“Wallow in it, Tom Badgerlock,” she said in disgust. “What on earth would you say to the man? Why must you take full credit for everything that goes wrong in the world? As I recall, I met Hap and befriended him long before I knew you. And Svanja has been trouble looking for a place to sprout since her family came to Buckkeep Town, if not before. And she has two parents of her own. Nor is Hap the blundering innocent in this. You’ve not been dallying with Hartshorn’s daughter, Hap has. So stop bemoaning what a mess you’ve made, and start demanding that Hap take responsibility for himself.” She settled herself deeper into her chair. As if to herself, she added, “You’ve quite enough messes of your own to clean up, without claiming responsibility for everyone else’s.”
I stared at her in amazement.
“It’s simple,” she said quietly. “Hap needs to discover consequences. As long as you claim that it’s all your fault for being a bad parent, Hap doesn’t have to admit that a good share of this is his own fault. Of course, he doesn’t think it’s a problem yet, but when he suddenly perceives that it is, he’s going to come running to you to see if you can fix it. And you’ll try, because you think it’s your fault.”
I sat still, soaking up the words and trying to find the sense in them. “So what should I do?” I demanded at last.
She gave a helpless laugh. “I don’t know, Tom Badgerlock. But telling Hap this is all your fault is certainly something you should not do.” She lifted up the cat and set him back on the floor. “However, there is something I should do as well.” She went into her bedroom. A few moments later, she came back with a purse. She held it out to me. When I didn’t move to take it, she shook it at me. “Take it. This is the coin I haven’t spent on Hap’s keep. I’m giving it back to you. Tonight, when he comes back, I’m telling him that I’m turning him out of my house, because I don’t want trouble to come calling at my door.” She laughed aloud at the look on my face. “It’s called a consequence, Tom. Hap should feel more of them.re of them. And when he comes moaning to you, I think you should let him deal with it on his own.”
I thought of the last conversation we’d had. “I doubt that he’ll come moaning to me,” I said somberly.
“All the better,” she said tartly. “Let him handle it himself. He’s used to sleeping indoors. It won’t take him long to realize that he’d best settle himself in at the apprentices’ hall. And I think you might be wise enough to leave it up to him to have to ask Master Gindast to let him.” The cat had reinstated himself on her lap. She shook out her knitting over him and tugged more yarn free. It slid through Fennel’s lazy clasp.
I winced at the thought of how much pride Hap was going to have to swallow. A moment later, I felt an odd sense of relief. Hap could do that for himself. I didn’t have to humble myself on his behalf. I think she saw it on my face.
“Not every problem in the world belongs to you alone, Badgerlock. Let others have their share.”
I thought about it for a time longer. Then I said gratefully, “Jinna, you’re a true friend.”
She gave me a sideways look. “So. You’ve figured that out, have you?”
I winced at her tone, but nodded. “You’re a true friend. But you’re still angry at how I’ve behaved.”
She nodded as if to herself. “And some problems do belong to you, Tom Badgerlock. Entirely.” She stared at me expectantly.
I took a breath and steeled myself to it. I’d lie as little as possible, I comforted myself. It was thin comfort.
“That woman, in the Stuck Pig that night. Well, we aren’t . . . that is, she is just a friend. I don’t bed with her.” The words clattered awkwardly out of me like dropped crockery, and lay between us, all sharp shards.
A long silence followed. Jinna looked at me, then into the fire, and then back at me. Tiny glints of anger and hurt still danced in her eyes, but a very tiny smile played around the corners of her lips as well. “I see. Well, that is good to know, I suppose. And now you have two friends that you don’t bed with.”
Her meaning was unmistakable. That comfort would not be offered to me tonight, and perhaps never again. I will not pretend I didn’t feel disappointment. But there was relief as well. Had it been offered, I would have had to refuse it. I’d already been through the consequences of refusing a woman once tonight. I nodded slowly to her words.
“The water in the kettle is hot,” she pointed out. “If you wanted to stay, you could make tea for us.” It was not forgiveness. It was a second chance to be friends. I was happy to accept it. I got up to find the pot and cups.
