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An excerpt from a letter from Chade to Fitz about Shrewd and the costs of necessary secrecy precedes “Smoke.” The chapter opens with Fitz reaching out to the Fool, thinking the latter dead. Fitz steels himself to leave his friend behind in search of his daughter and is surprised when the Fool lashes out, thinking that the Servants have come for him again. Fitz helps the Fool along, assisted by Lant, and receives report of events. Brief conference about how to proceed is taken, and the Fool offers guidance as to where Bee might be held.

The group finds its way into a torture chamber, Fitz aghast at its contents and implications as he searches among the present prisoners for his daughter. Progress is interrupted by a pair of guards who converse as they make a casual sweep of the area; after they have left, Fitz’s search for Bee continues, uncovering Prilkop. Fitz continues, moving with some caution against the alert status of Clerres, and he becomes aware of fire at work in the stronghold. Fitz and Perseverance charge ahead, the latter passing the former and claiming Bee.

As Fitz makes to begin exfiltration with Bee and his other companions, Wolf-Father rejoins him, making brief report. And in the moment of openness, Fitz begins to be suborned by Vindeliar’s magics, beguiled to take himself and the children to the Servants.

The present chapter offers some explanation for the presence of Wolf-Father with Bee, and I find myself easily able to imagine Nighteyes commenting that “This is pack.” The explanation carries some implications and raises some questions, of course:

• Is Nighteyes unique or rare among wolves in leaving not only an echo of himself in Fitz but a lingering spirit that has agency and can move from person to person? And if he is not, what does that say about the packs of wolves that exist in the world the Realm of the Elderlings inhabits? And what of other animals?
• To what else can such a spirit as Nighteyes is attach?
• What other spirits are at work in the Realm of the Elderlings? (The beings in the Skill that Fitz encounters from time to time, not only those of his Skill-using kin dead or gone into dragons.)
• Are spirit-like manifestations (eg, the apparitions stored in memory stone) merely echoes, or are they, too, potentially lingering sentiences that can “attach” to people and places with agency? (There is some suggestion of this in the interactions between Rapskal and Tellator, for example.)

Such things–and I make no claim that what I note above is exhaustive rather than a few minutes of not-too-deep thinking–are the kinds of things that send fandoms scrambling, I know, and might with some properties open space for other authors (and adaptors; I admit that my recent roleplaying work has me thinking in such ways) to write such that the holes are filled and implications traced out. Whether that is a good thing or not is a matter of perspective; Tolkien’s comments about bones and soup come to mind for one perspective, but my own completion- and lore-seeking self rapidly presents another. (I also acknowledge the existence of but do not care for at least one more: “Who cares?”) I point so much out not because I necessarily do want any of those gaps filled (or, more likely, patched over; I’ve seen how such things can go) but because they are useful reminders that such gaps do not detract from the quality of a work. Rather, they are necessary products of writing that reflects the messiness of reality; while there may be answers to all questions in the readerly world, none of us has all of them, so writing that strives for verisimilitude–such as Hobb’s–should also leave at least things open.

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Another prophecy, one seeming to summarize the Tawny Man trilogy, prefaces “Candles.” The chapter, proper, opens with Bee watching Motley depart and listening to her fellow captives. Conversation among them lapses, and Bee confers with Wolf-Father within. She contemplates what she knows and questions her own perceptions of reality, and she voices her beliefs aloud.

In the ensuing silence, Bee employs her skills and the tokens she has purloined to escape her cell and stalk through Clerres. Thinking of her mother and her mother’s determination, Bee douses the shelves of Clerres’s library with oil and prepares to set them aflame. Vindeliar’s magic touches her, and she uses the connection thus made to gain information, but her own intent is revealed. The library begins to ignite, and Bee rushes to set more fires. Once they are well stoked, Wolf-Father urges her to flee, and she does.

