I went back to my workroom, and I did not like any of the thoughts I took there with me.

As I pushed open the door, I instantly knew that the Fool had been there before me. He'd left his gift on the table beside my chair. I walked over to it and ran a finger down Nighteyes' spine. My wolf was in his prime in the carving. A dead rabbit sprawled between his forepaws. His head was lifted, his dark eyes regarding me intelligently, patiently.

I picked it up. I had seen the Fool begin the carving when he sat at the table in my cabin. I had never guessed what it might be, had almost forgotten that he had promised to show it to me when it was finished. I touched the points of Nighteyes' pricked ears. Then I sat down in the chair and stared into the tire, my wolf cradled in my hands.

FOUR

An Exchange of Weapons

The Fool's carefully planned disposal of his possessions sparked in me a sudden desire to sort out my own belongings. That night, instead of packing, I sat on the corner of Chade's old bed, surrounded by all I owned. If I had been inclined to the Fool's fatalistic melancholy, perhaps it would have saddened me. Instead, I found myself grinning at the paucity of it. Even Gilly the ferret nosing through my trove seemed unimpressed.

The stack of clothing from the Fool's chamber, and the marvellous sword with the over-decorated hilt comprised most of it. My clothing from my days in the cottage had largely been consigned to the rag heap near the worktable. I possessed two new uniforms as a Prince's Guard. One was already carefully packed in a sea chest at the foot of my bed with my other changes of clothing. Concealed

beneath them were a number of small packages of poisons, sedatives and restoratives which Chade and I had prepared. On the bed beside me, various small tools, lock picks and other handy oddments were in a small roll that could be concealed inside my shirt. I added it to the sea chest. I sorted through the rest of my strange collection as I waited for Dutiful.

The carving of Nighteyes was on the mantel over the hearth. I would not risk it on the journey with me. There was a charm necklace that Jinna the hedge-witch had made for me, when we were on friendlier terms. I'd never wear it again, and yet I was oddly reluctant to dispose of it. I set it with the clothing Lord Golden had inflicted on me. The little fox pin that Kettricken had given me rode where it always did, inside my shirt above my heart. I had no intention of parting from that. To one side I had placed a few items for Hap. Most were small things I'd made or acquired when he was a child: a spinning top, a jumping jack and the like. I packed them carefully into a box with an acorn carved on the lid. I'd give them to him when I bid him farewell.

In the centre of my bed was the bundle of carved feathers I'd taken from the Others' beach. Once, I had tried to give them to the Fool, to try in his carved wooden crown. I was certain they would fit. But he had given them a single glance and rejected them. I unrolled the soft leather I'd wrapped them in, considered each of them briefly, and then wrapped them again. For a time I debated what to do with them. Then I tucked them into the corner of the sea chest. Into it also went my needles and various weights of thread for them. Extra shoes and smallclothes. A razor. Mug, howl and spoon for the ship.

And that was it. There was nothing else to pack, and precious little else in the world that belonged to me. There was my horse, Myblack, but she had little interest in me beyond doing what she must. She preferred her own kind, and would not miss me at all. A stable-boy would exercise her regularly, and as long as Hands was in charge of Buckkeep's stables I had no fear that she would be neglected or ill-used-

Gilly emerged from the heap of clothing and came romping across the bed to challenge me. 'Small chance you'll miss me either,' I

told him as he menaced my hand playfully. There were plenty of mice and rats in the walls of Buckkeep to keep him well fed. He'd probably enjoy having the whole bed to himself. He already believed that the pillow belonged to him. My gaze wandered over the room. Chade had taken possession of all the scrolls I'd brought hack from my cabin. He'd sorted them, adding the harmless ones to the Buckkeep library and securing in his cabinets any that told too many truths too plainly. I felt no sense of loss.

I carried the armload of clothing over to one of Chade's old wardrobes, intending to stuff it all inside. Then my conscience smote me, and I carefully shook out and folded each garment before putting it away. In the process, I realized that, taken individually, many of the garments were not as ostentatious as I had imagined them. I added the warmly-lined cloak to my sea chest. When all of the clothing was stored or packed, I set the jewelled sword on top of the chest. It would go with me. Despite its showy hilt, it was well made and finely balanced. Like the man who had given it to me, its glittering appearance obscured its true purpose.

There was a courteous tap and the wine rack swung out of the way. As Dutiful stepped wearily into the room, Gilly leapt from the bed and sprang to confront him, menacing him with white teeth as he made abortive springs at his feet.

'Yes, I'm glad to see you, too,' Dutiful greeted him and swept the little animal up in one hand. He scratched the ferret's throat gently and then set him down. Gilly immediately attacked his feet. Being careful not to tread upon him, Dutiful came into the room, saying, 'You had something extra for me to pack?' With a heavy sigh, he dropped down on the bed beside me. 'I'm so tired of packing,' he confided. 'I hope it's something small.'

'It's on the table.' I told him. 'And it's not small'

As he walked toward the worktable, I knew a moment of intense regret and would have undone the gift if I could. How could it possibly mean to this boy what it had to me? He looked at it, and then looked up at me, shock on his face. 'I don't understand. You're giving me a sword?'

I stood up. 'It's your father's sword. Verity gave it to me, when last we parted. It's yours, now,' I said quietly.

The look that overtook Dutiful's face in that moment erased any regret I might have felt. He put out a hand toward it, drew it back, and then looked at me. Incredulous wonder shone in his face. I smiled.

'I said it was yours. Pick it up and get the feel of it. I've just cleaned and sharpened it, so be careful'

He teached his hand down and set it on the hilt. I waited, watching, for him to lift it and discover its exquisite balance. But he drew his hand back.

'No.' The word shocked me. Then, 'Wait here. Please. Just wait.1 And then he turned and lied the room. I heard the scuff of his running footsteps fade in the hidden corridor.

His reaction puzzled me. He had seemed so delighted at first. I walked over and looked again at the blade. Freshly oiled and wiped, it gleamed. It was both beautiful and elegant, yet there was nothing in its design that would interfere with its intended function. It was a tool for killing other men. It had been made for Verity by Hod, the same Weaponsmaster who had taught me to wield both blade and pike. When Verity had gone on his quest, she had gone with him, and died for him. It was a sword worthy of a king. Why had Dutiful rejected it?