Fortune's Fool Page 11

  His speaking voice was as good as his singing voice.

  And there was something about him… She coaxed him into talking, though it didn’t take a lot of coaxing, and she listened carefully to what he said.

  She heard the truth in what he told her, but also heard, beneath the words that he gave her, that he was not telling her all the truth. That was fine. She would learn all of it eventually.

  And she could tell he was good, that he had an instinct for goodness. When he offered to sing more, she seized on that as a fine excuse to remain.

  She sat cross-legged on the sun-warmed boulder, and listened; from the first note, she knew that she had not 132

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  been wrong. There was something more there. Something powerful that explained exactly why Led Belarus was so peaceful, so prosperous.

  This man was a Songweaver. And a Seventh Son. She could sense both those things, now that she was looking for them. The power of the Songweaver put gentle persuasion behind every word he sang. The signs of the Seventh Son were less obvious, but the violet eyes were what had started her down that path of reasoning. When he mentioned he had six brothers she knew he had to be the youngest.

  And—for that reason, he must also be a Fortunate Fool.

  So he was a triply blessed young man, with the power of a Fortunate Fool, a Seventh Son, and a Songweaver.

  These might not be powerful magics, but tiny magics, worked wisely…

  Now, the Songweavers were not Bards as such; they had a different sort of magic. Rather than forcing The Tradition to aid them, or outright undermining it, the Songweavers coaxed it, placated it, and led it along gently into the path that they wanted it to travel. Songweavers worked in small ways, not large ones, and yet small corrections, made early, rendered the powerful magics unnecessary.

  Songweavers worked by modifying Traditional paths that already existed rather than inserting new ones. Wish to make your Kingdom prosperous and peaceful? Sing it that way, then make sure that the songs spread, that they are the sort of thing that ordinary people whistle, hum, and sing while they’re working. They don’t have Fortune’s Fool

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  to be the great, earth-shattering Songs of the Bards; in fact, you’d really rather that they weren’t. Not when what you want is the small, gradual changes.

  So this was why the Kingdom of Led Belarus was so quiet. They had a little guardian to make it so. And if he was wise, he allowed a little bit of evil to come in, flourish briefly, then fade, or be taken down if need be.

  Nothing should be too perfect. The Tradition did not care for perfection.

  The more she listened to this man, the more she liked him. And it wasn’t too terribly difficult to work out who he was, as what she had learned from the Library about Led Belarus meshed with what she was learning now. A

  “Sasha,” who traveled about Led Belarus on behalf of his father? A Seventh Son to boot? This could only be Prince Sasha, Seventh Son and Fortunate Fool.

  And, of course, Songweaver, though she hadn’t known that until she’d met him.

  Somehow she’d found herself promising to come back to meet him here on the beach. Somehow, he’d promised to extend his stay here to meet her….

  Somehow…or with the impetus of The Tradition.

  Well, this was one time when she would willingly go along with The Tradition.

  The swim back to the Sea King’s Palace seemed to take no time at all, and her father was free and taking a brief bit of leisure in the garden when she sought him out.

  “Have you not yet gone, daughter?” he asked, looking surprised. She smiled.

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  “There and back again, Father,” she assured him. “The answer is simple. A chance meeting gave me all the answers. Prince Sasha, the youngest of the seven Princes, is a Songweaver.”

  Understanding dawned on her father’s face immediately. “Ah! And Seventh Son…that would make him a Fortunate Fool as well?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, “only not so foolish.”

  She outlined all that Sasha had told her, and all that she surmised. Her father listened carefully and nodded now and again.

  “Is it possible,” he asked at last, “that the King of Led Belarus is canny enough about The Tradition to make the boy a Fool in public and something else altogether in private?”

  “I would say that is a certainty, Father.” She gazed off for a moment over his shoulder. “Sasha’s songs are carefully worded. Not so powerful that The Tradition would ever feel the pressure of his words. And what was more, they are very singable. He has a gift for that.”

  “And what sort of a man is he?” asked her father shrewdly. “All this is well and good, but if there is greed or overweening ambition in him—”

  She shook her head. “He’s kind, Father, and very dedicated to caring for his Kingdom. I think that the moon is going to come down into the sea to ask for one of us in marriage before Sasha uses his power for his own gain.”

  “And your instincts tell you to trust him.” The King looked at his daughter shrewdly. Katya blushed, and he Fortune’s Fool

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  chuckled. “Well, the day has finally come. My daughter has found a young man who interests her. You fancy this minstrel, Katya?”

  She blushed even harder, and he laughed. “Then by all means, so long as you remember your primary duty is to me and this Kingdom, pursue the young man. Take him to your bed, if you like. It is not our way to meddle in love affairs. But keep your eyes open and your wits about you. Remember all the advice about young men that you have given others. I wish to have no Rusalka daughters. Do I make myself clear?”

  She nodded. And she knew that her father was right.

  She knew very little about Sasha.

  But she wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything….

  “As a Songweaver, he could, if he wished, do us a good turn or two,” the King mused aloud. “I would be very grateful for such help.”

