“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 dust overlaid much of it, as if projects had been abandoned in midcourse, months or even years ago. Beyond the table was a rack that held an untidy collection of scrolls, some edged in blue or gilt. The scent of the room was at once pungent and aromatic; bundles of herbs were drying on another rack. I heard a rustling and caught a glimpse of movement in a far corner, but the man gave me no time to investigate. The fireplace that should have warmed this end of the room gaped black and cold. The old embers in it looked damp and settled. I lifted my eyes from my perusal to look at my guide. The dismay on my face seemed to surprise him. He turned from me and slowly surveyed the room himself. He considered it a bit, and then I sensed an embarrassed disgruntlement from him.
“It is a mess. More than a mess, I suppose. But, well. It’s been a while, I suppose. And longer than a while. Well. It’s soon put to rights. But first, introductions are in order. And I suppose it is a bit nippy to be standing about in just a nightshirt. This way, boy.”
I followed him to the comfortable end of the room. He seated himself in a battered wooden chair that was overdraped with blankets. My bare toes dug gratefully into the nap of a woolen rug. I stood before him, waiting, as those green eyes prowled over me. For some minutes the silence held. Then he spoke.
“First, let me introduce you to yourself. Your pedigree is written all over you. Shrewd chose to acknowledge it, for all his denials wouldn’t have sufficed to convince anyone otherwise.” He paused for an instant and smiled as if something amused him. “A shame Galen refuses to teach you the Skill. But years ago it was restricted, for fear it would become too common a tool. I’ll wager if old Galen were to try to teach you, he’d find you apt. But we have no time to worry about what won’t happen.” He sighed meditatively and was silent for a moment. Abruptly he went on, “Burrich’s shown you both how to work, and how to obey. Two things that Burrich himself excels at. You’re not especially strong, or fast, or bright. Don’t think you are. But you’ll have the stubbornness to wear down anyone stronger, or faster, or brighter than yourself. And that’s more of a danger to you than to anyone else. But that is not what is now most important about you.
“You are the King’s man now. And you must begin to understand, now, right now, that that is the most important thing about you. He feeds you, he clothes you, he sees you are educated. And all he asks in return, for now, is your loyalty. Later he will ask your service. Those are the conditions under which I will teach you. That you are the King’s man, and loyal to him completely. For if you are otherwise, it would be too dangerous to educate you in my art.” He paused and for a long moment we simply looked at one another. “Do you agree?” he asked, and it was not a simple question but the sealing of a bargain.
“I do,” I said, and then, as he waited: “I give you my word.”
“Good.” He spoke the word heartily. “Now. On to other things. Have you ever seen me before?”
“No.” I realized for an instant how strange that was. For, though there were often strangers in the keep, this man had obviously been a resident for a long, long time. And almost all those who lived there, I knew by sight if not name.
“Do you know who I am, boy? Or why you’re here?”
I shook my head a quick negative to each question. “Well, no one else does either. So you mind it stays that way. Make yourself clear on that—you speak to no one of what we do here, nor of anything you learn. Understand that?”
My nod must have satisfied him, for he seemed to relax in the chair. His bony hands gripped the knobs of his knees through his woolen robe. “Good. Good. Now. You can call me Chade. And I shall call you?” He paused and waited, but when I did not offer a name, he filled in, “Boy. That’s not names for either of us, but they’ll do, for the time we’ll have together. So. I’m Chade, and I’m yet another teacher that Shrewd has found for you. It took him a while to remember I was here, and then it took him a space to nerve himself to ask me. And it took me even longer to agree to teach you. But all that’s done now. As to what I’m to teach you . . . well.”
He rose and moved to the fire. He cocked his head as he stared into it, then stooped to take a poker and stir the embers to fresh flames. “It’s murder, more or less. Killing people. The fine art of diplomatic assassination. Or blinding, or deafening. Or a weakening of the limbs, or a paralysis or a debilitating cough or impotency. Or early senility, or insanity or . . . but it doesn’t matter. It’s all been my trade. And it will be yours, if you agree. Just know, from the beginning, that I’m going to be teaching you how to kill people. For your king. Not in the showy way Hod is teaching you, not on the battlefield where others see and cheer you on. No. I’ll be teaching you the nasty, furtive, polite ways to kill people. You’ll either develop a taste for it, or not. That isn’t something I’m in charge of. But I’ll make sure you know how. And I’ll make sure of one other thing, for that was the stipulation I made with King Shrewd. That you know what you are learning, as I never did when I was your age. So. I’m to teach you to be an assassin. Is that all right with you, boy?”