble, it could be an unpleasant crossing for me. I dipped a kerchief in the cold water and wiped my face with it.

      ‘Do you think the Prince just ran away?’

      I dropped the kerchief from my eyes to stare at her in surprise. This woman was blunt. She did not look away from me. I glanced about to be sure no one could hear us. ‘I don’t know,’ I said as bluntly. ‘I suspect he may have been lured rather than taken by force. But I do think others were involved in his leaving.’ Then I bit my tongue and chided myself for being too open. How would I back up that opinion? By revealing I was Witted? Better to listen than to talk.

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