  “I will see what can be done, Father, but I have only just met him—” she began.

  He laughed. “And you know how to rectify that. Go, my dear. And be glad that you have Siren, and not Mermaid blood in your veins.”

  She blushed even harder. But she also lost no time in retracing her path back to the shores of Led Belarus.

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  Sasha sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the message that had finally caught up with him. He had been sending Yasha short reports from every significant stop he had made, more as a way for his family to keep track of where he was than because they needed any news about what he was doing.

  It was a message that came with a gift, which told him immediately that he probably wouldn’t like it. Had this message arrived at any time previous to yesterday afternoon, he would have been angry, a little hurt, and a great deal resentful.

  Dear Sasha, We are at a delicate position at the moment.

  The negotiations for your brother’s bride are going very well.

  But any little thing could bring it all crashing down. Therefore, if you would, please remain where you are until we send for you? With the letter had come a substantial pouch of Fortune’s Fool

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  money, enough to keep him well for quite some time, and the messenger waited patiently down below for his answer. Which, because Sasha was a good son, and would do as his father asked, would be to agree to the request and not make trouble.

  Now at any other time, he would have been annoyed, and even hurt by this. After all, it wasn’t as if he chose to be the Fortunate Fool. Given the option he would much rather—

  He weighed the pouch of money in his hand. What would he rather be?

  If he was to have the choice without needing to factor in starvation…he’d be a minstrel. He could still sing the Kingdom to make it prosper and protect it as a minstrel.

  In fact, it might be easier.

  He entertained the fantasy for a moment—for it
was a fantasy—of spending his time riding from inn to inn, enjoying the sun and sky by day, tucked up in a cozy corner with an appreciative audience by night, and after the inn was closed, finding a saucy serving wench waiting for him in his bed….

  But the reality for minstrels, as he very well knew, was traveling afoot, or if lucky, catching a ride with a farmer.

  There were very few minstrels who could afford a horse, and most of those were with a troupe of entertainers, sharing a wagon, which had its own advantages and draw-backs. Since he didn’t think he’d fit in well with any such group, he would have to go it alone. The life of a minstrel was filled with lots of rainy days, cold days, days of endless 138

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  snow, and the occasional blistering-hot day just for variety.

  It was smoke-filled, filthy inns that, unlike the Jolly Sturgeon, were full of the stench of stale, thin kvass—a thin, bitter beer—burned food, unwashed bodies, and vomit. And most of all, the life of a minstrel was going hungry, sleeping without shelter, most of the time. When there was shelter, it was in someone’s barn, in a shed, or on the hard floor of one of those wretched inns.

  I am a pampered Prince, he thought wryly. I wouldn’t last out the season.

  Of course, if he could manage to be a Prince incog-nito, to have money sent to him whenever he needed it, to have a good horse under him and good clothing on his back, that would be very different.

  I wonder if it would be possible to simply make the rounds all the time? Or, well, not all the time, but there would be no difficulty finding a nice, cozy inn to spend winter months. Would he still then be the Fortunate Fool for the Kingdom? That would be the real question. Probably only a Godmother could answer it.

  If he couldn’t then—no. He could not in all conscience do something like that. The Kingdom, and his family, depended on his Luck. He couldn’t do anything that would diminish it, not and feel anything but guilty.

  But if he could…

  Well, this was not the time to daydream. For once, when he’d been told to stay away, he was happy about it.

  He was at his favorite place, it was the middle of summer, and a pretty girl was interested in him.

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  Leaving aside the fact that she certainly was some sort of magical creature, and there was a possibility, however remote, that she had come here to kill him…

  Coming ashore again, on the deserted beach, Katya busied herself at first in fussing with her costume. Sasha had liked her in red, would he like her in blue? It didn’t take much magic to change the colors. But she was stalling for time, feeling nervous, and finally she had to laugh at herself. She had faced all manner of dangers and never been half as nervous as this!

  Do I tell him who I am? What I am? It only seemed fair.

  She resolved that she would, but she would have to pick the right time to do so. It wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to just blurt out.

  But at least, being what he was, he would believe her.

  With anyone else there was the very real possibility that they wouldn’t. Humans, she had noticed, didn’t much like the idea of magic that intruded on their lives. They much preferred it to be somewhere else. Magic, and those who wielded it, took the power of most everything out of their hands, and no one liked to feel powerless. At least, that was what she thought was the reason.

  She had come ashore some distance from their meeting place, and once she was satisfied with how she looked, she began the walk with the gulls and terns crying overhead. Once she had the spot in sight, she ran up the beach to the cluster of boulders where they had first met, steeling herself for disappointment. He might 140

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  have forgotten. He might have had to leave this village.

  He might have made the promise idly, without ever really meaning to fulfill it.

  But as she neared the rocks, she heard the merry sound of the balalaika and felt her feet grow lighter.

  He was waiting for her!

  She rounded the large boulder, and there he was! He was standing up this time, leaning against the rock as he played. He grinned when he saw her and ended the dance tune with a flourish.

