Fool's Fate Part 10

I think it offended his dignity to fetch things for a half-wit, but he found it preferable to remaining in my company. As Swift scuttled off, Web gave a sigh.

"Truth between the two of you," he advised me. "It's going to be your only bridge to reaching that boy, Tom. And he needs you to reach him. I'm only realizing that now. He ran from his home, and he ran from you. He has to stop running or he'll never learn to stand and face down his problems."

So, he thought I was one of Swift's problems? I looked away. "I'll deal with him," I said.

Web sighed wearily as he replied, "I'll leave him to you, then."

Web returned to the table and the Witted coterie's conversation. After a time, they all left. The Prince resumed rehearsing his speech. By the time Swift returned with blankets and a mug of water for Thick, I'd combed through the Prince's collection of scrolls and selected several I thought would benefit Swift. To my surprise, I found some I hadn't seen before; Chade must have acquired them just before we sailed. They dealt with Out Island society and customs. I chose the simpler ones for Swift.

I made Thick as comfortable as I could. His fever was rising. The hotter he became the more fantastic the music he Skilled. He still hadn't taken in any food, but at least he'd lost the will to fight me as I held the mug to his mouth and made sure that he drank it all. I settled him again, tucking the blankets snugly around him, and wondering how the heat of a fever could make a man think he was cold.

When I finished, I glanced up to find Swift looking at us in distaste. "He smells funny," the boy complained to my reproving glance.

"He's sick." I pointed at the floor as I resumed my seat at the edge of Thick's bed. "Sit there. And read aloud to us, quietly, from that scroll. No, the one with the frayed edge, there. Yes, that one."

"What is it?" he asked needlessly as he untied the scroll and opened it.

"It's a description of the history and people of the Out Islands."

"Why do I need to read this?"

I ticked the reasons off on my fingers. "Because you need to practice your reading. Because we are going there, and it behooves you to know something about the people there so you don't shame your prince. Because the history of the Six Duchies is entwined with that of the Out Islands. And because I said so."

He lowered his eyes but I sensed no mellowing toward me. I had to prompt him again before he began reading it. But once he began, I think he interested himself. The rise and fall of his boyish voice was soothing. I let my thoughts float on the sound, barely taking in the sense of the words.

He was still reading when Chade entered. Ostensibly, I paid no attention to the old man while he conferred quietly with the Prince. Then Dutiful's Skill touched me. Chade would like you to dismiss Swift for a time, so we could speak freely here. Chade would like you to dismiss Swift for a time, so we could speak freely here.

A moment.

I nodded as if to myself over whatever Swift had just read. When he drew breath, I reached out to touch his shoulder. "That's enough for today. You can go. But I will be here tomorrow, and so should you be. I'll expect you."

"Yes, sir." There was no antic.i.p.ation, no resignation in his voice. Just a flat acknowledgment. I suppressed a sigh. He went to the Prince, made his courtesy, and was dismissed. At a Skill-nudge from me, Dutiful let him know that he thought education a desirable advantage for every man, and that he too wished to see Swift at his lessons every day. He received the same lackl.u.s.ter a.s.sent that I had, and then Swift went on his way.

The door had scarcely closed behind him before Chade was at my side. "How is he?" he asked gravely as he touched Thick's face.

"Feverish and coughing. He has taken water but no food."

Chade sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He felt Thick's throat just under his jaw and then slipped his hand inside his collar, a.s.sessing his fever. "For how long," he asked me, "has he been fasting?"

"It has been at least three days since he took any substantial food that stayed with him."

Chade breathed out noisily. "Well, that is where we must begin. Get nourishment into him. Salty broths, thick with soft meat and vegetables."

I nodded, but Thick groaned and turned his face to the wall. His music had an odd floating quality to it. It seemed to fade into a distance, as if it were leaking into a place I could not access.

Chade's hand on my wrist distracted me. What did you do to him, last night? Did you cause this sickness, do you think? What did you do to him, last night? Did you cause this sickness, do you think?

His query shocked me and I answered it aloud. "No. No, I think this is just the result of his seasickness, his nights on deck in the rain, and the lack of food."

Thick had, perhaps, been aware of our Skilling. He rolled his head toward us and looked at me balefully. Then his eyes sank shut again.

