Kitabı oku: «Royal Assassin», sayfa 4
‘Stop whining,’ Burrich said gruffly. ‘Stop complaining and stop pitying yourself. If Hands looked like you do, you’d do the same for him.’ Almost unwillingly he added, ‘Things change, because time passes. Hands hasn’t stopped being your friend. But you are not the same boy who left Buckkeep at harvest time. That Fitz was an errand boy for Verity, and had been my stable-boy, but wasn’t much more than that. A royal bastard, yes, but that seemed of small importance to any save me. But up at Jhaampe in the Mountain Kingdom, you showed yourself more than that. It doesn’t matter if your face is pale, or if you can barely walk after a day in the saddle. You move as Chivalry’s son should. That is what shows in your bearing, and what those guards responded to. And Hands.’ He took a breath and paused to shoulder the heavy kitchen door open. ‘And I, Eda help us all,’ he added in a mutter.
But then, as if to belie his own words, he steered me into the watch-room off the kitchen and unceremoniously dumped me at one of the long benches beside the scarred wooden table. The watch-room smelled incredibly good. Here was where any soldier, no matter how muddy or snowy or drunk, could come and find comfort. Cook always kept a kettle of stew simmering over the fire, and bread and cheese waited on the table, as well as a slab of yellow summer butter from the deep larder. Burrich served us up bowls of hot stew thick with barley and mugs of cold ale to go with the bread and butter and cheese.
For a moment I just looked at it, too weary to lift a spoon. But the smell tempted me to one mouthful and that was all it took. Midway through, I paused to shoulder out of my quilted smock and break off another slab of bread. I looked up from my second bowl of stew to find Burrich watching me with amusement. ‘Better?’ he asked.
I stopped to think about it. ‘Yes.’ I was warm, fed, and though I was tired, it was a good weariness, one that might be cured by sleep. I lifted my hand and looked at it. I could still feel the tremors, but they were no longer obvious to the eye. ‘Much better.’ I stood, and found my legs unsteady under me.
‘Now you’re fit to report to the King.’
I stared at him in disbelief. ‘Now? Tonight? King Shrewd’s long abed. I won’t get past his door guard.’
‘Perhaps not, and you should be grateful for that. But you must at least announce yourself there tonight. It’s the King’s decision as to when he will see you. If you’re turned away, then you can go to bed. But I’ll wager that if King Shrewd turns you aside, King-in-Waiting Verity will still want a report. And probably right away.’
‘Are you going back to the stables?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled in wolfish self-satisfaction. ‘Me, I’m just the Stablemaster, Fitz. I have nothing to report. And I promised Hands I’d bring him something to eat.’
I watched silently as he loaded a platter. He sliced the bread lengthwise and covered two bowls of the hot stew with a slab of it, and then loaded a wedge of cheese and a thick slice of yellow butter onto the side.
‘What do you think of Hands?’
‘He’s a good lad,’ Burrich said grudgingly.
‘He’s more than that. You chose him to stay in the Mountain Kingdom and ride home with us, when you sent all the others back with the main caravan.’
‘I needed someone steady. At that time, you were … very ill. And I wasn’t much better, truth to tell.’ He lifted a hand to a streak of white in his dark hair, testimony to the blow that had nearly killed him.
‘How did you come to choose him?’
‘I didn’t really. He came to me. Somehow he found where they’d housed us, and then talked his way past Jonqui. I was still bandaged up and scarce able to make my eyes focus. I felt him standing there more than saw him. I asked him what he wanted, and he told me that I needed to put someone in charge, because with me sick and Cob gone, the stable help were getting sloppy.’
‘And that impressed you.’
‘He got to the point. No idle questions about me, or you, or what was going on. He had found the thing he could do and come to do it. I like that in a man. Knowing what he can do, and doing it. So I put him in charge. He managed it well. I kept him when I sent the others home because I knew I might need a man who could do that. And also to see for myself what he was. Was he all ambition, or was there a genuine understanding of what a man owes a beast when he claims to own him? Did he want power over those under him, or the well-being of his animals?’
‘What do you think of him now?’
‘I am not so young as I once was. I think there still may be a good Stablemaster in Buckkeep Stables when I can no longer manage an ill-tempered stallion. Not that I expect to step down soon. There is still much he needs to be taught. But we are both still young enough, him to learn and me to teach. There is a satisfaction in that.’
