fleet evidently had been temporarily beaten back, for two ships from the south had docked today, with rumours of others following. I had seen Lord Golden’s face light up at that news. Lord Golden dismissed the war to his friends as an inconvenience that interrupted his supply of apricot brandy but I noticed that the ships that did evade Chalced’s patrols often brought packets of letters for him as well as brandy, and these the Fool took into his private room immediately. I suspected that far more than his supply of brandy and money concerned him. But he said nothing of what the missives contained, and I knew better than to ask. Evincing curiosity on any topic had always been the swiftest way to make the Fool cut off the flow of information.
So I spent the afternoon standing at his shoulder in a darkened hall. The story was very Jamaillian, all about priests and nobles and intrigues, and at the end their dual-faced deity appeared to restore order and mete out justice. The play more befuddled than amused me. I could not adjust to people playing different roles. A puppet has no life of its own, save the story for which it is intended. It was disconcerting to recognize that the man now playing a servant had been one of the acolytes earlier in the play. It was difficult for me to concentrate on the story, and not just because of my confusion, but because the Prince’s misery spread out like a miasma that lapped against me in the dimmed hall. He did not deliberately Skill it; it leaked from him like moisture seeping from a waterskin. On the stage, actors gestured and shouted and struck poses. But the Prince sat beside his mother, alone and miserable in his social discomfort. In the last month or so, the renewed gaiety of Buckkeep Castle had exposed him to many folk his own age. Through Civil, he had begun to explore camaraderie and flirtation. Now all that must be curtailed for the sake of the political alliance his mother strove to forge. I could feel him pondering both the unfairness and the necessity of it. It was not sufficient that he be bound in marriage to the Narcheska Elliania. He must make it appear it was his choice to be so bound.
Yet it was not.
Later in the evening, Lord Golden granted me a few hours of my own. I changed back into comfortable clothes and made my way to Buckkeep Town and the Stuck Pig. In light of what I had witnessed at the keep, I was disposed to be more tolerant of Hap’s wayward courtship. Perhaps, I reflected as I strode through falling snow on my way to town, it struck some greater balance in the wide world, that Hap could freely indulge in what was completely denied to the Prince.
The Stuck Pig was quiet. I had been here often enough that I could recognize the tavern’s regular customers. They were there, but there were few others. Doubtless the blowing snow and rising storm were keeping many indoors tonight. I glanced about but saw no sign of Hap. My heart lifted a trifle; perhaps he was at home, already abed. Perhaps the novelty of life in town was wearing thin, and he was learning to order his life more sensibly. I sat in the corner that Hap and Svanja favoured and a boy brought me a beer.
My musing was brought to a swift close when a red-faced man of middle years came in the door. He wore no cloak or coat of any kind and his head was bare, his dark hair spangled with snowflakes. He gave his head an angry shake to clear both snow and water droplets from his hair and beard, and then glared at my corner of the tavern. He seemed surprised to see me sitting there; he turned and confronted the tavern keeper, asking him something angrily in a low voice. The man shrugged. When the newcomer clenched his fists and made a second demand, the tavern keeper gestured hastily at me, speaking in a low voice.
The man turned and stared at me, eyes narrowed, and then strode angrily towards me. I came to my feet as he drew near, but prudently kept the table between us. He thudded his fists on the scarred wood, and then demanded, ‘Where are they?’
‘Who?’ I asked, but with a sinking heart I knew to whom he referred. Svanja had her father’s brow.
‘You know who. The keeper says you’ve met them here before. My daughter Svanja and that demon-eyed country whelp who has lured her away from her parents’ hearth. Your son, is what the keeper says.’ Master Hartshorn made the words an accusation.
‘He has a name. Hap. And yes, he is my son.’ I was instantly angry, but it was a cold anger, clear as ice. I shifted my weight very slightly, clearing my hip. If he came across the table at me, my knife would meet him.
‘Your son.’ He spoke the word with contempt. ‘I’d be shamed to admit it. Where are they?’
I suddenly heard the desperation as well as the fury in his voice. So. Svanja wasn’t at home, and neither she nor Hap was here. Where could they be on a snowy, dark night like this? Little question of what they were doing. My heart sank, but I spoke quietly. ‘I don’t know where they are. But I feel no shame to claim Hap as my son. Nor do I think he “lured” your daughter into anything. If anything, it is the reverse, with your Svanja teaching my son town ways.’
‘How dare you!’ he roared and drew back a meaty fist.
‘Lower your voice and your hand,’ I suggested icily. ‘The first to spare your daughter’s reputation. The second to spare your life.’
My posture drew his eyes to my ugly sword at my hip. His anger did not die, but I saw it tempered with caution. ‘Sit down,’ I invited him, but it was as much command as suggestion. ‘Take control of yourself. And let us speak of what concerns us both, as fathers.’
Slowly he drew out a chair, his eyes never leaving me. I was as slow to resume my seat. I made a gesture at the innkeeper. I did not like the eyes of the other customers fixed on us, but there was little I could do. A few moments later, a boy scuttled over to our table, clapped down a mug of beer before Master Hartshorn and then scurried away. Svanja’s father glanced at the beer contemptuously. ‘Do you really think I will sit here and drink with you? I need to find my daughter, as swiftly as possible.’
‘Then she is not at home with your wife,’ I concluded.
‘No.’ He folded his lips. The next words he spoke were barbed, with bits of his pride torn free with them. ‘Svanja said she was going up to her bed in the loft. Some time later, I noticed a task she had left undone. I called to her to come back down and finish her work. When she did not reply, I climbed the ladder. She is not there.’ The words seemed to disarm his anger, leaving only a father’s disappointment and fear. ‘I came here directly.’
‘Without even a hat or cloak. I see. Is there nowhere else she might be? A grandmother’s house, a friend’s home?’
‘We have no kin in Buckkeep Town. We only arrived here last spring. And Svanja is not the kind of girl who makes friends with other girls.’ With every word, he seemed to have less fury and more despair.
I suspected then that Hap was not the first young man to claim her fancy, nor that this was the first time her father had sought for her after dark. I kept the observation to myself. Instead, I picked up my beer and drained it off. ‘I know of only one other place to seek them. Come. We’ll go there together. It’s where my son boards while I work up at the keep.’
He left his beer untouched, but rose as I did. Eyes followed us as we left the tavern together. Outside in the darkness, snow had begun to swirl more swiftly. He hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms on his chest. I spoke through the wind, asking the question I dreaded but must. ‘You completely oppose Hap’s courtship of your daughter?’
I could not see his face in the dimness but his voice was bright with outrage. ‘Oppose? Of course I do! He has not even had the courage to come to me, to say his name to me and declare his intent! And even if he did, I would oppose it. He tells her he is an apprentice … well then, why does not he live at his master’s house, if that is true? And if it is true, what is he thinking, to court a woman before he can even make his own living? He has no right. He is completely unsuitable for Svanja.’
He did not need to mention Hap’s mismatched eyes. Nothing Hap could do would overcome Hartshorn’s dislike of him.
It was a short walk to Jinna’s door. I knocked, dreading encountering her as much as I dreaded finding that Hap and Svanja were not there. It took a moment before Jinna called through the closed door, ‘Who’s there?’
‘Tom Badgerlock,’ I replied. ‘And Svanja’s father.