improved, more folk wanted to live near Buckkeep, and yet did not want to be too far from the castle lest the raids resume.’
I could think of no sensible reply to her words, but the new stretch of town still surprised me. There was even a tavern as we got closer to the docks, and a hiring hall for rivermen. We rode past a row of warehouses that fronted onto the docks. Donkey-carts seemed the favoured transportation. Blunt-nosed river craft were tied up to the docks, unloading cargo from Farrow and Tilth. We passed another tavern, and then several cheap rooming-houses such as sailors seem to favour. The road followed the river upstream. Sometimes it was wide and sandy; in other places timbers had been laid in a sort of boardwalk over boggy stretches. The other horses seemed to take no notice of the change, but at every one we traversed, my black slowed her pace and set back her ears. She did not like the drumming of her hooves on the timber. I set my hand to her withers and quested towards her, offering reassurance. She turned her head to roll an eye at me, but remained as distant as ever. She probably would have refused to go on if there had not been two other horses to follow. She was plainly far more interested in her own kind than in any companionship I might offer.
I shook my head at the difference between her and the amiable horses in Burrich’s stable, and wondered if his Wit had made the difference. Whenever a mare birthed a foal, Burrich was at her side, and the baby knew the touch of his hand almost as soon as it knew the lick of its mother’s tongue. Was it merely the early presence of a human that had made the beasts in his stable so accepting, or was it his own Wit, suppressed but still present, that had made them so receptive to me?
The afternoon sun beat down on us, and the sun bounced off the river’s wide and gleaming surface. The thudding hooves of the three horses were a pleasant counterpoint to my thoughts as I pondered. Burrich had seen the Wit as a dark and low magic, a temptation to let the beast in my nature overwhelm me. Common lore agreed with him and went further; the Wit was a tool for evil, a shameful magic that led its practitioners into degradation and wickedness. Death and dismemberment was the only recognized cure for the Wit. My equanimity over Dutiful’s absence was suddenly threatened. True, the boy had not been kidnapped. But although the Skill had let me find him, it was undoubtedly the Wit the boy was employing in his night hunts. If he betrayed himself to anyone, he might be put to death. Perhaps not even his status as a prince would be enough to protect him from that fate. After all, the Wit had been enough to tumble me from the favour of the Coastal Dukes straight into Regal’s dungeons.
No wonder Burrich had given up all use of the Wit. No wonder he had so often threatened to beat it out of me. Yet I could not regret having it. Curse or blessing, it had saved my life more often than it had endangered it. And I could not help but believe that my deep sense of kinship with all life enhanced my days. I drew a deep breath and cautiously let my Wit unfold into a general sensing of the day around me. My awareness of both Malta and the Huntswoman’s horse sharpened, as did their acknowledgement of me. I sensed Laurel, not as another rider beside me, but as a large and healthy creature. Lord Golden was as unknowable to my Wit as the Fool ever was. From even that sense, he rippled aside, and yet his very mystery was a familiar one to me. Birds in the trees overhead were bright startles of life amongst the leaves. From the largest of the trees we passed, I sensed a deep green flow of being, a welling of existence that was unlike an animal’s awareness and yet was life all the same. It was as if my sense of touch expanded beyond my skin to make contact with all other forms of life around me. All the world shimmered with life, and I was a part of that network. Regret this oneness? Deny this expanded tactility?
‘You’re a quiet one,’ Laurel observed. With a start I became aware of her as a person again. My thoughts had run so deep, I had almost forgotten the woman riding beside me. She was smiling at me. Her eyes were pale blue, but with rings of darker blue at the edges. One iris, I noted, had an odd streak of green in it, radiating out from the centre. I could think of no reply so I simply shrugged and nodded. Her smile grew wider.
‘Have you been Huntswoman for the Queen long?’ I asked, simply to be saying something.
Laurel’s eyes grew thoughtful as she totted up the years. ‘Seven years now,’ she said quietly.
‘Ah. Then you know her well,’ I rejoined, wondering how much she truly knew of our present errand.
‘Well enough,’ Laurel replied, and I could almost see her wondering the same about me.
I cleared my throat. ‘Lord Golden visits Galeton in search of gamebirds. He has a passion for collecting feathers, you know.’ I did not directly ask any question.
She looked at me from the corner of her eye. ‘Lord Golden has many passions, it is said,’ she observed in a low voice. ‘And the funds to indulge them all.’ She gave me another glance, as if to ask if I would defend my master, but if there was an insult, I did not take its meaning. She looked ahead and spoke on. ‘As for me, I but travel along to scout the hunting for my queen. She likes to go after gamebirds in the autumn. I have hopes that in Galeton woods we may find the kind that she likes best.’
‘So do we all hope,’ I agreed. I liked her caution. We would get along well enough, I decided.
‘Have you known Lord Golden long?’ she asked me.
‘Not directly,’ I hedged. ‘I had heard he was looking for a man, and I was glad when an acquaintance recommended me.’
‘Then you’ve done this kind of work before?’
‘Not for some time. For the past ten years or so I’ve lived quietly, just my boy and me. But he’s of an age to apprentice out, and that takes hard coin. This is the fastest way I know to earn it.’
‘And his mother?’ she asked lightly. ‘Won’t she be lonely with both of you away?’
‘She’s gone many years,’ I said. Then, realizing that Hap might sometime venture up to Buckkeep, I decided to keep as close to the truth as I could. ‘He’s a fosterling I took in. I never knew his mother. But I think of him as my son.’
‘You’re not married, then?’
The question surprised me. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Neither am I.’ She gave me a small smile as if to say this gave us much in common. ‘So, how do you like Buckkeep so far?’
‘Well enough. I lived close by when I was a boy. It’s changed a great deal since then.’
‘I’m from Tilth myself. Up on the Branedee Downs is where I grew up, though my mother was from Buck. Her family lived not far from Galeton; I know the area, for I ranged there as a child. But mostly we lived near the Downs, where my father was Huntsman for Lord Sitswell. My father taught both my brothers and me the skills of being a huntsman. When he died, my older brother took his position. My younger brother returned to live amongst my mother’s people. I stayed on, mostly training the coursing horses in Lord Sitswell’s stable. But when the Queen and her party came hunting there years ago, I turned out to help, for the party was so large. The Queen took a liking to me, and –’ she grinned proudly ‘– I’ve been her Huntswoman ever since.’
I was trying to think of something more to say when Lord Golden beckoned us both to come closer.
I urged the black forwards and when we were close, he announced, ‘Those were the last of the houses for a way. I did not want folks saying that we rode in great haste, but neither do I wish to miss this evening’s only ferry from Lampcross. So now, good people, we ride. And, Badgerlock, we’ll see if that black is truly as fleet as the horse-seller said. Keep up as best you can. I’ll hold the ferry for us all.’ So saying, he touched his heels to Malta and let out her reins. It was all the permission she required. She sprang forwards, showing us her heels.
‘My Whitecap can match her any day!’ Laurel proclaimed, and gave her horse her head.
Catch them! I suggested to the black, and was almost shocked at her competitive response. From a walk, she all but leapt into a run. The smaller horses had the lead on us. Packed mud flew up from their hooves, and Malta led only by virtue of the narrowing trail. My black’s longer stride diminished their lead until