I nodded. Once, I supposed, he had planned that spot for me. Now we both knew it would never be.
He turned to go. ‘Burrich,’ I said quietly. He paused. ‘No one can replace you. Thank you. For all you’ve done these last few months. I owe you my life. Not just that you saved me from death. But you gave me my life, and who I am. Ever since I was six. Chivalry was my father, I know. But I never met him. You’ve fathered me day in and day out, over a lot of years. I didn’t always appreciate …’
Burrich snorted and opened the door. ‘Save speeches like that for when one of us is dying. Go report, and then go to bed.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I heard myself say, and knew that he smiled even as I did. He shouldered the door open and bore Hands’ dinner out to the stables for him. He was home there.
And this, here, was my home. Time I dealt with that. I took a moment to straighten my damp clothing and run a hand through my hair. I cleared our dishes from the table and then folded my wet smock over my arm.
As I made my way from the kitchen to the hall, and then to the Great Hall, I was mystified by what I saw. Did the tapestries glow more brightly than they once had? Had the strewing herbs always smelled so sweet, the carved woodwork by each doorway always gleamed so warmly? Briefly I put it down to my relief at finally being home. But when I paused at the foot of the great stair to take up a candle to light my way up to my chamber, I noticed that the table there was not bespattered with wax, and more, that an embroidered cloth graced it.
Kettricken.
There was a queen at Buckkeep now. I found myself smiling foolishly. So. This great fortress castle had had a going-over in my absence. Had Verity bestirred himself and his folk before her arrival, or had Kettricken herself demanded this vast scrubbing out? It would be interesting to find out.
As I climbed the great staircase, I noticed other things. The ancient soot marks above each sconce were gone. Not even the corners of the steps held dust. There were no cobwebs. The candelabra at each landing were full and bright with candles. And a rack at each landing held blades, ready for defence. So this was what it meant to have a queen in residence. But even when Shrewd’s Queen had been alive, I didn’t recall that Buckkeep had looked or smelled so clean or been so brightly lit.
The guard at King Shrewd’s door was a dour-faced veteran I had known since I was six. A silent man, he peered at me closely, then recognized me. He allowed me a brief smile as he asked, ‘Anything critical to report, Fitz?’
‘Only that I’m back,’ I said, and he nodded sagely. He was used to my coming and going here, often at some very odd hours, but he was not a man to make assumptions or draw conclusions, or even speak to those who might. So he stepped quietly inside the King’s chamber, to pass the word to someone that Fitz was here. In a moment the word came back that the King would summon me at his convenience, but also that he was glad I was safe. I stepped quietly away from his door, making more of his message than if those words had come from any other man. Shrewd never mouthed polite nothings.
Further down the same corridor were Verity’s chambers. Here again I was recognized, but when I requested the man let Verity know I was back and wished to report, he replied only that Prince Verity was not within his chamber.
‘In his tower, then?’ I asked, wondering what he would be watching for at this time of year. Winter storms kept our coast safe from raiders for at least these few months of the year.
A slow smile stole over the guard’s face. When he saw my puzzled glance, it became a grin. ‘Prince Verity is not in his chambers just now,’ he repeated. And then added, ‘I shall see that he gets your message as soon as he awakes in the morning.’
For a moment longer, I stood, stupid as a post. Then I turned and walked quietly away. I felt a sort of wonder. This, too, was what it meant for there to be a queen in Buckkeep.
I climbed another two flights of stairs, and went down the hall to my own chamber. It smelled stale, and there was no fire in the hearth. It was cold with disuse, and dusty. No touch of a woman’s hand here. It seemed as bare and colourless as a cell. But it was still warmer than a tent in the snow, and the feather bed was as soft and deep as I remembered it. I shed my travel-stained garments as I walked toward it. I fell into it and sleep.
THREE
Renewing Ties
The oldest reference to the mythical Elderlings in the Buckkeep library is a battered scroll. Vague discoloration upon the vellum suggests that it came from a parti-coloured beast, one mottled in a way unfamiliar to any of our hunters. The lettering ink is one derived from squid ink and bell root. It has stood the test of time well, much better than the coloured inks that originally supplied illustrations and illuminations for the text. These have not only faded and bled, but in many places have drawn the attentions of some mite that has gnawed and stiffened the once supple parchment, making parts of the scroll too brittle to unroll.