The prefatory materials for the chapter once again catch my attention, leaving me to note with some interest that the prophet cited reports dreaming twice of Fitz and the Fool victorious at Aslevjal and seven times of them failing. One might think that a more than one-in-five chance of success would prompt more effort to interdict than it appears to have received; Ilistore did not seem so well supplied from Clerres as she might have been. Admittedly, concerns of time factor into such reckonings; how long she had been on Aslevjal is not entirely clear, and it might well have been long. Still, it is striking that the Fool’s success was so little anticipated, given the odds implied.

As to Bee’s actions in the chapter: I am sympathetic to the underlying motivations. The library at Clerres has been used to perpetuate evil, on her and on the broader world she inhabits. It, as much as anything else, is the source of Clerres’s power. Undoing Clerres means undoing the library–and yet, being who I am, I wince at even the fictional depiction of book-burning, both because of the historical overtones and for other reasons I have addressed once or twice before. (It’s been a while since I’ve thought about those days. I wonder what it says about me that such is so.) But that I am uneasy does not mean it is poorly written or poorly done; indeed, the fact of the discomfort may be taken as a sign of the writing’s success.

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An excerpt from another dream journal precedes “A Way In,” which begins with Fitz and his companions waiting for Motley to return. They confer and watch the dwindling crowd uncertainly, marking the gossip they can make out. Perseverance sees Motley return, and the group hastens to take the bird back in. Fitz reaches for Motley through the Wit and is rebuked, but he receives Bee’s message and begins to formulate a plan.

Fitz and his companions begin to enact Fitz’s plan, reducing their carried burdens as they prepare to infiltrate Clerres via its sewage outlet. Under cover of darkness, they proceed, going quickly to the water and slowly thought it. Fitz offers yet one more chance for his companions to turn aside and is once again refused. They proceed up Clerres’s waste-release into the depths of its fortress, finding a body, a guard who soon becomes nothing more than another body, and the Fool, beaten and showing no signs of life.

The present chapter makes the note that Fitz “looked out at the sea and thought of El, the harsh god of those waters. I had seldom prayed, but that night I offered El both my prayers that he would spare those who accompanied me, and curses for him if he took them from me” (588). Veneration of El in the Six Duchies has been mentioned before, as might be expected, and I comment on it here and elsewhere. The comments made about said veneration earlier in the Realm of the Elderlings novels depict overt prayer to El as a dangerous thing to undertake; that Fitz does so here seems a combination of his desperation and yet more of the foreshadowing of which the Realm of the Elderlings novels make much. Given the looming end of the novel, and from the vantage of rereading, I think it both.

I’ll note in the present chapter also a crass joke at work: Fitz and his companions are going up Clerres’s ass to wreck the place. That they come in by way of an emptying sewer, one described more than once earlier in the series as discharging from a chamber that fills during the day and is evacuated at intervals by receding water, makes the jape clear; Clerres, something of a porcelain throne, acts as if it fills and flushes a toilet, voiding itself. And, well, if there is still medievalism at work in the Realm of the Elderlings at this point, a story of Edmund Ironside comes to mind as a possible reference, here. (For more of a stretch on that point, so does a similar story about Uesugi Kenshin.) Yes, it’s scatological. Yes, it’s puerile. Yes, it’s scurrilous. But none of that means it isn’t there, and none of that means the work cannot be of quality; even Shakespeare makes such jokes, after all, and Chaucer’s Miller’s Tale is little but such a joke. I think Hobb can get away with it once or twice if such company can.

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A missive from Nettle to Withywoods indicating her desires for the property precedes “The Butterfly Man.” The chapter, proper, begins with Capra leaving Bee in her cell once again. Bee and Prilkop confer about her prophetic visions, and Prilkop sorrows over her relative lack of tutelage before informing her about the Catalyst each Prophet has. To Bee’s dismay, Prilkop posits that Dwalia was her Catalyst; he also remarks on his own work as a Prophet and his interactions with Ilistore. Prilkop further urges Bee not to destroy Clerres as she well might, citing its historical archive as a treasure worth preserving and noting the many not directly concerned with the Servants who would nonetheless suffer for her ending the Servants’ reign.

