Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (43 page)

Even if he's asleep? Wallace asked
snidely.

He placed no limitations on it. Do you? I glared
at him through the cracked door. He considered a moment, then
stepped back from it.

By all means, then, do come in. Come and see
your king asleep, trying to get the rest he so badly needs in his
condition. But do you disturb it, I as his healer shall tell him to
take away that pretty pin and see that you do not bother him
again.

You may recommend that as you wish. And if my
king desires it, I shall not dispute it.

He stood aside from me with an elaborate bow. I
desperately wanted to knock that knowing sneer from his face, but I
ignored it.

Wonderful, he elaborated as I passed him. Sweet
pastries to upset his digestion and tax him all the more.
Thoughtful lad, aren't you?

I kept my temper. Shrewd was not in his sitting
room. The bedchamber?

Will you truly bother him there? Well, why not?
You've shown no other manners, why should I expect consideration
now? Wallace's voice was full of snide condescension.

I gripped my temper.

Don't just accept that from him. Turn and face
him down now. This was not advice from Verity, but a command. I set
the tray down atop a small table carefully. I took a breath and
turned to face Wallace. Have you a dislike of me? I asked
directly.

He took a step back but tried to keep his sneer
in place. A dislike? Why should I, a healer, mind if someone comes
to disturb an ill man when he is finally resting?

This room reeks of Smoke. Why?

Smoke?

An herb they use in the Mountains. Seldom for
medicine, save pains nothing else will halt. But more often the
burning fumes are breathed for pleasure. Much as we use carris seed
at Springfest. Your brother has a liking for it.

As did his mother. If it is the same herb. She
called it mirthleaf.

Almost the same leaf, but the Mountain plant
grows taller with fleshier leaves. And thicker smoke.

My exchange with Verity had taken less than a
blink of an eye. One can Skill information as fast as one can think
it. Wallace was still pursing his lips over my question. Are you
claiming to be a healer? he demanded.

No. But I've a working knowledge of herbs, one
that suggests Smoke is not appropriate to a sick man's
chambers.

Wallace was still a moment as he formulated an
answer. Well. A King's pleasures are not his healer's area of
concern.

Perhaps they are mine, then, I offered, and
turned away from him. I picked up the tray and pushed open the door
to the King's dimly lit bedchamber.

The reek of Smoke was heavier here, the air
thick and cloying with it. Too hot a fire was burning, making the
room close and stuffy. The air was still and stale as if no fresh
wind had blown through the room for weeks. My own breath seemed
heavy in my lungs. The King lay still, breathing stertorously
beneath a mound of feather quilts. I looked about for a place to
set down the tray of pastries. The small table close to his bed was
littered. There was a censer for Smoke, the drifting ash thick on
its top, but the burner was out and cold. Beside it was a goblet of
lukewarm red wine, and a bowl with some nasty gray gruel in it. I
set the vessels on the floor and brushed the table clean with my
shirtsleeve before setting the tray down. As I approached the
King's bed there was a fusty, fetid smell that became even stronger
as I leaned over the King.

This is not like Shrewd at all.

Verity shared my dismay. He has not summoned me
much of late. And I have been too busy to call upon him unless he
bids me to. The last time I saw him was in his sitting room, in an
evening. He complained of headaches, but this ...

The thought trailed away between us. I glanced
up from the King to find Wallace peering 'round the door at us.
There was something in his face; I know not whether to call it
satisfaction or confidence, but it roused me to fury. In two steps
I had reached the door. I slammed it, and had the satisfaction of
hearing him yelp as he jerked his pinched fingers out. I dropped
into place an ancient bar that had probably never been used in my
lifetime.

I moved to the tall windows, jerked aside the
tapestries that covered it, and flung wide the wooden shutters.
Clear sunlight and fresh cold air spilled into the room.

Fitz, this is rash.

I made no reply. Instead, I moved about the
room, dumping censer after censer of ash and herb out the open
window. I brushed the clinging ash out with my hand to free the
room from its reek. From about the room I gathered half a dozen
sticky goblets of stale wine, and a trayful of bowls and plates of
untouched or half-eaten food. I stacked them by the door. Wallace
was pounding on it and howling with fury. I leaned against it and
spoke through the crack. Hush! I told him sweetly. You'll waken the
King.

Have a boy sent with ewers of warm water. And
tell Mistress Hasty that the King's bed requires clean linens, I
requested of Verity.

Such orders cannot come from me. A pause. Don't
waste time in anger. Think, and you'll see why it must be
so.

I understood, but knew also that I would not
leave Shrewd in this dingy, smelly room any more than I would
abandon him to a dungeon. There was half a ewer of water, stale,
but mostly clean. I set it to warm by the hearth. I wiped his bed
table clean of ash and set out the tea and pastry tray atop it.
Rummaging boldly through the King's chest, I found a clean
nightshirt, and then washing herbs. Leftover, no doubt, from
Cheffers's time. I had never thought I would so miss a
valet.

Wallace's pounding ceased. I did not miss it. I
took the warmed water scented with the herbs and a washing cloth
and set it by the King's bedside. King Shrewd, I said gently. He
stirred slightly. The rims of his eyes were red, the lashes gummed
together. When he opened his lids, he blinked red veined eyes at
the light.

Boy? He squinted about the room. Where is
Wallace?

Away for the moment. I've brought you warm wash
water and fresh pastries from the kitchen. And hot tea.

I ... I don't know. The window's open. Why is
the window open? Wallace has warned me about taking a
chill.

I opened it to clear the air in the room. But
I'll close it if you like.

I smell the sea. It's a clear day, isn't it?
Listen to those gulls cry a storm coming .... No. No, close the
window, boy. I dare not take a chill, not as ill as I am
already.

