Fool's Fate Part 18

"Burrich was King's Man to Chivalry?" Dutiful rocked back in his chair, balancing it on the two back legs. He looked from one of us to the other in consternation.

"He loaned Prince Chivalry strength for Skilling," I confirmed.

Dutiful shook his head slowly. "Another thing that has never been mentioned to me." He crashed his chair back down onto the deck. "What will it take?" he demanded angrily. "What must happen here, to rattle all the secrets out of you two?"

"That wasn't a secret," Chade said heavily. "Only a bit of ancient history, long forgotten as it seemed of little import to the present. Fitz, you are sure that Burrich is sealed?"

"Yes. I tried to get through to him any number of times. I've even tried to borrow Skill strength from him, that time in the mountains. Nothing. He's opaque. Even Nettle has tried to get into his dreams, and she cannot. Whatever Chivalry did to Burrich, he did thoroughly."

"Interesting. We should try to rediscover how Chivalry sealed him. If ever we need to eliminate Thick's Skill as a threat, that might be one way to do it. Seal him." Chade spoke the words in his considering way, with no thought that anyone might find them offensive.

"Enough!" the Prince snapped at him, and we both flinched, surprised at his intensity. He crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head. "You two sit here like puppeteers and consider from afar other peoples' lives and how you will manipulate them." He swung his gaze slowly from Chade to me, forcing both of us to meet his eyes. He was young and vulnerable, and suddenly wise as prey in facing us. "Do you know how frightening you are sometimes? How can I sit here and look at how you have shaped Nettle's life, and not wonder what kinks you have knowingly put in mine? You, Chade, speak so calmly of sealing Thick to the Skill. Must not I wonder, would they join their strengths and do that to me, if I somehow became a threat to their plans?"

I was shocked that he grouped us together so, and yet, chilling as his words were, I could not deny them. Here he was, on his way to a quest he did not desire to win a bride he had not chosen. I dared not look at Chade, for how would the Prince interpret our exchanging a private glance just then? I looked at my brandy gla.s.s instead and, lifting it between two fingers, rocked the liquid, and then swirled it, as so often I had seen Verity doing when he pondered something. Whatever answers he might have glimpsed in the dancing liquor, they eluded me.

I heard the slow sc.r.a.pe of Chade's chair as he pushed it back from the table, and ventured a glance that way. He stood, older than he had been ten minutes ago, and slowly walked around the table. As the Prince twisted in his chair to look up at him, puzzled, the old a.s.sa.s.sin went ponderously down on one knee, and then two, before him. He bowed his head and spoke to the floor.

"My prince," he said brokenly. And then, "My king you will be. That is my only plan. Never would I lift a hand to harm you, no, nor cause others to do so. Take from me now, if you will, the oath of fealty that others will only formally swear to you when you are fully crowned. For you have had it from me since the moment you were birthed. Nay, from the instant you were conceived."

Tears stung my eyes.

Dutiful put his hands on his hips and leaned forward. He spoke to the back of Chade's head. "And you lied to me. 'I know nothing of this Nettle and dragon.'" His mimicry of Chade's innocence was excellent. "Isn't that what you said?"

A long silence ensued. I pitied the old man's knees on the floor. Chade drew a deep breath and spoke grudgingly. "I don't think it's fair to count it as a lie when we both know I'm lying. A man in my position is sometimes supposed to lie to his lord. So that his lord can speak truthfully when asked what he was told about a subject."

"Oh, get up." There was both disgust and weary amus.e.m.e.nt in the Prince's voice. "You convolute the facts until neither of us knows what you are talking about. You could swear fealty a thousand times to me, but if tomorrow you thought a good purging would aid me in some way, you'd slip me an emetic." He stood up and held out a hand. Chade took it and Dutiful drew him to his feet. The old a.s.sa.s.sin straightened his back with a groan, and then came around the table to take his seat again. He seemed unchastened by either the Prince's blunt words or the failure of his own dramatics.

I was left wondering what I had just witnessed. Not for the first time, I realized how different the relationship was between the old a.s.sa.s.sin and this boy and what it had been like between us when I was growing up. And that, I thought, was the answer in a nutsh.e.l.l. When Chade and I sat and talked, we sat and talked as tradesmen do, unabashed by the dirty secrets of our business. We should not speak like that before the Prince, I decided. He was not an a.s.sa.s.sin, and should not be included in our more nefarious enterprises. We should not lie about them to him, but perhaps we should refrain from rubbing his nose in them.

