Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (13 page)

Fitz? I wondered aloud.

It is your name. FitzChivalry. As it seems to
have lost its sting with you, I will use it now. I was beginning to
weary of boy.

I bowed my head. We went on to talk of other
things. It was an hour or so until morning when I left his
windowless chambers and returned to my own. I went back to bed, but
sleep eluded me. I had always stifled the hidden anger I felt at my
position at court. Now it smoldered within me, so I could not rest.
I threw off my blankets and dressed in my outgrown clothes, left
the Keep, and walked down into Buckkeep Town.

The brisk wind off the water blew damp cold like
a wet slap in the face. I pulled my cloak more tightly around
myself and tugged up my hood. I walked briskly, avoiding icy spots
on the steep roadway down to town. I tried not to think, but I
found that the brisk pumping of my blood was warming my anger more
than my flesh. My thoughts danced like a
reined-in-horse.

When I had first come to Buckkeep Town, it had
been a busy, grubby little place. In the last decade it had grown
and adopted a veneer of sophistication, but its roots were only too
plain. The town clung to the cliffs below Buckkeep Castle, and when
those cliffs gave way to the rocky beaches, the warehouses and
sheds were built out on docks and pilings. The good deep anchorage
that sheltered below Buckkeep attracted merchant vessels and
traders. Farther to the north, where the Buck River met the sea,
there were gentler beaches, and the wide river to carry trading
barges far inland to the Inland Duchies. The land closest to the
river mouth was susceptible to flooding, and the anchorage
unpredictable as the river shifted in its course. So the folk of
Buckkeep Town lived crowded together on the steep cliffs above the
harbor like the birds on Egg Bluffs. It made for narrow, badly
cobbled streets that wound back and forth across the steepness as
they made their way down to the water. The houses, shops, and inns
clung humbly to the cliff face, endeavoring to offer no resistance
to the winds that were almost constant there. Higher up the cliff
face, the more ambitious homes and businesses were of timber, with
their foundations cut into the stone of the cliffs themselves. But
I knew little of that stratum. I had run and played as a child
among the humbler shops and sailors inns that fronted almost on the
water itself.

By the time I reached this area of Buckkeep
Town, I was ironically reflecting that both Molly and I would have
been better off had we never become friends. I had compromised her
reputation, and if I continued my attentions, she would most likely
become a target for Regal's malice. As for myself, the anguish I
had felt at believing she had blithely left me for another was but
a scratch compared with the bleeding now at knowing she thought I
had deceived her.

I came out of my bleak thoughts to realize that
my traitorous feet had carried me to the very door of her
chandlery. Now it was a tea-and-herb shop. Just what Buckkeep Town
needed; another tea-and-herb shop. I wondered what had become of
Molly's beehives. It gave me a pang to realize that for Molly the
sense of dislocation must be ten times
–
no, a hundred times worse. I had so easily accepted that
Molly had lost her father, and with him her livelihood and her
prospects. So easily accepted the change that made her a servant in
the Keep. A servant. I clenched my teeth and kept
walking.

I wandered the town aimlessly. Despite my bleak
mood, I noticed how much it had changed in the last six months.
Even on this cold winter day, it bustled. The construction of the
ships had brought more folk, and more folk meant more trade. I
stopped in a tavern where Molly, Dirk, Kerry, and I had used to
share a bit of brandy now and then. The cheapest blackberry brandy
was usually what we got. I sat by myself and drank my short beer in
silence, but around me tongues wagged and I learned much. It was
not just the ship construction that had bolstered Buckkeep Town's
prosperity. Verity had put out a call for sailors to man his
warships. The call had been amply answered, by men and women from
all of the Coastal Duchies. Some came with a grudge to settle, to
avenge those killed or Forged by the Raiders. Others came for the
adventure, and the hope of booty, or simply because in the ravaged
villages, they had no other prospects. Some were from fisher or
merchant families, with sea time and water skills. Others were the
former shepherds and farmers of ravaged villages. It mattered
little.