Chade moved away, motioning for me to follow. He sank down onto a well-padded bench built beneath one of the windows and indicated I should sit close beside him. The Prince had been setting out game pieces for Stones. Now he lifted his gaze to regard us curiously.

"Strange, that speaking softly may be the best way to keep this private." Chade pointed out the window as if bidding me observe something. I leaned forward and nodded. He smiled, and spoke quietly near my ear. "I could not sleep last night. I've been practicing Skill-exercises, on my own. I fancy that I've become more attuned to it. Thick's music was strong and wild. Then, I sensed something . . . someone. You, I thought. But there was another presence, one I thought I had glimpsed before. It grew stronger, more masterful; then Thick's music calmed."

A part of me was astounded that Chade was strong enough in the Skill to have witnessed anything. I didn't think fast enough and I was silent for too long before I asked innocently, "Another presence?"

Chade smiled toothily. "Nettle, I think. You are bringing her into the coterie this way?"

"Not really," I said. And it was like a wall collapsing, this surrendering of my secret to Chade. I resented it, and yet I could not deny the relief that I felt to speak of it. I was tired of my secrets, I realized abruptly. Too tired to protect them anymore. Let him know of Nettle and her strength. It didn't mean I'd allow her to be used. "I asked a favor of her. I needed to let her know that Swift was safe and that I'd watch over him. Before we left Buckkeep, I'd told her that he was coming home, because that was what I believed. When I discovered he'd come aboard with Web, well . . . I couldn't leave her in suspense, wondering if her brother were dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Of course not," Chade murmured. His eyes glinted with hunger for information. I fed it.

"In return, I asked that she soothe Thick's nightmare. She seems very Skilled at controlling her own dreams. Last night, she proved capable of controlling someone else's."

I watched his face as avidly as he watched mine. I saw him ponder the possible uses of such a thing; saw sparks kindle as he recognized how powerful a weapon it could be. To take control of the images in a man's mind, to guide his unguarded thoughts into channels grim and daunting, or uplifting and lovely . . . what could not be done with such a tool? One could craze a man with nightly terrors, inspire a wedding alliance based on romantic dreams, or poison an alliance with suspicions.

"No," I said quietly. "Nettle is unaware of the power of what she does. She does not even know it is the Skill she plies. I will not bring her into the coterie, Chade." And then I told the most cunningly crafted lie I could swiftly fashion. Had he been aware of it, Chade would have been proud of me. "She will work best for us as a Solo, incognizant of the full import of what she does. She will remain more tractable so. Even as I was, when I worked as an unknowing youth."

He nodded gravely, not bothering to deny the truth of it. I saw then a blind spot in my mentor. He had loved me, and yet still used me, and still permitted me to be used. Perhaps, just as he had been used. He did not guess that I would shield Nettle from such a fate. "I'm glad you have come to see that that is for the best," he said approvingly.

"What's out there?" the Prince asked curiously. He rose to come and stare out the window. Chade replied some nonsense about us playing tricks with our eyes, seeing first the ships as moving upon the water and then blinking, to make the water move beneath the ships.

"And what was it that you wished to speak to us privately about?" the Prince asked curiously.

Chade took a breath and I almost saw him scrabble for a topic. "I think this is an excellent arrangement. With both Thick and Fitz here, we have access to our entire coterie. I think it would be well if we let it be known that Thick has grown very attached to Fitz and wishes him near. With that excuse, it will not seem so odd for an ordinary guardsman to attend his prince so closely, even after Thick's health improves."

"I thought we had already discussed that?" the Prince queried.

"Did we? Well. I suppose we did. Excuse an old man's wandering mind, my prince."

Dutiful made a small and skeptical noise. I made a tactful retreat to Thick's bedside.

His fever had in no way abated. Chade called a servant and commanded the foods he thought would be most helpful for Thick. I thought of the surly cook I'd encountered and pitied the boy sent with the order. He returned far too soon with a cup of hot water with a piece of salt meat in the bottom of it. Chade fumed at that, and sent a second serving man with terse and precise orders. I coaxed plain water into Thick, and listened anxiously as his breathing grew more hoa.r.s.e.