Perhaps that was what he had been reminding us about. I shook my head in quiet admiration. Kingliness was blossoming in him, as naturally as a hound pup exploring a trail. Already, he knew how to move us and use us. I did not feel demeaned by that, but rea.s.sured.

Almost immediately, he took that comfort from me. "FitzChivalry, I expect you to speak to Nettle tonight when she dreams. Tell her it is my command that she go to Buckkeep Castle and seek asylum with my mother. That should convince her I am who I say I am. Will you do that?"

"Must I phrase it like that?" I asked reluctantly.

"Well . . . perhaps you can modify it. Oh, tell her whatever you like, so long as she goes to Buckkeep immediately and understands that the danger to her is real. I will write a brief message to my mother and send it by bird, just to be sure all understand that this is not to be disputed." He stood, heaving a great sigh. "And now I am going to sleep, in a real bed behind a closed door instead of displayed on a plank in a common room like a choice game trophy. I can't remember when I've been this tired."

I was glad to leave the cabin. I took a turn about the deck. The wind was fresh, Risk swept the sky ahead of our ship, and the day was fine. I could not tell if I dreaded or antic.i.p.ated the task before me. Dutiful had not said that I must tell Nettle she was my daughter. Yet sending her to Buckkeep Castle was setting her on the path to that knowledge. I shook my head. I no longer knew what I hoped for. I knew one thing I dreaded, however. The Prince's words about Tintaglia had shaken me. Had I been too serene about Nettle's ability to foil the dragon? Could the beast know where she lived?

The day pa.s.sed slowly for me. I checked on Thick twice. He remained in his bunk, his face turned to the wall, insisting he was sick. In truth, I suspected he was becoming accustomed to sea voyages despite himself. When I told him he didn't seem sick to me and perhaps he'd enjoy coming out on deck, he nearly succeeded in making himself puke on my feet with his wild retching. Instead, he went off in a fit of genuine coughing, throaty and deep, and I decided I was wiser to leave the little man in peace. On my way out, I "accidentally" clipped my shoulder on the doorframe. Thick laughed.

Nursing my new bruise, I went out on the deck. Out on the foredeck, I found Riddle with a square of canvas and a handful of beach pebbles, trying to teach the Stone game to two of the crewmen. I left that unsettling sight, and found Swift with Civil. His cat had climbed one of the masts and they were trying to persuade him to come down, much to the annoyance of our captain and the amus.e.m.e.nt of several Outislanders.

Risk lighted in the rigging just out of the cat's reach and teased him, with partially uplifted wings and squawks, until Web came to order her to cease and aid in getting the cat down.

And so the day went, and the dreaded and longed-for nightfall came. I returned to the cabin I shared with Thick. Swift had brought him his dinner, and the empty dishes on the floor seemed to indicate his appet.i.te was intact. I stacked them and set them aside, only to stumble over them a moment later. A low chuckle from Thick was the only sign he had witnessed my clumsiness. When I offered him good night, he ignored me.

He had the sole bunk. I lay down in my blankets on the floor and spent a good amount of time trying to find enough calmness to approach sleep and that suspended place between sleep and wakefulness where I could dream-walk. It was wasted time. No matter how I sought Nettle, I could not find her. It worried me enough that I could not sleep, but made fruitless forays into dream-walks for most of the night. But the more I looked for her, the more she wasn't there.

In the darkness of the stuffy little cabin, I told myself that if something had befallen Nettle, surely I would know of it. We were Skill-linked. Surely she would have cried out to me if she had been in danger. I consoled myself that my daughter had blocked me from her dreams before; and she had been irritated with me for "allowing" the Prince into our shared place the last time we had visited. Perhaps this was my punishment from her. But, as I lay in the darkness and stared at black, it came to me that the last time I had seen Tintaglia, the dragon had claimed she could block me from Nettle if she chose to. What had the dragon said to Nettle? "You are quite alone, if I decide you are." Where was my daughter right now? Trapped in a nightmare, tormented by a dragon? No, I promised myself. Nettle had shown she could competently defend herself there. I cursed the logic Chade had taught me, for it said that then the dragon, to gain what she wanted, would shift the battlefield to one more to her liking. Such as physically hunting down my daughter.