All had come to Buckkeep Town, eager to shed
Red-Ship blood.

For now, many were housed in what had once been
warehouses. Hod, the Buckkeep weaponsmaster, was giving them
weapons training, winnowing out those she thought might be suitable
for Verity's ships. The others would be offered hire as soldiers.
These were the extra folk that swelled the town and crowded the
inns and taverns and eating places. I heard complaints, too, that
some of those who came to man the warships were immigrant
Outislanders, displaced from their own land by the very Red-Ships
that now menaced our coasts. They, too, claimed to be eager for
revenge, but few Six Duchies folk trusted them, and some businesses
in town would not sell to them. It gave an ugly charged
undercurrent to the busy tavern. There was a snickering discussion
of an Outislander who had been beaten on the docks the day before.
No one had called the town patrol. When the speculation became even
uglier, that these Outislanders were all spies and that burning
them out would be a wise and sensible precaution, I could no longer
stomach it, and left the tavern. Was there nowhere I could go to be
free of suspicions and intrigues, if only for an hour?

I walked alone through the wintry streets. A
storm was blowing up. The merciless wind prowled the twisting
streets, promising snow. The same angry cold twisted and churned
inside me, switching from anger to hatred to frustration and back
to anger again, building to an unbearable pressure. They had no
right to do this to me. I had not been born to be their tool. I had
a right to live my life freely, to be who I was born to be. Did
they think they could bend me to their will, use me however they
would, and I would never retaliate? No. A time would come. My time
would come.

A man hurried toward me, face shrouded in his
hood against the wind. He glanced up and our eyes met. He blanched
and turned aside, to hurry back the way he had come. Well, and so
he might. I felt my anger building to an unbearable heat. The wind
whipped at my hair and sought to chill me, but I only strode
faster, and felt the strength of my hatred grow hotter. It lured me
and I followed it like the scent of fresh blood.

I turned a corner and found myself in the
market. Threatened by the coming storm, the poorer merchants were
packing up their goods from their blankets and mats. Those with
stalls were fastening their shutters. I strode past them. People
scuttled out of my way. I brushed past them, not caring how they
stared.

I came to the animal vendor's stall, and stood
face-to-face with myself. He was gaunt, with bleak dark eyes. He
glared at me balefully, and the waves of hatred pulsing out from
him washed over me in greeting. Our hearts beat to the same rhythm.
I felt my upper lip twitch, as if to snarl up and bare my pitiful
human teeth. I straightened my features, battered my emotion back
under control. But the caged wolf cub with the dirty gray coat
stared up at me, and lifted his black lips to reveal all his teeth.
I hate you. All of you. Come, come closer. I'll kill you. I'll rip
out your throat after I hamstring you. I'll feast on your entrails.
I hate you.

You want something?

Blood, I said quietly. I want your
blood.

What?

I jerked my eyes from the wolf up to the man. He
was greasy and dirty. He stank, by El, how he reeked. I could smell
sweat and rancid food and his own droppings on him. He was swaddled
in poorly cured hides, and the stench of them hung about him as
well. He had little ferret eyes, and cruel dirty hands, and an oak
stick bound in brass that hung at his belt. It was all I could do
to keep from seizing that hated stick and splattering his brains
out with it. He wore thick boots on his kicking feet. He stepped
too close to me and I gripped my cloak to keep from killing
him.

Wolf, I managed to get out. My voice sounded
guttural, choking. I want the wolf.

You certain, boy? He's a mean one. He nudged the
cage with his foot and I sprang at it, clashing my teeth against
the wooden bars, bruising my muzzle again, but I didn't care, if I
could get just one grip on his flesh, I'd tear it loose or never
let go.

No. Get back, get out of my head. I shook my
head to clear it. The merchant regarded me strangely. I know what I
want. I spoke flatly, refusing the wolf's emotions.