Unfortunately, the damage is concentrated at the innermost parts of the scroll, which deal with portions of King Wisdom’s quest that were not recorded elsewhere. From these fragmented remains, one can glean that sore need drove him to seek the homeland of the Elderlings. His troubles are familiar ones; ships raided his coastline mercilessly. Tatters hint that he rode off toward the Mountain Kingdom; but unfortunately the final stages of his journey and his encounter with the Elderlings seem to have been richly illustrated, for here the parchment is reduced to a lacy web of tantalizing word bits and body parts. We do not know anything of this first encounter. Nor have we even an inkling as to how he induced the Elderlings to become his allies. Many songs, rich in metaphor, tell how the Elderlings descended, like ‘storms’, like ‘tidal waves’, like ‘vengeance gone gold’, and ‘wrath embodied in flesh of stone’ to drive the Raiders away from our shores. Legend also tells us that they swore to Wisdom that if ever the Six Duchies had need of their aid, they would rise again to our defence. One may conjecture; many have, and the variety of legends that surround this alliance are proof of that. But King Wisdom’s scribe’s recounting of the event has been lost to mildew and worms for ever.
My chamber had a single tall window that looked out over the sea. In winter a wooden shutter closed out the storm winds, and a tapestry hung over that gave my room an illusion of cosy warmth. So I awakened to darkness, and for a time lay quietly finding myself. Gradually the subtle sounds of the keep filtered in to me. Morning sounds. Very early morning sounds. Home, I realized. Buckkeep. And in the next instant, ‘Molly,’ I said aloud to the darkness. My body was weary and aching still. But not exhausted. I clambered from my bed into the chill of my room.
I stumbled to my long disused hearth and kindled a small fire. I needed to bring up more firewood soon. The dancing flames lent the room a fickle yellow light. I took clothing from the chest at the foot of my bed, only to find the garments oddly ill-fitting. My long illness had wasted the muscle from my frame, but I had still somehow managed to grow longer in the legs and arms. Nothing fitted. I picked up my shirt from the day before, but a night in clean bedding had refreshed my nose. I could no longer abide the smell of the travel-stained garment. I dug in my clothes chest again. I found one soft brown shirt that had once been too long in the sleeve for me, and now just fitted. I put it on with my green quilted mountain trousers and buskins. I had no doubt that as soon as I encountered the Lady Patience or Mistress Hasty, I would be attacked and the situation remedied. But not, I hoped, before breakfast and a trip into Buckkeep Town. There were several places there where I might get word of Molly.
I found the castle stirring but not yet fully awake. I ate in the kitchen as I had when a child, finding that there, as always, the bread was freshest and the porridge sweetest. Cook exclaimed to see me, one minute commenting on how much I had grown, and the next lamenting how thin and worn I looked. I surmised that before the day was out I would be heartily sick of these observations. As traffic in the kitchen increased, I fled, carrying off a thick slice of bread well buttered and laden with rosehip preserves. I headed back towards my room to get a winter cloak.
In every chamber I passed through, I found more and more evidence of Kettricken’s presence. A sort of tapestry, woven of different coloured grasses and representing a mountain scene, now graced the wall of the Lesser Hall. There were no flowers to be had this time of year, but in odd places I encountered fat pottery bowls full of pebbles, and these held bare but graceful branches, or dried thistles and cat tails. The changes were small but unmistakable.
I found myself in one of the older sections of Buckkeep, and then climbing the dusty steps to Verity’s watch-tower. It commanded a wide view of our sea-coast, and from its tall windows Verity kept his summer vigil for raiding ships. From here he worked the Skill magic that kept the raiders at bay, or at least gave us some warning of their coming. It was a thin defence at times. He should have had a coterie of underlings trained in the Skill to assist him. But I myself, despite my bastard blood, had never been able to control my random Skill abilities. Galen our Skillmaster had died before he had trained more than a handful in the Skill. There was no one to replace him, and those he had trained lacked a true communion with Verity. So Verity Skilled alone against our enemies. It had aged him before his time. I worried that he would overspend himself upon it, and succumb to the addicting weakness of those who Skilled too much.