How fast could a dragon fly? Fast enough to get from the Rain Wild River to Buck in a single night? Surely not. But I did not know, I could not be sure. I shifted on the wooden floor and struggled with the short blankets.

When morning came at last, I rose, sandy-eyed, and lurched to my feet. Somehow I tangled my feet in the blankets and slipped, banging my shins. Thick appeared to sleep through my cursing. I left the cabin and went directly to report to the Prince. He listened in grim silence. Neither he nor Chade told me how foolish I had been to leave my daughter defenseless against a dragon in the name of protecting her. The Prince merely said, "Let us hope she is only angry with you. The bird flew yesterday. And as soon as he reaches Buckkeep, my mother will not be slow in sending for Nettle. I told her the danger was great, and not to waste time. We have done all we can, FitzChivalry."

It was a pale comfort. When I was not imagining the dragon feasting on Nettle's tender flesh, I was imagining Burrich's reaction to a company of Queen's Guard sent to his home to fetch Nettle back to Buckkeep Castle. I pa.s.sed the voyage in a misery of suspense with little to distract me save Thick's sullen and subtle revenges on me. The second time I sc.r.a.ped my knuckles reaching for the doork.n.o.b, I turned on him.

"I know you're doing this, Thick. I don't think it's fair. It's not my fault you are on this voyage."

He sat up slowly, swinging his bare legs over the side of his bunk. "Then whose fault is it, huh? Who made me come on this boat, when I'm going to die from it?"

I saw my error. I could not tell him I was only doing the Prince's bidding. Chade was right. In this, I had to take the blame. I sighed. "I brought you onto the ship, Thick. Because we need your help if we are going to slay the dragon." I put all the warmth and excitement into my voice that I could muster. "Don't you want to help the Prince? Don't you want to be part of the adventure we're having?"

He squinted at me as if I were crazy. "Adventure? Puking and eating fishy food? Going up and down, up and down, all the time? Going around people who wonder why I'm not dead?" He crossed his stubby arms on his chest. "I heard adventures in stories. Adventures have golden coins and magic and beautiful girls to kiss. Adventures aren't puking!"

At the moment I was inclined to agree with him. As I left the cabin, I stumbled over the doorstep. "Thick!" I remonstrated.

"I didn't do it!" he claimed, but he laughed all the same.

The little ships flew over the white-tipped waves, and the winds favored us. Even so, the voyage seemed interminable to me. By day I tried to oversee Swift's lessons and be sure that Thick was not neglected without too many minor injuries to myself. By night, I struggled to reach my daughter, and found nothing. By the time we put into port at Zylig, I felt a tottering wreck and possibly looked as bad. Web came to stand beside me at the railing as I watched our approach to the town.

"I won't ask you your secrets," he said quietly. "But I'll offer to help you bear whatever it is you're bearing, in any way I can."

"Thank you, but you've already eased much of it. I know I've been impatient with Swift these last few days, and that you've been helping him with his lessons. And I know too that you've visited Thick often and kept boredom away from him. That's as much help as anyone can give me right now. Thank you."

"Very well, then," he said regretfully, and patted me on the shoulder and left.

Our stay in Zylig dragged for me. We spent our nights in the stronghouse there, and I spent many of my days there also. Thick's cough lingered still, but I do not think he was as sick as he claimed to be. Tedious as it was for me to linger near his sickroom, I still judged it to be for the best, for on the two occasions I did persuade him to venture outside, the looks he received were not kindly. Thick was like a crippled chick in a flock of healthy birds; any excuse would have sufficed to peck him to bits. He did not feel kindly toward me, and yet I was not comfortable leaving him alone. Although he did not ever ask me to stay with him, whenever I left the chamber he was in, he would find an excuse to follow me, or to call for me a few minutes later.

The first time that Web came at Chade's suggestion to spend time with Thick, I thought it was the old man deliberately throwing us together. But then Chade summoned me and sent me out in the evening, garbed as an Outislander, right down to the owl tattoo he hastily marked on my cheek. With paint and pitch he put a twisting scar in my lower lip to explain my taciturn ways and guttural speech. He gave me enough Outislander coin to sit and drink their miserable beer in their overheated taverns for an evening. After that, I went out several more times, each time dressed as a trader from another clan. Zylig was a major trading town; no one remarked on an unfamiliar face in a noisy inn. My function was to sit and listen to gossip and tales. The negotiations with the Hetgurd had stirred all sorts of interests. Outislander bards were tipped well to sing every song they knew of Aslevjal and Icefyre, and many a family tale was traded to impress cronies around the inn fire. I listened well, and distilled gossip and legend down to common factors likely to be true.