The food arrived. The cook's second effort was much better than her first, and I managed to spoon some of it down Thick. His throat was sore and swallowing pained him, so the meal was a very slow one. She had also, at Chade's direction, sent food for me so that I could eat without leaving his side. That became the regular pattern of my meals. It was nice to be able to eat at my leisure without competing with the rest of the guardsmen, but at the same time, it isolated me from any talk save Thick's, Chade's, and Dutiful's. I had hoped to get a solid night of sleep my first night in the Prince's cabin. Thick had settled and did not toss or moan. I dared to hope that he had found his own peace. My pallet spanned the threshold to his closet. I closed my eyes, longing to find my own rest, but instead breathed deep, centered myself, and dove into Thick's dream.

He wasn't alone. Kitten-Thick nestled in the middle of a big bed upon his cushion while Nettle moved quietly around the tiny room. She seemed to be busy with evening tasks. She hummed as she tidied away discarded clothing and then set foodstuffs into cupboards. When she was finished, the little room was neat and bright. "There," she told the watchful kitten. "You see. All is well. Everything is where it should be and as it should be. And you are safe. Sweet dreams, little one." She stood on her tiptoes to blow out the lamp. I had a sudden odd realization. I had known she was Nettle, but perceived her through Thick's eyes as a short, stout woman with long graying hair bundled into a knot and deep lines in her face. His mother, I realized, and knew then that she had borne him very late in her life. She looked more of an age to be his grandmother.

Then Thick's dream retreated from me, as if I gazed at a lighted window from a distance. I looked around me. We were on the hillside, the melted tower above me and a bramble of dead briars surrounding me. Nettle stood at my side. "I do this for him, not you," she said bluntly. "No soul should have to endure dreams so plagued with fear."

"You're angry at me?" I asked her slowly. I dreaded her answer.

She did not look at me. From nowhere, a cold wind blew between us. She spoke through it. "What did they really mean, those words you told me to say to my father? Are you truly a callous beast, Shadow Wolf, that you gave me words to pierce his heart?"

Yes. No. I lacked a truthful answer to give her. I tried to say, I would never want to hurt him. But was that true? He had taken Molly to be his own. They had believed me dead; neither of them had intended me ill. But he had taken her from me, all the same. And raised my daughter, in safety and health. Yes. That was true, and I was grateful to him for that. But not grateful that she would always see his face when she heard the word "papa." "You asked me for those words," I said, and then heard how harsh I sounded.

"And just like the wishes granted in old tales, you gave me what I wanted and it has broken my heart."

"What happened?" I asked unwillingly.

She didn't want to tell me, and yet she did. "I told him I'd had a dream, and that in the dream, a wolf with porcupine quills in his nose had promised to watch over Swift and bring him safely home to us. And I said the words you gave me. 'As once you did, so I do now. I shelter and guide your son. I will put my life between him and any harm, and when my task is done, I will bring him safely home to you.'"

"And?"

"My mother was kneading bread, and she told me not to speak of Swift if all I could talk was moonshine and foolishness. But her back was to the table where I sat with my father. She did not see his eyes widen at my words. For a time, he just stared at me, with his eyes showing the whites all around them. Then he fell from the chair to the floor and lay there, staring like a corpse. I thought he was struck dead. My brothers and I carried him to his bed, fearing the worst. My mother was terrified, demanding of him where he hurt. But he did not answer. He only put his hands over his eyes, curled up like a beaten child, and began to weep.

"He wept all day today, and did not say a word to any of us. As night fell, I heard him get up. I came to the edge of my loft and looked down. He was dressed for travel. My mother was holding to his arm, begging him not to go out. But he said to her, 'Woman, you've no idea what we have done, and I haven't the courage to tell you. I'm a coward. I've always been a coward.' Then he shook her off and left."

For a terrible flashing instant, I imagined Molly spurned and abandoned. It was devastating.

"Where did he go?" I managed to ask her.

"I suspect he's coming to you. Wherever you are." Her words were curt, and yet I heard hope in them, hope that someone knew where her father was bound and why. I had to take it from her.

"That cannot be. But I think I know where he has gone, and I think he will come back to you soon." Buckkeep, I thought to myself. Burrich was a direct man. He'd go to Buckkeep, hoping to corner Chade and question him. He'd get Kettricken instead. And she would tell him. Just as she had told Dutiful who I really was. Because she believed in telling people the truth, even if it hurt them.