As discussion between Bee and Prilkop continues, Bee inveighs against the Servants and their depredations upon her and her people. Prilkop urges her towards the greater good even so, and further conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Beloved, clad in the butterfly cloak and so largely hidden from sight. Capra soon arrives in search of Beloved, and he is captured. As he is exposed to view, Bee recognizes Beloved, and she watches as he stabs Capra twice before being beaten again. Capra issues orders regarding Beloved and Prilkop before losing consciousness, and the surrounding guards depart to enact them.

In the guards’ absence, Prilkop and Bee confer again. They are soon interrupted again, this time by Motley, who claims to have been sent by Perseverance. Wolf-Father urges Bee from within to give a message to the bird–“A way out is a way in”–which she does with uncertain hope.

The present chapter is another short one, some thirteen pages in the printing I’m rereading; the last was a scant nine. Narrative pacing appears to be accelerating, which is not unexpected (even without the advantage of rereading the text); the end of the novel and the series of which the novel is the last entry (at this time; there has been some mention that more may be coming, but the other extant Realm of the Elderlings material of which I’m aware seems all to be in the past from this point in milieu) approaches, so it makes sense that things would pick up speed. Rushing downhill, as Freytag’s model is often presented, does usually see faster movement near the end.

The present chapter also brings up the idea of the butterfly effect once again. One of the major themes that emerges from the Realm of the Elderlings corpus is that small actions matter. Little things matter, both in themselves and because they add up over time. Hobb expresses as much many ways across the novels, ways that can be traced and explicated (although I have yet to do so, another scholarly someday I hope I might be able to address at some point), and I find myself thinking that her doing so is another way in which she signals her alignment with the Tolkienian tradition of fantasy literature (despite her many divergences from it). The Professor makes much of the importance of little people doing little things to big effect, and while he’s hardly alone in doing so, his influence remains clear–although, again, Hobb ranges far afield from Middle-earth in the Realm of the Elderlings.

I’ll note, too, that Prilkop does make some valid points in his conversation with Bee. There is value in having access to a large historical archive, and there are people who would be affected by things happening to Clerres who have nothing directly to do with the evils Clerres has perpetrated. But it is also the case that the historical archive is not a neutral thing; its recorders have their biases and impose them, knowingly and not, into the records, and access to that archive is far from even. And it is also the case that those who have nothing directly to do with the evils of Clerres nonetheless benefit from them and do, if at some remove, contribute to them. There are degrees of culpability, of course, and there are legitimate questions to ask about how much must be removed to ensure the eradication of evil…but that the eradication is needed should not be one of them.

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Notes from Bee’s prophetic dreams precede “Barriers and a Black Banner,” which opens with Fitz taking one of the Paragon‘s boats uncomfortably, accompanied by Spark, Lant, and Perseverance, all disguised. After valediction from Brashen, Althea, and the crew, the party proceeds toward Clerres, with Spark noting along the way that Beloved has regained some vision and concealed knowledge of it to facilitate deceiving Fitz and the rest and absconding. Fitz is chastised by his inattention and voices it to the shock of those around him.

Ashore, Fitz and his companions proceed, discussing how they will go about their intended mission. They are joined by Motley, whom Fitz bids the group ignore as much as possible, and the odds of Beloved’s success are remarked upon. Fitz, recognizing possibilities of Beloved’s designs, again urges his companions to depart, and they again refuse. The group also finds the stronghold of the Servants closed to visitors due to Symphe’s death. Against the upset, Perseverance suggests sending Motley into the stronghold to reconnoiter, and the bird flies off, Fitz watching as long as he can.

As often happens, I am taken by the prefatory materials for the chapter. The referents in the dream–Bee for a bee, Fitz for a blue buck–are clear enough. So is the heft of the metaphor; a father’s life is certainly worth exchanging for his daughter’s (although reading affectively once again, I think the exchange imbalanced; my daughter’s is worth more than mine). The foreshadowing is also hardly opaque…although how much of that is my rereading the text and knowing what will come, I cannot say. (Of course, that ends up lining up with a lot of Hobb’s descriptions of the White Prophets’ works, predictions recognized as having come true only in retrospect…which makes for a lovely bit of metanarrative and invites consideration of predetermination…more reason to return to the work again and again.)