I moved slowly to close the wooden shutters. Has
Your Majesty been ill long? Not much has been said of it about the
palace.

Long enough. Oh, forever it seems. It is not so
much that I am ill as that I am never well. I am sick, and then I
get a bit better, but as soon as I try to do anything, I am sick
again, and worse than ever. I am so weary of being sick, boy. So
tired of always feeling tired.

Come, sir. This will make you feel better. I
damped the cloth and wiped his face gently. He recovered himself
enough to motion me aside as he washed his own hands, and then
wiped his face again more firmly. I was appalled at how the wash
water had yellowed as it cleansed him.

I've found a clean nightshirt for. you. Shall I
help you into it? Or would you rather that I sent for a boy to
bring a tub and warm water? I would bring clean linens for the bed
while you bathed.

I, oh, I haven't the energy, boy. Where is that
Wallace? He knows I cannot manage alone. What possessed him to
leave me?

A warm bath might help you to rest, I tried
persuasively. Up close, the old man smelled. Shrewd had always been
a cleanly man; I think that his grubbiness distressed me more than
anything else.

But bathing can lead to chills. So Wallace says.
A damp skin, a cool wind, and whisk, I'm gone. Or so he says. Had
Shrewd really become this fretful old man? I could scarcely believe
what I was hearing from him.

Well, perhaps just a hot cup of tea, then. And a
pastry. Cook Sara said these were your favorites. I poured the
steaming tea into the cup and saw his nose twitch appreciatively.
He had a sip or two, and then sat up to look at the carefully
arranged pastries. He bade me join him, and I ate a pastry with
him, licking the rich filling from my fingers. I understood why
they were his favorites. He was well into a second when there were
three solid thuds against the door.

Unbar it, Bastard. Or the men with me will take
it down. And if any harm has come to my father, you shall die where
you stand. Regal did not sound at all pleased with me.

What's this, boy? The door barred? What goes on
here? Regal, what goes on here? It pained me to hear the King's
voice crack querulously.

I crossed the room, I unbarred the door. It was
flung open before I could touch it, and two of Regal's more
muscular guards seized me. They wore his satin colors like bulldogs
with ribbons about their necks. I offered no resistance, so they
had no real excuse to throw me up against the wall, but they did.
It awoke every pain I still bore from yesterday. They held me there
while Wallace rushed in, tut-tutting about how cold the room was,
and what was this, eating this, why, it was no less than poison to
a man in King Shrewd's condition. Regal stood, hands on hips, very
much the man in charge, and stared at me through narrowed
eyes.

Rash, my boy. I very much fear that we have
overplayed our hand.

Well, Bastard? What have you to say for
yourself? Exactly what were your intentions? Regal demanded when
Wallace's litany ran down. He actually added another log to the
fire in the already stifling room, and took the half-eaten pastry
from the King's hand.

I came to report. And finding the King ill cared
for, sought to remedy that situation first. I was sweating, more
from pain than nervousness. I hated to see Regal smile at
it.

I'll cared for? What exactly are you saying? he
accused me.

I took a breath for courage. Truth. I found his
chamber untidy and musty. Dirty plates left about. The linens of
his bed unchanged-

Dare you to say such things? Regal
hissed.

I do. I speak the truth to my king, as I ever
have. Let him look about with his own eyes and see if it is not
so.

Something in the confrontation had stirred
Shrewd to a shadow of his old self. He pushed himself up in bed and
looked about himself. The Fool has likewise made these complaints,
in his own acid way- he began.

Wallace dared to interrupt him. My lord, the
state of your health has been tender. Sometimes uninterrupted rest
is more important than rolling you out of your bed to fuss with a
change of blankets or linen. And a dish or two stacked about is
less annoyance than the rattle and prattle of a page come in to
tidy.

King Shrewd looked suddenly uncertain. My heart
smote me. This was what the Fool had wished me to see, why he had
so often urged me to visit the King. Why had not he spoken more
plainly? But then, when did the Fool ever speak plainly? Shame rose
in me. This was my king, the King I had sworn to. I loved Verity,
and my loyalty to him was unquestioning. But I had abandoned my
king at the very moment when he needed me most. Chade was gone, for
how long I did not know. I had left King Shrewd with no more than
the Fool to protect him. And yet when had King Shrewd ever needed
anyone to shelter him before? Always that old man had been more
than capable of guarding himself. I chided myself that I should
have bee more emphatic with Chade about the changes I noted when
first returned home. I should have been more watchful of my
sovereign.

How did he get in here? Regal suddenly demander
with a savage glare at me.

My prince, he had a token from the King himself,
he claimed. He said the King had promised always to see him if he
but showed that pin-

What rot! You believed such nonsense-

Prince Regal, you know it is true. You were
witness whey King Shrewd first gave it to me. I spoke quietly but
clearly Within me, Verity was silent, waiting and watching, and
learning much. At my expense, I thought bitterly, and then strove
to call back the thought.

Moving calmly and unthreateningly, I pulled one
wrist free of a bulldog's grip. I turned back the collar of my
jerkin and drew the pin out. I held it up for all to
see.

I recall no such thing, Regal snapped, but Shrew
sat up.

Come closer, boy, he instructed me. Now I
shrugged clear of my guards and tugged my clothing straight. Then
bore the pin up to the King's bedside. Deliberately, King Shrewd
reached out. He took the pin away from me. My hear sank inside
me.

Father, this is- Regal began annoyedly, but
Shrews interrupted him.

Regal. You were there. You do recall it, or you
should.' The King's dark eyes were bright and alert as I remembered
them, but also plain were the lines of pain about those eyes and
the corner of his mouth. King Shrewd fought for this lucidity He
held the pin up and looked at Regal with a shadow of his old
calculating glance. I gave the boy this pin. And my word in
exchange for his.