By the time I reached the top of the spiralling tower steps, I was winded and my legs ached. I pushed at the door and it gave easily on oiled hinges. From long habit, I stepped quietly as I entered the room. I had not really expected to find Verity or anyone else there. The sea storms were our watchmen in winter, guarding our coasts from raiders. I blinked in the sudden grey light of morning that was flooding in from the unshuttered tower windows. Verity was a dark silhouette against a dark storm sky. He did not turn. ‘Shut the door,’ he said quietly. ‘The draught up the stairs makes this room as windy as a chimney.’
I did so, and then stood shivering in the chill. The wind brought the scent of the sea with it, and I breathed it in as if it were life itself. ‘I had not expected to find you here,’ I said.
He kept his eyes on the water. ‘Didn’t you? Then why did you come?’ There was amusement in his voice.
It jolted me. ‘I don’t really know. I headed back to my room …’ My voice dwindled away as I tried to recall why I had come here.
‘I Skilled you,’ he said simply.
I stood silent and thought. ‘I felt nothing.’
‘I didn’t intend that you should. It is as I told you a long time ago. The Skill can be a soft whisper in a man’s ear. It doesn’t have to be a shout of command.’
He turned slowly to face me, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, my heart leaped with joy at the change I saw in the man. When I had left Buckkeep at harvest time, he had been a withered shadow, worn thin by the weight of his duties and his constant watchfulness. His dark hair was still salted with grey, but there was muscle once more on his stocky frame, and vitality snapped in his dark eyes. He looked every bit a king.
‘Marriage seems to agree with you, my prince,’ I said inanely.
That flustered him. ‘In some ways,’ he conceded, as a boyish flush rose on his cheeks. He turned back quickly to his window. ‘Come and see my ships,’ he commanded.
It was my turn to be baffled. I stepped to the window beside him and looked out over the harbour, and then over the sea itself. ‘Where?’ I asked in bewilderment. He took me by the shoulders and turned me toward the shipyard. A long barn of a building of new yellow pine had been erected there. Men were coming and going from it as smoke rose from chimneys and forges there. Dark against the snow were several of the immense timbers that had been Kettricken’s bride-offering to him.
‘Sometimes, when I stand up here on a winter morning, I look out to sea and I can almost see the Red Ships. I know they must come. But sometimes, too, I can see the ships we shall have to meet them. They will not find their prey so helpless this spring, my boy. And by next winter I intend to teach them what it is to be raided.’ He spoke with a savage satisfaction that would have been frightening, had I not shared it. I felt my grin mirror his as our eyes met.
And then his look changed. ‘You look terrible,’ he offered. ‘As bad as your clothes. Let’s go somewhere warmer and find you some mulled wine and something to eat.’
‘I’ve eaten,’ I told him. ‘And I’m much better than I was a few months ago, thank you.’
‘Don’t be prickly,’ he admonished me. ‘And don’t tell me what I already know. Nor lie to me. The climb up the stair has exhausted you, and you’re shivering as you stand there.’
‘You’re using the Skill on me,’ I accused him, and he nodded.
‘I’ve been aware of your approach for some days now. I tried several times to Skill to you, but could not make you aware of me. I was concerned when you left the road, but I understand Burrich’s concern. I am pleased that he has looked after you so well; not just in bringing you home safe, but in all that went on at Jhaampe. I am at a loss as to how to reward him. It would have to be subtle. Given who was involved, a public recognition would not do. Have you any suggestions?’
‘Your word of thanks would be all he would accept. He would bridle that you thought he needed more. My own feelings are that no object you gave him would be a match for what he did for me. The way to handle him is to tell him to take his pick of the likely two-year-olds, for his horse is growing old. He’d understand that.’ I considered it carefully. ‘Yes. You might do that.’
‘Might I?’ Verity asked me dryly. There was an acid edge to the amusement in his voice.
I was suddenly amazed at my own boldness. ‘I forgot myself, my prince,’ I said humbly.
A smile curved his lips and his hand fell on my shoulder in a heavy pat. ‘Well, I asked you, did I not? For a moment I would have sworn it was old Chivalry instructing me in handling my men, rather than my young nephew. Your trip to Jhaampe has quite changed you, boy. Come. I meant what I said about a warmer spot and a glass of something. Kettricken will be wanting to see you later in the day. And Patience, too, I imagine.’