There was definitely something frozen in the ice of Aslevjal Island, but it had been almost a generation since anyone had seen it clearly. Men told their fathers' stories of visiting the island. Some had camped on the beach and trekked over the glacier for a glimpse. Others had visited at the lowest tides of the years, when the retreating waters bared an under-ice pa.s.sage on the south side of the island. By all accounts it was treacherous, for once one was in channels walled with blue ice, it was easy to become lost or to miscalculate the time and tides and stay too long. Then the returning sea trapped the unwary, never to release his bones. For those wise and strong and sly enough, the under-ice tunnel led to a huge cavern, where one might speak with the trapped dragon and beg a boon of him. Some had received prowess as hunters, others luck with women, and others had won fecundity for their mothershouses. So the tales went.

They spoke too of leaving an offering for the Black Man of Aslevjal. Some spoke as if he were a hermit, others as if he were a spirit guardian of the dragon. All agreed he was dangerous, and that it was wise to mollify him with a gift. Some said raw red meat was the best offering; others contended his goodwill could be purchased with packets of tea herbs, bright beads, or honey.

Twice I heard the island mentioned in connection with the Red Ship War. There was less talk of this; few dwell long on tales of wars that were not gloriously won. I gathered that during the war, Kebal Rawbread and the Pale Woman had wished to establish a stronghold on Aslevjal. No one spoke of why, but many captured Six Duchies folk had been borne there, to work out the rest of their days as slaves. It seemed that Rawbread had made slaves too of the kin of any Outislanders who opposed his war. They had been Forged by him, and carried off to Aslevjal Island, never to be seen or heard from again. Thus the island had gained an aura of shame and misery that vied with its legendary dragon. Few wished to make a pilgrimage there to prove their mettle anymore.

All of these things I held in my mind, and reported them in detail to both Chade and Dutiful. In late-evening talks, my old mentor and I tried to see how these things might help or hinder us in our quest. Sometimes I felt we only discussed these nebulous rumors because there was so little that we knew for certain.

Dutiful had two long meetings with the Hetgurd, each lasting several days. The end result of them was that they had set the terms of our dragon hunt as if it were some sort of wrestling or shooting contest. What had Chade chewing his tongue was that the Boar Clan had arranged this negotiation and bound us to it without consulting him at all. Although I did not witness it, I heard that Arkon Bloodblade was surprised when the Prince, with cold courtesy, expressed dismay at the terms.

"We cannot change what he agreed to for us," Chade told me grimly. "But it was worthwhile to see Bloodblade's face when Dutiful told him, 'My word is mine, and I am the only man who can give it. Never again presume to speak for me.'"

This he told me over brandy, in the same room in the stronghouse we had originally occupied. Thick and Dutiful were in the adjoining room. I could hear only the tone of their conversation: Dutiful was calmly explaining why Thick must board the ship the next day and Thick's voice was varying from a child's whine to a man's angry refusal. It did not sound as if it were going well. But, given what Bloodblade had committed us to, I did not think any of it could go much worse than it had.

Our n.o.bles had done well in our absence, better than I had expected. Trading alliances between varying clans and Six Duchies houses were already being formalized. Displaying their own insignia had seemed to distance them sufficiently from the Buck of the Fa.r.s.eers to allow them to approach the varying clans without prejudice. Dutiful dined with his n.o.bles almost every night, and each evening seemed to bring news of more trade negotiations. If the Prince was able to present a dragon head to the Narcheska, we would have succeeded in our goal. The Six Duchies and the Out Islands would be so tied together with marriage and trade that future wars would not profit anyone.

But the Hetgurd seemed determined it would not be easy for us. The Fa.r.s.eer Prince would be allowed to challenge the dragon, but the Hetgurd had set the rules for the confrontation. When we departed for Aslevjal, we would not be taking the Prince's Guard with him, but only a set number of warriors. Dutiful's Wit coterie took up most of that count, and so far he had refused to consider Chade's suggestion that he leave his Witted allies and take hardened fighters instead. As Dutiful had challenged her, the Narcheska would be accompanying us. We a.s.sumed that meant Peottre as well, and perhaps a few warriors from Narwhal or Boar clans, though their help had not been promised to us. A boat selected by the Hetgurd would transport us to Aslevjal. It would also transport the six Hetgurd representatives, who would see that we adhered to their rules. They would be warriors, selected from six different clans other than Boar or Narwhal clans. They would be allowed to defend themselves, if the dragon threatened them, but otherwise not harm him or a.s.sist us in any way. What we took with us would be limited to what the ship could carry, and once we were ash.o.r.e, we'd be carrying it on our backs.

