Fool's Errand
“And you have shared moments of the Prince's life?”
Chade pressed me.
“Perhaps. I suspect so. I often have vivid dreams, and to dream of being a boy in Buckkeep is not so foreign from my own experience. But Ê” I took a breath and forced myself on. “The important thing here is the cat, Chade. How long has he had it? Do you think he is Witted? Is he bonded to the cat?”
I felt like a liar, asking questions when I already knew the answers. My mind was rapidly shuffling through my dreams of the last fifteen years, sorting out those that came with the peculiar clarity that lingered after waking. Some could have been episodes from the Prince's life. Others I halted at the recollection of my fever dream of Burrich Nettle, too? Dreamsharing with Nettle? This new insight reordered my memory of the dream. I had not just witnessed those events from Nettle's perspective. I had been Skillsharing her life. It was possible that, as with Dutiful, the flow of Skillsharing had gone both ways. What had seemed a cherished glimpse into her life, a tiny window on Molly and Burrich, was now revealed as her vulnerability before my carelessness. I winced away from the thought and resolved a stronger wall about my thoughts. How could I have been so incautious? How many of my secrets had I spilled before those most vulnerable to them?
“How would I know if the boy was Witted?” Chade replied testily. “I never knew you were, until you told me. Even then, I didn't know what you were telling me at first.”
I was suddenly weary, too tired to lie. Whom was I trying to protect with deceit? I knew too well that lies did not shield for long, that in the end they became the largest chinks in any man's armor. “I suspect he is. And bonded to the cat. From dreams I've had.”
Before my eyes, the man aged. He shook his head wordlessly, and poured more brandy for both of us. I drank mine off while he drank his in long, considering sips. When he finally spoke, he said, “I hate irony. It is a manacle that ties our dreams to our fears. I had hoped you had a dream bond with the boy, a tie that would let you use the Skill to find him. And indeed you do, but with it you reveal my greatest fear for Dutiful is real. The Wit. Oh, Fitz. I wish I could go back and make my fears foolish instead of real.”
“Who gave him the cat?”
“One of the nobles. It was a gift. He receives far toomany gifts. All try to curry favor with him. Kettricken tries to turn aside those of the more valuable sort. She worries it will spoil the boy. But it was only a little hunting cat . . . yet it may be the gift that spoils him for his life.”
“I will have to look back in my journals,” Chade confessed. He gave me a dark look. “You can't expect an old man to have a young man's memory. I do the best I can, Fitz.” His reproachful look spoke volumes. If I had returned to Buckkeep, resumed my tasks at his side, I would know these vital answers. The thought brought a new question to my mind.
He watched me speculatively. After a moment he said, “Not ready for tasks such as these.”
I met his gaze squarely. “Is he, perhaps, recovering from, well, from a lightning strike from a clear sky? One that exploded an unused storage shed?”
He blinked, but kept control of his face. Even his voice remained steady as he ignored my thrust. “No, FitzChivalry, this task belongs to you. Only you have the unique abilities needed.”
“What, exactly, do you want of me?” The question was as good as surrender. I had already hastened to his side at his call. He knew I was still his. So did I.
“Find the Prince. Return him to us, discreetly, and Eda save us, unharmed. And do it while my excuses for his absence are still believable. Get him home safely to us before the Outislander delegation arrives to formalize the betrothal to their Princess.”
“How soon is that?”
He shrugged helplessly. “It depends on the winds and the waves and the strength of their oarsmen. They have already departed the Out Islands. We had a bird tell us so. The formality is scheduled for the new moon. If they arrive before that and the Prince is not here, I could, perhaps, fabricate something about his meditating alone before such a serious event in his life. But it would be a thin facade, one that would crumble if he did not appear for the ceremony.”
I reckoned it quickly in my head. “That's more than a fortnight away. Plenty of time for a recalcitrant boy to change his mind and run home again.”
Chade looked at me somberly. “Yet if the Prince has been taken, and we do not yet know by whom or why, let alone how we will recover him, then sixteen days seems but a pittance of time.”