rh.theassassinsapprentice-第14部分

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t　their　conversation；　they　showed　no　sign　of　it。　The　only　remark　I　remember　Mistress　Hasty　making　to　me　specifically　was　that　I　should　take　greater　care　in　washing　my　neck。　Then　Mistress　Hasty　shooed　me　from　the　room　as　if　I　were　an　annoying　chicken；　and　I　found　myself　finally　heading　to　the　kitchens　for　some　food。
　　　　　　　That　afternoon　I　was　back　with　Hod；　practicing　until　I　was　sure　my　stave　had　mysteriously　doubled　its　weight。　Then　food；　and　bed；　and　up　again　in　the　morning　and　back　to　Burrich's　tutelage。　My　learning　filled　my　days；　and　any　spare　time　I　found　was　swallowed　up　with　the　chores　associated　with　my　learning；　whether　it　was　tack　care　for　Burrich；　or　sweeping　the　armory　and　putting　it　back　in　order　for　Hod。　In　due　time　I　found　not　one；　or　even　two；　but　three　entire　sets　of　clothing；　including　stockings；　set　out　one　afternoon　on　my　bed。　Two　were　of　fairly　ordinary　stuff；　in　a　familiar　brown　that　most　of　the　children　my　age　seemed　to　wear；　but　one　was　of　thin　blue　cloth；　and　on　the　breast　was　a　buck's　head；　done　in　silver　thread。　Burrich　and　the　other　men…at…arms　wore　a　leaping　buck　as　their　emblem。　I　had　only　seen　the　buck's　head　on　the　jerkins　of　Regal　and　Verity。　So　I　looked　at　it　and　wondered；　but　wondered；　too；　at　the　slash　of　red　stitching　that　cut　it　diagonally；　marching　right　over　the　design。
　　　　　　　〃It　means　you're　a　bastard；〃　Burrich　told　me　bluntly　when　I　asked　him　about　it。　〃Of　acknowledged　royal　blood；　but　a　bastard　all　the　same。　That's　all。　It's　just　a　quick　way　of　showing　you've　royal　blood；　but　aren't　of　the　true　line。　If　you　don't　like　it；　you　can　change　it。　I　am　sure　the　King　would　grant　it。　A　name　and　a　crest　of　your　own。〃
　　　　　　　〃A　name？〃
　　　　　　　〃Certainly。　It's　a　simple　enough　request。　Bastards　are　rare　in　the　noble　houses；　especially　so　in　the　King's　own。　But　they　aren't　unheard…of。〃　Under　guise　of　teaching　me　the　proper　care　of　a　saddle；　we　were　going　through　the　tack　room；　looking　over　all　the　old　and　unused　tack。　Maintaining　and　salvaging　old　tack　was　one　of　Burrich's　odder　fixations。　〃Devise　a　name　and　a　crest　for　yourself；　and　then　ask　the　King…〃
　　　　　　　〃What　name？〃
　　　　　　　〃Why；　any　name　you　like。　This　looks　like　it's　ruined；　someone　put　it　away　damp　and　it　mildewed。　But　we'll　see　what　we　can　do　with　it。〃
　　　　　　　〃It　wouldn't　feel　real。〃
　　　　　　　〃What？〃　He　held　an　armload　of　smelly　leather　out　toward　me。　I　took　it。
　　　　　　　〃A　name　I　just　put　to　myself。　It　wouldn't　feel　like　it　was　really　mine。〃
　　　　　　　〃Well；　what　do　you　intend　to　do；　then？〃
　　　　　　　I　took　a　breath。　〃The　King　should　name　me。　Or　you　should。〃　I　steeled　myself。　〃Or　my　father。　Don't　you　think？〃
　　　　　　　Burrich　frowned。　〃You　get　the　most　peculiar　notions。　Just　think　about　it　yourself　for　a　while。　You'll　e　up　with　a　name　that　fits。〃
　　　　　　　〃Fitz；〃　I　said　sarcastically；　and　I　saw　Burrich　clamp　his　jaw。
　　　　　　　〃Let's　just　mend　this　leather；〃　he　suggested　quietly。
　　　　　　　We　carried　it　to　his　workbench　and　started　wiping　it　down。　〃Bastards　aren't　that　rare；〃　I　observed。　〃And　in　town；　their　parents　name　them。〃