"I'm surprised they didn't specify the Prince must fight the dragon in single combat."

"They came close to it," Chade said sourly. "He is supposed to be the first man to challenge the beast. And it was strongly suggested that he should attempt to deal the death blow, if there is one. They are warriors enough to know that in the heat of a battle, no one can say which blow will actually do the deed. One of their bards will be accompanying us, as witness. Just what we needed." He scratched a whiskery cheek wearily. "Not that we are greatly concerned about any of that. As I've said from the start, I think this is more a case of digging something out of the ice than battling any living creatures. I had looked forward to having a larger workforce for that part of this business." He coughed slightly and looked mildly pleased with himself as he said, "But perhaps I have something that will serve us as well as the extra men would have."

"How many men is Dutiful allowed?"

"Twelve. And we make up the count of them far too quickly. You and me, Web, Civil, c.o.c.kle, Riddle, Thick, Longwick, and four guardsmen." He shook his head. "I wish Dutiful would consider leaving at least Civil and c.o.c.kle here. Two more seasoned warriors can make all the difference in a situation."

"What of Swift? Is he staying here, then?" I could not decide if I felt relief or uneasiness at the thought.

"No, we'll take him. But as he's a boy yet, he doesn't count toward our quota of warriors."

"And we leave tomorrow?"

Chade nodded. "Longwick has spent the last week gathering provisions for us. Most of what we brought of Six Duchies victuals has been used; I'm afraid we'll be eating the local provender. He has sorted through what we had and acquired what we need for a party of twelve. I've already warned him that there will be a cat to feed as well as the rest of us. We will all carry weapons, regardless of whether we've been trained in them or not. An axe for you?"

I nodded. "And one for Swift. He has his own bow and arrows, but as you said before, an axe for chopping ice may be more to the point."

Chade sighed. "And that is where my invention runs out. I have no idea what we'll be facing, Fitz. We'll have food and tents and weapons and some tools. But beyond that, I've no idea what we'll need." He poured himself a stingy dollop of brandy. "I'll not deny that I take pleasure in knowing that Peottre is just as dismayed by all this as I am. He and the Narcheska will be accompanying us. Bloodblade is coming on the ship, but I don't think he's staying for the dragon-slaying." He smirked sarcastically as he called it that, doubting it would be any such thing. "It's d.a.m.nably inconvenient all round, this giving a task the rules of a contest. They've limited us to two message birds as well, but to be used only to summon the ship back when we are ready to leave the island. They'll be in the keeping of our chaperones."

His words pushed my mind in another direction. "Do you suppose the bird you sent has reached Kettricken yet?"

He gave me a pitying look. "You know there's no way for us to tell. Wind or storms, a hawk . . . so many things can delay or stop a bird. A message bird flies only toward its home and mate. There is no way for Kettricken to send word back to us." Delicately he added, "Have you thought of trying to reach Burrich?"

"Last night," I replied. To his lifted eyebrow, I replied, "Nothing. I felt like a moth battering at a lantern gla.s.s. I can't reach him. Years ago, I used to be able to catch glimpses of them, of Molly and Burrich. Not a mind-to-mind touch, but . . . well, it's no use. That's gone. I suspect that Nettle was my focus for it, though I did not see through her eyes."

"Interesting," he said softly, and I knew he was squirreling away that bit of information for possible future use. "But you cannot reach Nettle?"

"No." I boxed the word in, refusing to let any emotion ride on it. I reached across the table and picked up the brandy bottle.

"Go easy on that," Chade warned me.

"I'm nowhere near drunk," I retorted irritably.

"I didn't say you were," he responded mildly. "But we haven't much left. And we may want it more on Aslevjal than we do here."

I set the bottle down as Dutiful came back into the room. Thick trailed him, a sullen look on his face. "I'm not going," Thick announced as he came in.

"Yes you are," Dutiful responded stubbornly.

"Not."

"Are."

"Enough!" Chade interjected as if they were seven-year-olds.