Also of note in the present chapter is Fitz’s note that “Spark startled when I uttered a short, foul word” (564). I hadn’t been looking in the Realm of the Elderlings novels for this kind of thing, so I haven’t done the work (ah, another scholarly someday!), but I don’t recall Hobb making much use of overt obscenity; that is, she and her characters don’t seem to cuss much. Some of that, I suppose, can be excused by significant parts of the texts centering on high-class folks in high-class situations where such language would be out of place–but even among the sailors she shows, a population nearly a byword for foul language in the readers’ world, there’s little to none. I’m not sure what to make of it, actually; on the one hand, not having a deckhand say something like “fuck” (which may well be the startling word, being both short and foul) would seem to abrogate verisimilitude, but on the other, if it escapes readerly attention easily, perhaps it’s not a point that “matters” much for it.

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An extended excerpt from Prilkop‘s writings, detailing his treatment by the Servants after his return to Clerres, precedes “Accusations.” The chapter begins with Bee waking in her cell from an unpleasant dream. She steels herself against Vindeliar and directs her energies towards healing before her captors arrive. After she is fed, she considers her deeds of the previous night until the remaining members of the Four arrive to extract her from her cell, betraying Vindeliar’s work upon them.

Bee listens as the three remaining confer about the death of one of their own and the possibility of her complicity therewith. One of them, Coultrie, is led away, and the other two, Capra and Fellowdy, confer about what Vindeliar has said. The implications of Symphe’s death begin to be discussed, and Bee watches as power shifts in Clerres before she is confined again.

The present chapter is remarkably brief, some eight pages in the printing I am rereading. I am again taken by the desire to get hold of a cohesive print-run of the Realm of the Elderlings novels and to simply count the pages in chapter to see if there is some pattern to be found among them. I am not sure there’s anything there to find, admittedly, but I have the sneaking suspicion that there is something, and I’d have to do the work to rule out anything in any event. Ah, to have such luxury! Alas that I do not and may well never again!

Brief though it is, the present chapter serves useful functions for the reader. It continues emphasizing the hubris of the Servants in Clerres and points out the irony of their overreliance on their interpretation of prophetic foreknowledge. That is, it reminds the reader that the Servants have blinded themselves to ideas not their own, and while it is the case that a person can only come up with certain things themselves, it need not be the case that a person disregard the ideas and understandings of others. The Servants do so, and they do so at their peril, both internally (as witness Vindeliar) and externally (as Fitz and company prove).

One idea does occur as I reread, though. Throughout the Realm of the Elderlings novels, the actions of the Prophets’ Catalysts tend towards eluding prognostication. If it is the case that Bee’s actions confound the Servants’ prophecies, the idea that she is, herself, a Catalyst…tantalizes.

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After a journal entry from Bee, “Unsafe Harbor” begins with Fitz grousing about sleeping poorly in advance of major tasks facing him. He rises from sleep aboard the Paragon and makes his way to the bow of the ship, considering Clerres. His reverie is interrupted by news through the Skill that he is a grandfather, Nettle having been delivered of her child, a daughter she has allowed to be named Hope. Fitz delights in the news, and he delights further in the news that Dutiful and Elliania are now expecting, their child to be named Promise. Upbuoyed by the prospect of his family continuing, Fitz returns his attentions to his task at hand, in which he is exhorted by his king.

Fitz breaks off Skill contact when he feels the touch of Vindeliar’s magic upon his mind, and he hides as he can; the Paragon rejects the touch from Clerres. Fitz is aware through the Skill of how Vindeliar is being questioned about the deaths of Symphe and Dwalia, as well as how Vindeliar lashes out through the magic at those around him. Fitz struggles to disentangle himself from Vindeliar’s mind, roused to awareness in his own body by Brashen, bidding him bestir himself.

Brashen relates that Amber has absconded from the Paragon, and Fitz realizes he was drugged. He finds Spark similarly befuddled, and the two confer about Amber’s likely progress. Fitz doses himself with carris seed rather than cindin, and the two realize that one of the tubes of Silver that had been given Fitz has been taken.

