Golden Fool
“Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose I’d better.” Then he took a step toward me. “Tom. I’m so sorry,” he said, and his awkward hug took away much of the earlier hurt he had dealt me. Then he lifted his eyes to mine to ask earnestly, “You’ll come by tomorrow night, won’t you? I need to talk to you. It’s very important.”
“I’ll come by tonight. If Jinna does not mind.” I looked past Hap’s shoulder at her as I released him from my embrace.
“Jinna won’t mind at all,” she assured me, and I hoped only I could hear the extra note of warmth in her voice.
“So. I’ll see you tonight. When you’re sober. Now to bed with you, boy.” I rumpled his wet hair, and he muttered a good night. He left the room to seek his bedchamber and I was suddenly alone with Jinna. A log collapsed in the fire and then the small crackling of its settling was the only sound in the room. “Well. I must go. I thank you for letting me wait for Hap here.”
My cloak was on a peg by her door. I took it down and swirled it around my shoulders. She reached up suddenly to fasten it for me. She pulled the hood of it up over my shorn head, and then smiled as she tugged at the sides of the hood to pull my face down to hers. “Good night,” she said breathlessly. She lifted her chin. I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her. I wanted to, and yet I wondered that I allowed myself to do it. Where could it lead, this exchange of kisses, but to complications and trouble?
I felt awkward, but I managed to say, “If that were true, it would be a sweet thing.”
“I think I know my own son,” I said a bit testily.
“Perhaps you know the boy. It’s the young man I fear for.” Then she dared to laugh at my scowl and add, “Save that look for Hap. Good night, Tom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Jinna.”
I became aware of the men following me as I left the last scattered houses of Buckkeep Town behind. I knew that they were stalking me, not merely men on the same path as myself, for when I slowed my steps, they slowed theirs. Obviously they had no wish to catch up with me until I had left the houses of town behind me. That did not bode well for their intentions. I had left the keep unarmed, my country habits telling against me. I had the belt knife that any man carries for the small tasks of the day, but nothing larger. My ugly, workaday sword in its battered sheath was hanging on the wall in my little chamber. I told myself it was likely that they were no more than common footpads, looking for easy prey. Doubtless they believed me drunk and unaware of them, and as soon as I fought back, they would flee.
It was thin solace. I had no wish to fight at all. I was sick of strife, and weary of being wary. I doubted they would care. So I halted where I was and turned in the dark road to face those who came after me. I drew my belt knife and balanced my weight and waited for them.