"Not!" Thick breathed as he sat down with a thump at the table.

"Yes you are," Dutiful insisted. "Unless you want to stay here all by yourself. All alone, with no one to talk to. All by yourself, just sitting in this room until we come back."

Thick thrust out his chin, lower lip, and tongue all at once. He crossed his short thick arms on his chest and cast Dutiful a measuring glance. "I don't care. Not alone, anyway. I'll just talk to Nettle. She'll tell me stories."

I sat up with a jolt. "You can talk to Nettle."

He glared at me, as if he had just realized that in needling Dutiful he had given something away to me. He swung his feet. "Maybe. But you can't."

I knew I could not afford to lose my temper with him, or push him too hard.

"Because you are stopping me from talking to her?"

"No. She just doesn't want to talk to you." He measured me as he said this, perhaps to see if this idea bothered me more than the thought that he could block me from her. He was right. It did. I sent a tiny, private plea to Dutiful. Find out for me. Is she safe? Find out for me. Is she safe?

Thick's eyes flickered from me to Dutiful and back again. The Prince kept silent. He knew as well as I did that we had been caught Skilling. Anything he said to Thick right now would be suspect. And the little man had not been pleased with Dutiful to begin with. I picked at that thought. "So. You're not going with us when we leave, Thick?"

"No. No more ships."

It was cruel. I did it anyway. "Then how are you going to get home? Going on a ship is the only way to get home."

He looked doubtful. "You aren't going home. You're going to that dragon island."

"To start with, yes. But after that, we're going home."

"And you'll come back here and get Thick first."

"Maybe," Dutiful conceded.

"Maybe, if we are still alive," Chade embroidered. "We had been counting on your help. If you stay here and we go on without you . . ." The old man shrugged. "The dragon may kill all of us."

"Serve you right," Thick replied darkly. But I thought we had put a crack in his resolve. He seemed to be thinking as he sat scowling at his pudgy hands clasped at the table's edge.

Chade spoke slowly and consideringly. "If Nettle is telling Thick stories to keep him company, then I don't think she is in any great danger, Fitz."

If he had hoped to provoke a comment from Thick, he failed. The little man gave a disgusted hmph hmph and settled back in his chair, arms crossed firmly on his chest. and settled back in his chair, arms crossed firmly on his chest.

"Let it go," I suggested softly to all of them. When I tried to think why Nettle might be so angry with me as to break off all contact, there were far too many reasons. Yet, I told myself sternly, to know she was alive and angry with me was preferable to thinking that a dragon might have decimated her and her family. I longed for certainty about the situation, and knew I would not get it. In my heart, I wished speed to the messenger bird we had sent. If Nettle must be angry, let her at least be angry in a safe place.

Little else was said that evening. Three of us went over our packing, and Chade spent time muttering worriedly over a cargo manifest. Thick made a great show of not packing. At one point, Dutiful began to gather up Thick's clothes and stuff them into a bag, but when Thick dumped it out on the floor again, they both left them there. They were still there when we all went to bed.

I did not sleep well. Now that I knew Nettle was purposely ignoring me, I could find and feel the shape of her barrier. More annoying was knowing that Thick was observing me as I groped, and taking pleasure in my inability to break through it. If he had not, perhaps I would have made a more serious effort to get into Nettle's dreams. Instead, I gave it up and tried to slide into true sleep. Instead, I had a restless night of brief dreams of all the people I'd hurt or failed, from Burrich to Patience, with the most vivid ones being of the Fool's accusing stare.

We arose before the sun the next morning. We broke our fast in near silence, with Thick in a simmering sulk, waiting for us to entreat or order him to move. By tacit consent, none of us did. What brief words we shared were spoken past him. We loaded up our individual bags. Riddle arrived to help us carry our gear. Chade let the guardsman take his pack but Prince Dutiful insisted on carrying his own. And we left.

Riddle walked a step behind Chade, carrying his pack. Longwick and the other four guardsmen followed us. I did not know any of them well. Hest, a youngster, I liked well enough. Churry and Drub were close friends and seasoned warriors. All I knew of Deft was that he lived up to his name when the dice were in his hands. The rest of the guard would be left behind with our n.o.bles, and our diminished party was to form up on the docks. As we walked through the cobbled streets, I asked, "And if Thick doesn't come after us, what then?"

"Leave him," Dutiful replied grimly.

"You know we can't," I pointed out, and he grunted in reply.