While I was still pondering that scene, Nettle spoke again. "What have I done?" she asked me. It was not a rhetorical question. "I thought I was so clever. I thought I could bargain with you, and get my brother safely home. Instead . . . what have I done? What are you? Do you wish us ill? Do you hate my father?" Then, with even more dread she asked, "Is my brother in your power somehow?"

"Please don't fear me. You have no reason to fear me," I said hastily, and then wondered if it was true. "Swift is safe, and I promise I will do all in my power to bring him home to you as soon as I can." I paused, wondering what I could safely tell her. She was no fool, this daughter of mine. Too many hints and she'd unravel the whole mystery. Like as not, then I'd lose her forever. "I knew your father, a long time ago. We were close. But I made decisions that went against his rules, and so we parted. For a long time, he has believed I was dead. With your words, he knows I am not. And, because I never came back to him, he now believes he did me a great wrong. He didn't. But if you know your father at all, you will know that it is what he believes in that regard that will drive him."

"You knew my father a long time ago? Did you know my mother then, too?"

"I knew him long before you were born." Not quite a lie, but a deception nonetheless. I let her mislead herself.

"And so my words meant nothing to my mother," Nettle softly concluded after a moment.

"Yes," I confirmed. Then, gingerly I asked, "Is she all right?"

"Of course not!" I felt her impatience with my stupidity. "She stood outside the house and shouted after him when he left, and then ranted to all of us that she never should have married such a stiff-necked man. A dozen times she asked me what I said, and a dozen times I told her of my 'dream.' I came so close to telling her all I knew of you. But that would not have helped, would it? For she never knew you."

For one chill instant, I saw it through Nettle's eyes. Molly stood in the road. In her struggle to restrain Burrich, her hair had come loose. It curled as it ever had, brushing against her shoulders as she shook her fist after him. Her youngest son, little more than six, clutched at her skirts, sobbing in terror at this wild spectacle of his father abandoning his mother. The sun was setting, tingeing the landscape with blood. "You blind old fool!" Molly shrieked after her husband, and the flung words rattled against me like stones. "You'll be lost or robbed! You'll never come home to us!" But the fading clatter of galloping hooves was her only reply.

Then Nettle turned away from the scalding memory of it, and I found we were no longer on the hill with the melted tower. Instead, we were in a loft. My wolf ears on top of my head nearly brushed the low rafters. She was sitting up in her bed, her knees clutched to her chest. Beyond the curtain that screened us from the rest of the attic, I could hear her brothers breathing. One shifted in his sleep and cried out restlessly. No one dreamed peacefully in this house tonight.

I desperately wanted to beg her to say no word of me to Molly. I dared not, for then she would be certain that I lied. I wondered how strongly she already suspected a link between her mother and myself. I did not answer her directly. "I don't think your father will be gone long. When he returns home, will you tell me, to put my mind at rest?"

"If he comes home," she said in a low voice, and I suddenly knew that Molly had voiced aloud the family's very real fears. Now Nettle spoke reluctantly, as if to speak the truth made it more real. "He has already been robbed and beaten once when he was traveling alone seeking for Swift. He has never admitted it to us, but we all know that is what befell him. Nevertheless, he has once more set out alone." he comes home," she said in a low voice, and I suddenly knew that Molly had voiced aloud the family's very real fears. Now Nettle spoke reluctantly, as if to speak the truth made it more real. "He has already been robbed and beaten once when he was traveling alone seeking for Swift. He has never admitted it to us, but we all know that is what befell him. Nevertheless, he has once more set out alone."

"That's Burrich," I said. I dared not voice aloud what I hoped in my heart: that he had ridden a horse that he knew well. Although he would never use his Wit to speak to his mount, that did not prevent the animals he worked with from communicating with him.

"That's my father," she agreed, both with pride and sorrow. And then the walls of the room began to run like inked letters when tears fall on them. She was the last sight to fade from my dream. When I came to myself, I was staring up at a darkened corner of the Prince's cabin, seeing nothing.

