Fool's Quest Read Online Free PDF Page B

someone shouted at it. The cart tracks led to a stable. I could not get inside, but there was a pile of straw and manure outside.” He folded his lips for a moment and then said wryly, “I’ve learned that dirty straw and manure are often warm.”
    I nodded, then realized he could not see me. “They are,” I conceded.
    â€œI slept a bit, and then woke when the town started to stir around me. I heard a girl singing and recognized one of the old Winterfest songs from when I lived at Buckkeep. And so I knew it might be a good day to beg. Holidays bring out the kindness in some people. I thought I would beg and try to get some food in me and then, if I encountered someone who seemed kind, I would ask them to put me on the path to Withywoods.”
    â€œSo you were coming to find me.”
    He nodded slowly. His hand crept back to his wine cup. He found it, drank sparingly, and set it down. “Of course I was coming to find you. So. I was begging, but the shopkeeper kept ranting at me to move on. I knew I should. But I was so tired, and the place where I had settled was out of the wind. Wind is a cruel thing, Fitz. A day that is cold but bearable when the air is still becomes a constant torment when a wind rises.” His voice fell away and he hunched his shoulders as if even the memory of wind could freeze him now.
    â€œThen, hmm. A boy came by. He gave me an apple. Then the shopkeeper cursed me and shouted at her husband to come and drive me off. And the boy helped me to move away from the door. And …” The Fool’s words trailed away. His head moved, wagging from side to side. I did not think he was aware of it. It reminded me of a hound casting about for a lost scent. Then plaintive words burst from him. “It was so vivid, Fitz! He was the son I was seeking. The boy touched me and I could see with his vision. I could feel the strength he might have, someday, if he was trained, if he was not corrupted by the Servants. I’d found him and I could not contain my joy.” Yellowish tears spilled slowly from his eyes and began to track down his scarred face. All too well, I recalled the request that he had sent his messengers to give me: that I search for the “Unexpected Son.” His son? A child he had fathered, despite all I knew of him? In the time since his messenger had reached me and then died, I’d mulled over a dozen possibilities as to who the mother of such a son might be.
    â€œI found him,” the Fool continued. “And I lost him. When you stabbed me.”
    Shame and guilt washed over me in a wave. “Fool, I am so sorry. If only I had recognized you, I never would have hurt you.”
    He shook his head. One clawlike hand found his napkin. He mopped his face with it. His words came out as hoarse as a crow’s caw. “What happened, Fitz? What … provoked you to try to kill me?”
    â€œI mistook you for someone dangerous. Someone that would hurt a child. I came out of the tavern, looking for my little girl.”
    â€œYour little girl?” His words broke through my explanation in an incredulous shout.
    â€œYes. My Bee.” Despite all else, I smiled. “Molly and I had a child together, Fool, a tiny girl.”
    â€œNo.” His denial was absolute. “No. Not in any future I saw did you have another child.” His brow was furrowed. Scarred as his face was, it was not easy to read his emotions, but he looked almost furious. “I know I would have seen that. I am the true White Prophet. I would have seen that.” He slapped his hand on the table, jerked with the pain, and cradled it to his chest. “I would have seen that,” he insisted again, more quietly.
    â€œBut we did,” I said softly. “I know it’s hard to believe. We thought we couldn’t. Molly told me her time for bearing was past. But then she had Bee. Our little girl.”
    â€œNo.” He said the word