My heart sank as he heaped the tasks before me. Buckkeep Town pulled at me like a lodestone. But this was my King-in-Waiting. I bowed my head to his will.
We left the tower and I followed him down the stairs, speaking of inconsequential things. He told me to tell Mistress Hasty I needed new clothes; I asked after Leon, his wolfhound. He stopped a lad in the corridor and asked him to bring wine and meat pies to his study. I followed him, not up to his chambers, but to a lower room at once familiar and strange. The last time I had been in it, Fedwren the scribe had been using it to sort and dry herbs and shells and roots for the making of his inks. All signs of that had been cleared from it. A fire burned low in the small hearth. Verity poked this up and added wood as I looked around. There was a large carved oak table and two smaller ones, a variety of chairs, a scroll rack, and a battered shelf littered with miscellaneous objects. Spread out on the table was the beginnings of a map of the Chalced States. The corners of it were weighted with a dagger and three stones. Various scraps of parchment that littered the table top were covered with Verity’s hand and preliminary sketches with notes scratched across them. The friendly litter that covered the two smaller tables and several of the chairs seemed familiar. After a moment I recognized it as the layer of Verity’s possessions that had previously been scattered about his bedchamber. Verity rose from awakening the fire and smiled ruefully at my raised eyebrows. ‘My Queen-in-Waiting has small patience with clutter. “How,” she asked me, “Can you hope to create precise lines in the midst of such disorder?” Her own chamber has the precision of a military encampment. So, I hide myself away down here, for I quickly found that in a clean and sparse chamber I could get no work done at all. Besides, it gives me a place for quiet talk, where not all know to seek me.’
He had scarcely finished speaking before the door opened to admit Charim with a tray. I nodded to Verity’s serving-man who not only seemed unsurprised to see me, but had added to Verity’s request a certain type of spice bread that I had always enjoyed. He moved about the room briefly, making perfunctory tidying motions as he shifted a few books and scrolls to free a chair for me, and then vanished again. Verity was so accustomed to him he scarce seemed to notice him, save for the brief smile they exchanged as Charim left.
‘So,’ he said, as soon as the door was fairly shut. ‘Let’s have a full report. From the time you left Buckkeep.’
This was not a simple recounting of my journey and the events of it. I had been trained by Chade to be a spy as well as an assassin. And since my earliest days, Burrich had always demanded that I be able to give a detailed account of anything that went on in the stables in his absence. So as we ate and drank, I gave Verity an accounting of all I had seen and done since I had left the keep. This was followed by my summation of what I had concluded from my experiences, and then by what I suspected from what I had learned. By then, Charim had returned with another meal. While we consumed this, Verity limited our talk to his warships. He could not conceal his enthusiasm for them. ‘Mastfish has come down to supervise the building. I went up to High-downs myself to fetch him. He claimed to be an old man now. “The cold would stiffen my bones; I can’t build a boat in winter any more,” that was the word he sent me. So I set the apprentices work, and I myself went to fetch him. He could not refuse me to my face. When he got here, I took him down to the shipyards. And I showed him the heated shed, big enough to house a warship, built so he might work and not be cold. But that was not what convinced him. It was the white oak that Kettricken brought me. When he saw the timber, he could not wait to put a drawknife to it. The grain is straight and true throughout. The planking is well begun already. They will be lovely ships, swan-necked, sinuous as snakes upon the water.’ Enthusiasm spilled from him. I could already imagine the rising and falling of the oars, the bellying of the square masts when they were underway.
Then the dishes and oddments were pushed to one side, and he began to quiz me upon events in Jhaampe. He forced me to reconsider each separate incident from every possible perspective. By the time he was finished with me, I had relived the entire episode and my anger at my betrayal was fresh and vivid once more.
Verity was not blind to it. He leaned back in his chair to reach for another log. He flipped it onto the fire, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. ‘You have questions,’ he observed. ‘This time, you may ask them.’ He folded his hands quietly into his lap and waited.
I tried to master my emotions. ‘Prince Regal, your brother,’ I began carefully, ‘is guilty of the highest treason. He arranged the killing of your bride’s elder brother, Prince Rurisk. He attempted a plot that would have resulted in your death. His aim was to usurp both your crown and your bride. As little more than a spice, he twice tried to kill me. And Burrich.’ I paused to breathe, forcing my heart and voice back to calmness.
