“It does not seem like Forged ones,” I said, and then carefully, I asked, “Do you suspect a conspiracy of some kind?”
Verity snorted bitterly. “Of course. When do I not suspect conspiracies anymore? But for this, at least, I think I can look further afield than Buckkeep to find the source.” He halted abruptly, as if hearing how bluntly he had spoken. “Look into it for me, Fitz, will you? Ride out and about a bit, and listen. Tell me what they say in the taverns, and tell me what sign you find on the roads. Gather gossip of other attacks, and keep track of the detail. Quietly. Can you do that for me?”
“Of course. But why quietly? It seems to me that if we alerted folk, we would hear more swiftly of what goes on.”
“We would hear more, that’s true. More of rumors, and much more of complaint. So far these are individual complaints. I am the only one, I think, who has put together a pattern from them. I do not want Buckkeep itself up in arms, complaining that the King cannot even protect his capital city. No. Quietly, Fitz. Quietly.”
“Just look into it quietly.” I did not voice it as a question.
Verity gave his broad shoulders a small shrug. But it was more like a man shifting a burden than dislodging a load. “Put a stop to it where you can.” His voice was small and he looked into the fire. “Quietly, Fitz. Very quietly.”
I nodded slowly. I had had these kinds of assignments before also. Killing Forged ones did not bother me as much as killing a man did. Sometimes I tried to pretend I was laying a restless soul to peace, putting a family’s anguish to a final end. I hoped I would not become too adept at lying to myself. It was a luxury an assassin could not afford. Chade had warned me that I must always remember what I truly was. Not an angel of mercy, but a killer who worked for the good of the King. Or the King-in-Waiting. It was my duty to keep the throne secure. My duty. I hesitated, then spoke.