In the tedious days and nights that followed, Thick's condition changed little, for better or worse. He would rally for a day and a night, and then slip back into fever and coughing. His real illness had chased away his fear of seasickness, but there was no comfort for me in that. More than once, I sought Nettle's aid in banishing Thick's fever-dreams before they could unsettle the crew. Sailors are a superst.i.tious lot. Under Thick's influence, they shared a nightmare and, when they compared their night's recollections, decided it was a warning from the G.o.ds. It only happened once, but was nearly enough to set off a mutiny.

I worked more closely and more often on Skill-dreams with Nettle than I desired. She did not speak of Burrich and I did not ask, though I know we both counted the days that he had been gone. I knew that if she had had tidings of him, she would share them. His absence in her life left a place for me. Unwillingly, I felt our bond grow stronger, until I carried a constant awareness of her with me at all times. She taught me, without realizing, how to slip behind Thick's dreams and manipulate them, gently guiding them into consoling images. I could not do it as well as she did. Mine was more a suggestion to him, while she simply set the dream right.

Twice I felt Chade observing us. It grated on me, but there was nothing I could do about it since to acknowledge him would have made Nettle aware of him, as well. Yet, in ignoring him, I profited as well, for he grew bolder and I saw my old mentor grow stronger in the Skill. Did he not realize it, or did he conceal it from me? I wondered, but did not betray that wondering to him.

I have never found sea travel enthralling. One watery seascape is much like any other. After a few days, the Prince's cabin seemed almost as cramped, confining, and stuffy as the hold my fellow guardsmen shared. The monotonous food, the endless rocking, and my anxiety for Thick hollowed me. Our diminished coterie made little progress in our Skill-lessons.

Swift continued to come to me daily. He read aloud, earning knowledge of the Out Islands and refreshing mine as he did so. At the end of each session, I would question him to be sure the knowledge was settling into his mind and not simply pa.s.sing through his eyes and out of his mouth. He had a good head for holding information, and asked a few questions of his own. Swift was seldom gracious but he was obedient to his teacher, and for now that was all I asked. Thick seemed to find Swift's presence soothing, for he would relax, and some of the lines would smooth from his brow as he listened. He spoke little and breathed hoa.r.s.ely and would sometimes go off into coughing fits. The process of coaxing spoonfuls of broth into him exhausted both of us. The rounded paunch he had recently gained dwindled, and dark hollows showed under his small eyes. He was as sick a creature as I've ever seen, and his acceptance of his misery was heart-wrenching. In his own mind, he was dying, and not even in his dreams could I completely vanquish that notion.

Nor could Dutiful aid me in that. The Prince did his best, and he was truly fond of Thick. But Dutiful was fifteen, and a boy in many ways still. Moreover, he was a boy being courted by his n.o.bles, who daily devised distractions that would put him in their company. Freed of Kettricken's austere traditions, they plied him with entertainment and flattery. Smaller boats shuttled between the ships of our betrothal fleet, not only bringing n.o.bles to visit Dutiful but often carrying Chade and him off to the other vessels for wine and poetry and song. Such trips were meant to divert his attention from the ennui of the uneventful voyage and they succeeded only too well, but it behooved Dutiful to distribute his favors and attentions amongst his n.o.bles. The success of his reign would be built upon the alliances he forged now. He could scarcely have refused to go. Yet all the same, it bothered me to see how easily his attention could be drawn away from his ill servant.

Web was my sole comfort. He came every day, offering quietly to keep watch by Thick while I took some time for myself. I could not completely relax my vigil, of course. I maintained a Skill-awareness of Thick lest he sweep us all into some wild and fearful dream. But I could at least leave the confines of the cabin to stroll briefly on the deck and feel some wind in my face. This arrangement, however, kept me from having time alone with Web. It was not just for Chade's ends that I longed to speak with him. More and more, his quiet competency and kindness impressed me. I had a sense that he courted me, not as Dutiful's n.o.bles courted the Prince, but as Burrich had insinuated himself into the presence of a horse he wished to retrain. And it worked, despite my being aware of it. With every pa.s.sing day, I felt less wariness and caution toward him. It no longer seemed a threat that he knew who I really was, but almost a comfort. I harbored a host of questions I longed to ask him: How many of the Old Blood knew that FitzChivalry still lived? How many knew I was he? Yet I dared not voice such questions in Thick's hearing, even when he wandered in his fever-dreams. There was no telling how he might repeat such words, aloud or in dreams.