‘You and I both accept those things as true. They would be difficult for us to prove,’ Verity observed mildly.
‘And he relies upon that!’ I spat out, and then turned my face aside from Verity until I could master my anger. The very intensity of it frightened me, for I had not allowed myself to feel it until now. Months ago, when I was using all my wits to stay alive, I had pushed it aside to keep my mind clear. There had followed the wasting months of convalescence as I recovered from Regal’s botched poisoning attempt. Not even to Burrich had I been able to tell all, for Verity had made it clear that he wished no one to know any more about the situation than could be helped. Now I stood before my prince, and trembled with the force of my own anger. My face spasmed suddenly in a violent series of twitches. That dismayed me enough that I was able to force calm upon myself once more.
‘Regal relies upon it,’ I said more quietly. All this while Verity had not budged nor changed expression despite my outburst. He sat gravely at his end of the table, his work-scarred hands composed before him, watching me with dark eyes. I looked down at the tabletop and traced with a fingertip the carved scrollwork on the corner. ‘He does not admire you, that you keep the laws of the kingdom. He sees it as a weakness, as a way to circumvent justice. He may try to kill you again. Almost certainly, he will make an attempt upon me.’
‘Then we must be careful, we two, mustn’t we?’ Verity observed mildly.
I lifted my eyes to look him in the face. ‘That is all you say to me?’ I asked tightly, choking down my outrage.
‘FitzChivalry. I am your prince. I am your King-in-Waiting. You are sworn to me, as much as to my father. And, if it comes to it, you are sworn to my brother as well.’ Verity rose suddenly, to take a pace around the room. ‘Justice. There’s a thing we shall ever thirst after, and ever be parched. No. We content ourselves with law. And this is only more true, the higher a man’s rank rises. Justice would put you next in line for the throne, Fitz. Chivalry was my elder brother. But law says you were born outside of wedlock, and hence can never make any claim to the crown. Some might say I had snatched the throne from my brother’s son. Should I be shocked that my younger brother should want to grab it from me?’
I had never heard Verity speak like this, his voice so even but so fraught with emotion. I kept silent.
‘You think I should punish him. I could. I need not prove his wrongdoing to make life unpleasant for him. I could send him as emissary to Cold Bay, on some contrived errand, and keep him there, in uncomfortable conditions, far from court. I could all but banish him. Or I could keep him here at court, but so load him with unpleasant duties that he has no time for that which amuses him. He would understand he was being punished. So would every noble with half a wit. Those who sympathize with him would rally to his defence. The Inland Duchies could contrive some emergency in his mother’s land that demanded the presence of her son. Once there, he could build further support for himself. He might very well be able to foment the civil unrest he sought before, and found an inland kingdom loyal only to him. Even if he did not achieve that end, he could cause enough unrest to steal the unity I must have if I am to defend our kingdom.’
He stopped speaking. He lifted his eyes and glanced around the room. I followed his gaze. The walls were hung with his maps. There was Bearns, there was Shoaks and here was Rippon. On the opposite wall, Buck, Farrow and Tilth. All done in Verity’s precise hand, every river blue inked, every town named. Here were his Six Duchies. He knew them as Regal never would. He had ridden those roads, helped set the markers of those boundaries. Following Chivalry, he had treated with the folk who bordered our lands. He had swung a sword in defence of it, and known when to set down that sword and negotiate a peace. Who was I to be telling him how to rule at home?
‘What will you do?’ I asked quietly.
‘Keep him. He is my brother. And my father’s son.’ He poured himself more wine. ‘My father’s most cherished, youngest son. I have gone to my father the King, and suggested that Regal might be more content with his lot if he had more to do with the running of the kingdom. King Shrewd has consented to this. I expect to be much occupied with defending our land from the Red Ships. So to Regal will fall the task of raising the revenues we shall need, and he will also be dealing with any other internal crises that may arise. With a circle of nobles to assist him, of course. He is full welcome to deal with their bickering and dissensions.’
‘And Regal is content with this?’
Verity smiled a thin smile. ‘He cannot say he is not. Not if he wishes to keep the image of a young man adept at ruling and but waiting for opportunity to prove himself.’ He lifted his wine glass and turned to stare into the fire. The only sound in the room was the snapping of the flames as they consumed the wood. ‘When you come to me tomorrow,’ he began.
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