Given the assertion of two new Farseer names, I am reminded in the present chapter of Hobb’s predilection in the Realm of the Elderlings novels towards emblematic names (most recently discussed here). The names in question seem uncommonly optimistic for the Farseers; Hope is something of a contrast to Nettle or Bee, and while Promise is not necessarily at odds with Integrity or Prosper (or Dutiful, for that matter) denotatively, the connotations of the latter three names are somehow sterner and more rigid. They certainly contrast with Chivarly, Verity, and Regal, and with Shrewd before, but such sequels as are hoped for by many of Hobb’s readers may well show how clear but uncommon associations of those names can be brought forward. Shrewd’s shrewdness, Chivalry’s chivalry, Verity’s verity, Regal’s regality, and Dutiful’s dutifulness can all be read in some ways as back-handed commentaries on the ostensible virtues the names represent (perhaps another scholarly someday for me), and it does not stretch credulity to think that integrity, prosperity, and promise can be similarly regarded. All that lies in a future that may be hoped for but may not come to pass, however.

The present chapter also presents a certain irony, again, of Fitz being drugged (and from his own stores, no less). It might well be thought that someone who had drugged his own companions to rebuke and had not long ago been drugged by another of them, to strong effect, would be wary of it happening again. That Fitz was so trusting…I’m not sure how to read it, honestly. On one hand, he knows and should be expected to know that Amber is problematically fixated on things; on the other, Fitz is himself publicly fixated on things and has fatigue and grief to contend with, to boot. The oversight makes some sense…but not as much as it might. At least as I read the chapter this time.

I also note, as a minor point, the extended list of effects of cindin use in the chapter. I’ve commented before on the substance and the possibility of it paralleling cocaine. The comment in the present chapter that one of the effects of cindin use is increased libido seemed to confirm it for me to some extent; I recall claims about cocaine driving sexual behaviors from my work alongside substance use disorder treatment, and a short search of formal research finds at least one study appearing to confirm the anecdotal evidence. That study–“Cocaine Administration Dose-Dependently Increases Sexual Desire and Decreases Condom Use Likelihood: The Role of Delay and Probability Discounting in Connecting Cocaine with HIV” by Johnson et al. and appearing in Psychopharmacology 234 (599-612)–might possibly have been available to Hobb during composition of the present chapter; an electronic version appears to have been in evidence in 2016, although formal publication did not occur until 2017. Even if Hobb lacked access to it, though, the fact of it…it amuses me.

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Following a letter regarding the Kendry and the challenges recently besetting the ship’s crew, “Feather to Blade” begins with Bee, imprisoned, regarding the passage of time in her cell and considering her situation. After lamps are lit, Prilkop speaks to her of dreams, particularly prophetic ones, and relates ominous portents. Wolf-Father rebukes her self-pity as her mind turns towards Fitz, and Bee suddenly realizes Symphe stands outside her cell door.

Bee regards Symphe as the latter undoes the locks holding her captive. Symphe offers candy as if Bee is a foolish child, and Bee, urged by Wolf-Father, follows her amid Prilkop’s jeering. Bee is taken to a chamber Wolf-Father recognizes as smelling of blood, in which Dwalia and Vindeliar await. Symphe confers with them about what will be done with and to Bee, and Bee acts in her own defense. A brief melee ensues, with Symphe being burned, her throat slashed, and Bee coming into contact with a vial of serpent spit that Symphe had purloined. Its power adds to her inborn Skill, and she revels in it, accepting the proclamation that she is the feared and foretold Destroyer and killing Dwalia with a word.

Bee returns to her cell to await a better chance for escape. Prilkop recognizes what has happened, and Bee weeps for what she has had to become.