  “Well met, Katya!” he said, laughing. “I have come better provisioned this time! Have you eaten?”

  “Only breakfast,” she replied, and felt her eyes widen as he pulled a basket out from behind a smaller rock.

  “Then I shall be more than happy to share my midday meal with you,” he told her, eyes dancing. “Though I warn you, it is only tavern fare. Good, but nothing like lark’s tongues and roast peacock.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone heartless enough to silence a lark for the sake of eating its tongue!” she exclaimed, as she settled down on the soft sand next to him while he spread out a cloth and began to unpack the basket onto it. “Nor can I imagine wanting to take a beautiful peacock out of the world just to have a moment of devouring it.”

  “Well, in that, we are one, Katya. I had much rather have plain good food that doesn’t require taking beauty from the world to get it.” He finished unpacking the basket. “There we are. My hostess’s good honest bread, a very nice goat cheese, lovely onions as sweet as you’d Fortune’s Fool

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  like, and a bit of cold hare that we won’t inquire too closely about.” He winked, and she grinned, knowing that he must suspect the hare was poached, but wasn’t going to say or do anything about it.

  “I’m sorry there isn’t any fish—” he began, but she shook her head as she reached for a piece of the substantial dark bread he tore off for her. It was fresh, and had a wonderful, slightly nutty scent to it.

  “Oh no, really I get more than enough fish at home!”

  The cheese was soft and creamy, and just strong enough to offset the bite of the little green onions. “This is lovely!”

  He watched her eat with evident enjoyment, and made good work of the food himself. She savored each bite; the common food of Nippon was based on rice, not bread, and though it was good, she had missed the baked stuffs she usually enjoyed in the Drylands. Cheese, well they did get cheese beneath the sea, but it was all firm stuff, and of course every bite was flavored with the salt water.

  This was—delightful.

  She tried not to be greedy. But it came to her, as it did so often when she was on the Drylands, how tired she was of the taste of salt. Everything there tasted of salt.

  Fruit, even. Maybe if she never came to the Drylands again, she would get used to it, but she never seemed to.

  It was possible to get cooked foods and even baked things in her father’s Kingdom, but you had to leave the Palace grounds to do so. Elsewhere, people could use magic to cook food and even to make little pockets of air where you could have something baked and eat it, too, 142

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  if you were the sort that could breathe air as Katya was—a gift that was rare outside of the Sirens, the mer-folk, and the seal-people. But Katya never seemed to have the time to go to one of these places anymore….

  And anyway, everything still tasted of salt.

  She realized he was watching her with a little half smile on his face.

  She stopped eating. “What is it?” she asked. “What have I done?”

  “Done? Nothing,” he said pleasantly. “I’m just trying to figure out what sort of magical creature you are, Katya.”

  She froze, and he went on. “There are not a lot of human sea creatures in Led Belarus Tradition, except maybe a swan maiden—swan maidens do land on the ocean. But you haven’t a suggestion of anything feathery about you, and anyway, swan maidens travel in flocks.

  So that means you must be outside the Led Belarus Tradition, and I’ll admit you have me stumped.” He scratched his head and grinned ruefully. “All I know about are the mer-folk and you haven’t a tail. Well, and the Sirens, but you haven’t tried to drown me, or sing at me to make me love you, so I think I’m safe there.”

&n
bsp; She opened and closed her mouth several times. It was taking her a moment to compose herself. Finally, “I’m the Sea King’s daughter,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really! And what brings you to Led Belarus, Princess?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said, blushing. “Call me Katya. And—you are what brings me.”

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  Now it was his turn to open and close his mouth, as if about to say something, then thinking better of it.

  “Me!” he said finally. “But I’m not important. Well—”

  “You’re a Fortunate Fool, and a Songweaver,” she replied, cutting him off. “And you’re the Seventh Son of the King of Led Belarus. But it isn’t so much you yourself that brought me here. It was what you’re doing.”

  He blinked, and nodded. “But all I’m doing is making things peaceful—” he said feebly.

  Katya laughed, and popped a grape in her mouth.

  “Too peaceful! Or so my father said. He was afraid that things here were about to turn very bad, the calm before the storm, you see. But then I met you and I heard you, and I realized you were a Songweaver, so then, of course, it was all right.”

  “I’m a—” He hesitated. “I’m a what?”

  “A Songweaver. It’s not moving big magics, like a Bard can. It’s smaller things.” She paused, not sure where to go with this explanation.

  But he—oh he was a quick one. “Spinning songs for good harvests and fine weather. Catching evil things and singing them out by making them all too visible to both ordinary folks and their own enemies. Or just singing them out by making it too cheerful for them, because happiness is poison to them. That’s what I do with ghosts, when they’re vicious haunts….”

  “Exactly!” She nodded with relief. “And you can make your songs do more than any other Songweaver I’ve ever seen or heard of, because you’re a Fortunate Fool.”

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  “Oho! That’s the explanation!” He seemed pleased. “I had wondered. I thought the reason that the songs were working was only because I am a Fortunate Fool.”