Do you, eh? The man stared at me, judging my
worth. He'd charge what he thought I could afford. My outgrown
clothes didn't please him, nor my youth. But I surmised he'd had
the wolf for a while. He'd hoped to sell him as a cub. Now, with
the wolf needing more food and not getting it, the man would
probably take whatever he could get. As well for me. I didn't have
much. What do you want him for? the man asked casually.

Pits, I said nonchalantly. He's scrawny, but
there might be a bit of sport left in him.

The wolf suddenly flung himself against the
bars, jaws wide, teeth flashing. I'll kill them, I'll kill them
all, rip their throats out, tear their bellies open ....

Be silent, if you want your freedom. I mentally
gave him a push and the wolf leaped back as if stung by a bee. He
retreated to the far corner of his cage and cowered there, teeth
bared, but tail down between his legs. Uncertainty flooded
him.

Dog fights, eh? Oh, he'll put up a good fight.
The merchant nudged at the cage again with a thick boot, but the
wolf didn't respond. He'll win you a lot of coin, this one will.
He's meaner than a wolverine. He kicked the cage, harder. The wolf
cowered smaller.

Oh, he certainly looks as if he will, I said
disdainfully. I turned aside from the wolf as if I'd lost interest.
I studied the caged birds behind him. The pigeons and doves looked
as if they were cared for, but two jays and a crow were crowded
into a filthy cage littered with rotting scraps of meat and bird
droppings. The crow looked like a beggar man in black tatters of
feathers. Pick at the bright bug, I suggested to the birds. Perhaps
you'll find a way out. The crow perched wearily where he was, head
sunk deep in his feathers, but one jay fluttered to a higher perch
and began to tap and tug at the metal pin that held the cage
fastened. I glanced back at the wolf.

I hadn't intended to fight him anyway. I was
only going to throw him to the dogs to warm them up. A bit of blood
primes them for a fight.

Oh, but he'd make you a fine fighter. Here, look
at this. This is what he done to me but a month gone. And me trying
to give him food when he went for me.

He rolled back a sleeve to bare a grimy wrist
striped with livid slashes, but half-healed still.

I leaned over as if mildly interested. Looks
infected. Think you'll lose your hand?

'S not infected. Just slow healing, that's all.
Look here, boy, a storm's coming up. I got to put my wares in my
cart and haul off before it hits. Now, you going to make me an
offer for that wolf? He'll make you a fine fighter.

He might make bear bait, but not much more than
that. I'll give you, oh, six coppers. I had a grand total of
seven.

Coppers? Boy, we're talking silvers here, at
least. Look, he's a fine animal. Feed him up a bit, he'll get
bigger and meaner. I could get six coppers for his hide alone,
right now.

Then you'd best do it, before he gets any
mangier. And before he decides to take your other hand off. I
leaned closer to the cage, pushing as I did so, and the wolf
cowered more deeply. Looks sick to me. My master would be furious
with me if I brought him in and the dogs got sick from killing him.
I glanced up at the sky. Storm is coming. I'd better be
off.

One silver, boy. And that's giving him to
you.

At that moment the jay succeeded in pulling the
pin. The cage door swung open and he hopped to the door's edge. I
casually stepped between the man and the cage. Behind me, I heard
the jays hop out to the top of the pigeons' cage. Door's open, I
pointed out to the crow. I heard him rattle his pathetic feathers.
I caught up the pouch at my belt, hefted it thoughtfully. A silver?
I don't have a silver. But it's no matter, really. I just realized
I've no way to cart him home with me. Best I don't buy
him.

Behind me, the jays took flight. The man blazed
out a curse and lunged past me toward the cage. I managed to get
entangled with him so that we both fell. The crow had made it as
far as the cage door. I shook myself clear of the merchant and
jumped to my feet, jarring the cage to spook the bird out into the
free air. He beat his wings laboriously, but they carried him to
the roof of a nearby inn. As the merchant lumbered to his feet the
crow opened his threadbare wings and cawed derisively.

There's a whole cageful of my wares gone! he
began accusingly, but I caught up my cloak and pointed to a tear in
it. My master's going to be angry over this! I exclaimed, and
matched him glare for glare.