　　　　　　　〃In　town；　bastards　aren't　so　rare；〃　Burrich　agreed　after　a　moment。　〃Soldiers　and　sailors　whore　around。　It's　a　mon　way　for　mon　folk。　But　not　for　royalty。　Or　for　anyone　with　a　bit　of　pride。　What　would　you　have　thought　of　me；　when　you　were　younger；　if　I'd　gone　out　whoring　at　night；　or　brought　women　up　to　the　room？　How　would　you　see　women　now？　Or　men？　It's　fine　to　fall　in　love；　Fitz；　and　no　one　begrudges　a　young　woman　or　man　a　kiss　or　two。　But　I've　seen　what　it's　like　down　to　Bingtown。　Traders　bring　pretty　girls　or　well…made　youths　to　the　market　like　so　many　chickens　or　so　many　potatoes。　And　the　children　they　end　up　bearing　may　have　names；　but　they　don't　have　much　else。　And　even　when　they　marry；　they　don't　stop　their　。。。　habits。　If　ever　I　find　the　right　woman；　I'll　want　her　to　know　I　won't　be　looking　at　another。　And　I'll　want　to　know　all　my　children　are　mine。〃　Burrich　was　almost　impassioned。
　　　　　　　I　looked　at　him　miserably。　〃So　what　happened　with　my　father？〃
　　　　　　　He　suddenly　looked　weary。　〃I　don't　know；　boy。　I　don't　know。　He　was　young；　just　twenty　or　so。　And　far　from　home；　and　trying　to　shoulder　a　heavy　burden。　Those　are　neither　reasons　nor　excuses。　But　it's　as　much　as　either　of　us　will　ever　know。〃
　　　　　　　And　that　was　that。
　　　　　　　My　life　went　'round　in　its　settled　routine。　There　were　evenings　that　I　spent　in　the　stables；　in　Burrich's　pany；　and　more　rarely；　evenings　that　I　spent　in　the　Great　Hall　when　some　traveling　minstrel　or　puppet　show　arrived。　Once　in　a　great　while　I　could　slip　out　for　an　evening　down　in　town；　but　that　meant　paying　the　next　day　for　missed　sleep。　Afternoons　were　inevitably　spent　with　some　tutor　or　instructor。　I　came　to　understand　that　these　were　my　summer　lessons；　and　that　in　winter　I　would　be　introduced　to　the　kind　of　learning　that　came　with　pens　and　letters。　I　was　kept　busier　than　I　had　ever　been　in　my　young　life。　But　despite　my　schedule；　I　found　myself　mostly　alone。
　　　　　　　Loneliness。
　　　　　　　It　found　me　every　night　as　I　vainly　tried　to　find　a　small　and　cozy　spot　in　my　big　bed。　When　I　had　slept　above　the　stables　in　Burrich's　rooms；　my　nights　had　been　muzzy；　my　dreams　heathery　with　the　warm　and　weary　contentment　of　the　well…used　animals　that　slept　and　shifted　and　thudded　in　the　night　below　me。　Horses　and　dogs　dream；　as　anyone　who　has　ever　watched　a　hound　yipping　and　twitching　in　dream　pursuit　well　knows。　Their　dreams　had　been　like　the　sweet　rising　waft　from　a　baking　of　good　bread。　But　now；　isolated　in　a　room　walled　with　stone；　I　finally　had　time　for　all　those　devouring；　aching　dreams　that　are　the　portion　of　humans。　I　had　no　warm　dam　to　cozy　against；　no　sense　of　siblings　or　kin　stabled　nearby。　Instead　I　would　lie　awake　and　wonder　about　my　father　and　my　mother；　and　how　both　could　have　dismissed　me　from　their　lives　so　easily。　I　heard　the　talk　that　others　exchanged　so　carelessly　over　my　head；　and　interpreted　their　ments　in　my　own　terrifying　way。　I　wondered　what　would　bee　of　me　when　I　was　grown　and　old　King　Shrewd　dead　and　gone。　I　wondered；　occasionally；　if　Molly　Nosebleed　and　Kerry　missed　me；　or　if　they　accepted　my　sudden　disappearance　as　easily　as　they　had　accepted　my　ing。　But　mostly　I　ached　with　loneliness；　for　in　all　that　great　keep；　there　were　none　I　sensed　as　friend。　None　save　the　beasts；　and　Burrich　had　forbidden　me　to　have　any　closeness　with　them。
　　　　　　　One　evening　I　had　gone　wearily　to　bed；　only　to　torment　myself　with　my　fears　until　sleep　grudgingly　pulled　me　under。　Light　in　my　face　awoke　me；　but　I　came　awake　knowing　something　was　wrong。　I　hadn't　slept　long　enough；　and　this　light　was　yellow　and　wavering；　unlike　the　whiteness　of　the　sunlight　that　usually　spilled　in　my　window。　I　stirred　unwillingly　and　opened　my　eyes。