Very late one evening, when the Prince and Chade had returned from some entertainment, I waited until Dutiful had dismissed his servants. He and Chade sat with gla.s.ses of wine, talking quietly on the cushioned bench beneath the window that looked out over our wake from our dimly lit cabin. I rose and left Thick's side and, going to the table, beckoned them. Weary as they both were from a long session of Stones with Lord Excellent, they were still intrigued enough to immediately join me. I spoke to Dutiful without a preamble. "Has Web ever confided to you that he knows I am FitzChivalry?"

The look of astonishment on his face was answer enough.

"Did he need to know that?" Chade grumbled at me.

"Is there a reason to keep such knowledge from me?" the Prince replied for me, more sharply than I would have expected.

"Only that this bit of intrigue has nothing to do with our present mission. I would keep your mind focused on the matters that most concern us, Prince Dutiful." Chade's voice was restrained.

"Perhaps, Councilor Chade, you could let me decide which matters concern me?" The asperity in Dutiful's voice warned me that this was a topic that had been discussed before.

"Then there is no sign that anyone else in your 'Witted coterie' knows who I am?"

The Prince hesitated before replying slowly. "None. There has been talk, from time to time, of the Witted b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And when I think back, Web has initiated it. But he brings it up in the same manner in which he teaches us Witted history and traditions. He speaks of a topic, and then asks us questions that lead us deeper into understanding it. He has never spoken of FitzChivalry as other than an historic figure."

A little unnerving, to hear of myself as an "historic figure." Chade spoke before I became too uncomfortable.

"Then Web teaches your Witted coterie formally? History, traditions . . . what else?"

"Courtesy. He tells us old fables of Witted folk and beasts. And how to prepare before beginning a Search for an animal partner. I think that what he teaches are things that the others have known from childhood, but he teaches them for my benefit and Swift's. Yet when he tells tales, the others listen closely, especially the minstrel c.o.c.kle. I think he possesses much lore that was on the verge of being lost, and he speaks it to us that we may keep it safe and pa.s.s it on in our turn."

I nodded to that. "When persecution broke up the Witted communities, the Witted had to conceal their traditions and knowledge. It would be inevitable that less of it was pa.s.sed on to their children."

"Why, do you think, does Web speak of FitzChivalry?" Chade asked speculatively.

I watched Dutiful think it through, in the same way Chade had taught me to ponder any man's action. What could he gain by it? Who did it threaten? "It could be that he suspects that I know. Yet I don't think that is it. I think he poses it to the Wit coterie to make them consider, 'What is the difference between a ruler who is Witted or unWitted?' What would it have meant for the Six Duchies if Fitz had come to power at that time instead of being executed for his magic? What might it mean for the Six Duchies if it ever becomes safe for me to reveal that I am Old Blood? And also, how does it benefit my people, all my people, to have an Old Blood ruler? And how can my Wit coterie a.s.sist me in my reign?"

"In your reign?" Chade asked sharply. "Do their ambitions run that far ahead of us? They had spoken of aiding you on this quest, to show the Six Duchies that the Wit can be put to a good cause. Do they think to continue as advisers beyond this task?"

Dutiful frowned at Chade. "Well, of course."

When the old man knit his brows in irritation, I intervened. "It seems natural to me that they would, especially if their efforts do a.s.sist the Prince in his quest. To use them and then cast them aside afterward is not the sort of political wisdom you have taught me over the years."

Chade was still scowling. "Well . . . I suppose . . . if they truly proved to be of any value, they would expect some compensation."

The Prince spoke levelly, but I could sense him holding his temper. "And what would you expect them to ask in return if they were a Skill coterie aiding me?" He sounded so like Chade as he set his trap question that I almost laughed aloud.

Chade bristled. "But that would be entirely different. The Skill is your hereditary magic, as well as being vastly more powerful than the Wit. That you would bond with your Skill coterie and accept both counsel and companionship from them would be expected." Then he stopped speaking abruptly.

Dutiful nodded slowly. "Old Blood is also my hereditary magic. And I suspect there is far more to it than we know. And, yes, Chade, I do feel a bond of both companionship and trust with those who share that magic. It is, as you said, to be expected."