The present chapter is not the first mention of the Destroyer, although I would appear to have failed to mark mention of the figure previously. Said figure is mentioned as an imminent threat to Clerres and the society that centers on it, the coming of which is foretold in an increasing number of recent prophetic dreams. Its approach is certain, especially given the Servants’ hubristic belief in their own correctness; the irony, recognized in the present chapter, that the Servants have brought their Destroyer into their stronghold themselves is delicious in no small part because it does proceed directly from that hubris. Bee points out (540-41), rightly, that she had a life from which she had been torn that would have kept her from Clerres save for the Servants’ need to control every possible bloodline of White Prophet and every possible outcome that could be foretold. Had the Servants been content to leave well enough alone, they would not have invited their own unmaking–but they could not, being as they were and are.

That is, of course, the point of all of it. The Servants, by relying so heavily on prophetic foreknowledge to guide themselves, inevitably place themselves into the position of making their prophecies come true. By not only accepting foretelling, but actively working to enact and guide it, they subject themselves to it, and by exerting the kind of ruthless control over it that they seem to have for generations if not far longer, they have made themselves unable to conceive of their own actions as being potentially in error. They are trapped by the very thing that they have used to accumulate power.

There are political comments to be found therein, I’m sure.

To pivot: the idea of the Destroyer as a figure of imminent menace is hardly new to Hobb, of course. I grew up and again live in the Texas Hill Country, where there were and are an awful lot of people who claim to be convinced that the End Times are a-comin’, and soon; it’s the kind of thing that lends towards apocalyptic figures. It’s not the only one, either; it’s an archetype for a reason. While Hobb does have a tendency to play with tropes and archetypes, this one seems to be pretty straightforward. At least at this point…

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There is discussion of cannibalism in the present chapter.

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After a brief excerpt from Tom Badgerlock’s journals, “Silver Secrets” begins with Fitz joining the others from the Six Duchies aboard the Paragon in mourning the death of Chade Fallstar. There is some disagreement about the amount of hair that should be shorn from Fitz’s head, and he muses on his not having done so at Burrich’s death, as well as on the length of his association with the old man. Report arrives that the Paragon has reached the vicinity of Clerres, and Fitz considers the tasks awaiting him and the dangers to Bee that can be found among them. Plans for how to proceed are voiced, and Fitz confers with Brashen and Althea.

In the wake of the conference, Amber proposes a plan for infiltrating Clerres. Having none better, Fitz reluctantly accedes to it. Argument briefly emerges about Fitz’s retention of the Silver given him by Rapskal, but it soon fades against continued exposition of plans to retrieve Bee and enact revenge against Clerres. Fitz excuses himself from the planning for a time and finds himself conferring with the liveship about his death.

Afterward, Fitz observes as the liveship relates experiences in Clerres, and he makes his preparations as the ship approaches within sight of the city. He and the Fool confer, the Fool relating some regrets and some of the circumstances of his imprisonment in Clerres with Prilkop. They range to extreme depredation on the part of the Four and the Fool’s unwitting participation in the same. Fitz offers such comfort as he can and urges him to preserve Bee at all costs.

Discussion is interrupted by Spark arriving with water for tea. The Fool contributes herbs to brew, and Fitz is eased by them and the memories they spur, leaving Spark and Fool as they fall into sleep.

To deal with the big issue: the presentation of evil in the present chapter, the discussion of the Fool being induced towards cannibalism while imprisoned in Clerres, seems to me to be another instantiation of the almost cartoonish we-need-the-capital-letter-Evil at work in some of the later Realm of the Elderlings works. I discuss it previously here and as linked, and I find I’m not sure of the effect of the particular ponerology at present. Given the other descriptions of Clerres and its inhabitants in the novels, the motion towards cannibalism is, if unexpected on an initial reading, not out of place even in one. After all, Clerres is filled with Bad People, and cannibalism is, at least for the presumed primary readership of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, a Bad Thing; Bad People tend to do Bad Things–and to try to get others to do them, too.

But that’s where the confusion is for me. What does Clerres gain from the Fool eating the flesh and blood of those who attempt to help him? He is already their captive, and he has demonstrated that, despite both cozening and torture, he will not turn to their ends; is it mere amusement for them in Clerres that they act so? Is it simply a demonstration of just how Evil (and, again the capital letter seems needed) they are?