　　　　　　　He　stood　at　the　foot　of　my　bed；　holding　aloft　a　lamp。　This　in　itself　was　a　rarity　at　Buckkeep；　but　more　than　the　buttery　light　from　the　lamp　held　my　eyes。　The　man　himself　was　strange。　His　robe　was　the　color　of　undyed　sheep's　wool　that　had　been　washed；　but　only　intermittently　and　not　recently。　His　hair　and　beard　were　about　the　same　color　and　their　untidiness　gave　the　same　impression。　Despite　the　color　of　his　hair；　I　could　not　decide　how　old　he　was。　There　are　some　poxes　that　will　scar　a　man's　face　with　their　passage。　But　I　had　never　seen　a　man　marked　as　he　was；　with　scores　of　tiny　pox　scars；　angry　pinks　and　reds　like　small　burns；　and　livid　even　in　the　lamp's　yellow　light。　His　hands　were　all　bones　and　tendons　wrapped　in　papery　white　skin。　He　was　peering　at　me；　and　even　in　the　lamplight；　his　eyes　were　the　most　piercing　green　I　had　ever　seen。　They　reminded　me　of　a　cat's　eyes　when　it　is　hunting　something；　the　same　bination　of　joy　and　fierceness。　I　pulled　my　quilt　up　higher　under　my　chin。
　　　　　　　〃You're　awake；〃　he　said。　〃Good。　Get　up　and　follow　me。〃
　　　　　　　He　turned　abruptly　from　my　bedside　and　walked　away　from　the　door；　to　a　shadowed　corner　of　my　room　between　the　hearth　and　the　wall。　I　didn't　move。　He　glanced　back　at　me；　held　the　lamp　higher。　〃Hurry　up；　boy；〃　he　said　irritably；　and　rapped　the　stick　he　leaned　on　against　my　bedpost。
　　　　　　　I　got　out　of　bed；　wincing　as　my　bare　feet　hit　the　cold　floor。　I　reached　for　my　clothes　and　shoes；　but　he　wasn't　waiting　for　me。　He　glanced　back　once　to　see　what　was　delaying　me；　and　the　piercing　look　was　enough　to　make　me　drop　my　clothes　and　quake。
　　　　　　　And　I　followed；　wordlessly；　in　my　nightshirt；　for　no　reason　I　could　explain　to　myself。　Except　that　he　had　suggested　it。　I　followed　him　to　a　door　that　had　never　been　there；　and　up　a　narrow　flight　of　winding　steps　that　were　lit　only　by　the　lamp　he　held　above　his　head。　His　shadow　fell　behind　him　and　over　me；　so　that　I　walked　in　a　shifting　darkness；　feeling　each　step　with　my　feet。　The　stairs　were　cold　stone；　worn　and　smooth　and　remarkably　even。　And　they　went　up；　and　up；　and　up；　until　it　seemed　to　me　that　we　had　climbed　past　the　height　of　any　tower　the　keep　possessed。　A　chill　breeze　flowed　up　those　steps；　and　up　my　nightshirt；　shriveling　me　with　more　than　mere　cold。　And　we　went　up；　and　then　finally　he　was　pushing　open　a　substantial　door　that　nonetheless　moved　silently　and　easily。　We　entered　a　chamber。
　　　　　　　It　was　lit　warmly　by　several　lamps；　suspended　from　an　unseen　ceiling　on　fine　chains。　The　chamber　was　large；　easily　three　times　the　size　of　my　own。　One　end　of　it　beckoned　me。　It　was　dominated　by　a　massive　wooden　bed　frame　fat　with　feather　beds　and　cushions。　There　were　carpets　on　the　floor；　overlapping　one　another　with　their　scarlets　and　verdant　greens　and　blues　both　deep　and　pale。　There　was　a　table　made　of　wood　the　color　of　wild　honey；　and　on　it　sat　a　bowl　of　fruit　so　perfectly　ripe　that　I　could　smell　their　fragrances。　Parchment　books　and　scrolls　were　scattered　about　carelessly；　as　if　their　rarity　were　of　no　concern。　All　three　walls　were　draped　with　tapestries　that　depicted　open　rolling　country　with　wooded　foothills　in　the　distance。　I　started　toward　it。
　　　　　　　〃This　way；〃　said　my　guide；　and　relentlessly　led　me　to　the　other　end　of　the　chamber。
　　　　　　　Here　was　a　different　spectacle。　A　stone　slab　of　a　table　dominated　it；　its　surface　much　stained　and　scorched。　Upon　it　were　various　tools；　containers　and　implements；　a　scale；　a　mortar　and　pestle；　and　many　things　I　couldn't　name。　A　fine　layer　of　dus