As I think on it some more, the thought occurs that it might be a back-handed anti-Messianic image. That is, the Fool is constrained or impelled to drink the blood and eat the flesh of those who are sacrificed for their support of him, something of an inversion of Christian Communion and one deepened by the fact of their failure. That he is yet imprisoned when he partakes is an indication that their sacrifices have not availed. Clerres is highlighted as being yet more Evil to Hobb’s presumed primary readership–a high-selling author in the United States can be presumed to be writing to a predominantly United-States-based audience, and that country says an awful lot about its putative Christian underpinnings; if Clerres inverts what is perhaps the principal ritual of a religion, it is being figured as antithetical thereto, thus more emphatically Evil…and I think I may have to rework a paper once again.

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A proposal for exploiting prophetic foreknowledge precedes “Bribes,” which opens with Bee waking to breakfast in her imprisonment. Disoriented, she takes a moment to collect herself and asks for wash-water, only to be denied. Prilkop explains, and the Four enter, described once again as Capra takes Bee from her cell. Bee follows her past cells and into the stronghold of Clerres, coming to a room where Bee is instructed to bathe.

Bee does as bidden, assessing her physical state. As she dresses, she keeps with her a candle Molly had made, about which Capra asks her; at the questioning, Bee sees possibilities emerge, but she is soon obliged to follow Capra again through more of the stronghold. As they proceed, Capra explains what they pass by, noting a core library of texts and how they are used in Clerres to effect.

The pair continue on, and Bee begins to formulate a plan for how she will go on. Capra lays out possibilities for Bee to consider, and she takes her to dine privately. Bee puts forward her best possible presentation while concealing as much of her deeper self as she can, deflecting questions about deeper truths. Coached along by Wolf-Father, Bee has some success in it, partly by divulging information that belied Dwalia‘s earlier comments. The success is only partial, however, and she soon finds herself being recorded in detail.

Bee considers the scribe brought in to attend upon her, Nopet, and begins to make her report. In doing so, she gives more detail than she intends, and Wolf-Father continues to coach her. But it proves well for her that she does, because her accounts are confirmed by other sources, and as the Four begin to argue, Capra takes Bee back to her imprisonment next to Prilkop. Capra ubpraids the other three again, and Bee is left confined to consider what will happen next.

The present chapter, in Capra questioning Bee at the table about Fitz and the Fool, offers a reminder about the Six Duchies’ predilection towards emblematic names, something long asserted in the Realm of the Elderlings novels. (Indeed, the opening prefatory materials that begin the whole corpus make mention of it; readers learn the practice before they learn the narrator’s name in the text.) Originally an issue of royal and noble names, the practice seems to spread beyond those confines; one example is Perseverance, who does seem to keep going when he probably ought not to do so, and Spark/Ash presents another, paired, example of the same. (I am suddenly put in mind of something of a backhanded chain of jokes as regards Spark; her presence seems to kindle Lant[ern? I know it’s not, but it’s close enough for the evocation], much as he had been infatuated with Shine and fairly glowed in her company before the revelation of their close kinship. I motion towards the latter in earlier comments, but the former only now occurs to me, I think. It’s probably not a mark in my favor, although it is something that bespeaks the value of rereadings; more details emerge each time, deepening understanding and appreciation–at least for me.)

The present chapter also speaks to what I’ve noted is a recurring theme in Hobb’s work: the primacy of writing. As I’ve commented before, it’s not a surprise that a writer would espouse such themes; making money from writing requires that people believe in the value of writing, after all. I find, however, that in the present-of-this-writing, there is a connection between the accumulated knowledge of untold but implied-to-be vast time-spans of prophecies (and the subsequent reports that bear out their correctness) and the information economy that was certainly in place as the novel was composed and initially released. Again, the novel dates to 2017; social media, with its information-harvesting and predictive algorithms targeted at the acquisition of money, was already very much in place. The idea of reading Clerres as a fantasy take on science-fiction dystopiæ tantalizes, suggesting itself as yet another scholarly someday worth investigating.

I seem to continue to collect such things. I hope to be able to address at least some of them.

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