Fool's Fate Part 8

I looked up at him and he nodded gravely down at me. Then he stood by the rail and lifted his eyes. I followed his gaze to a seabird sweeping lazy arcs across the sky behind us. I had never met the creature, but I knew she must be Risk. The Wit-bond between man and bird seemed a thing woven of blue sky and wild water, at once calm and free. I basked in the edges of their shared pleasure in the day, trying to ignore how it whetted the edge of my loneliness. Here was the Wit Magic at its most natural, a mutual bond of pleasure and respect between man and beast. His heart flew with her. I could sense their communion and imagine how she shared her joyous flight with him.

It was only when my muscles relaxed that I realized how tense I had been. Thick sank into a deeper sleep and some of the frown eased from his face. The wind in his Skill-song took on a less ominous note. The calm that emanated from Web had touched us both, but my awareness of that came slowly. His warm serenity pooled around me, diluting my anxiety and weariness. If this was the Wit, he was using it in a way I'd never experienced before. This was as simple and natural as the warmth of breath. I found myself smiling up at him and he returned the smile, his teeth flashing white through his beard.

"It's a fine day for prayer. But then, most days are."

"That's what you were doing? Praying?" At his nod, I asked, "For what do you pet.i.tion the G.o.ds?"

He raised his brows. "Pet.i.tion?"

"Isn't that what prayer is? Begging the G.o.ds to give you what you want?"

He laughed, his voice deep as a booming wind, but kinder. "I suppose that is how some men pray. Not I. Not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I think that children pray so, to find a lost doll or that Father will bring home a good haul of fish, or that no one will discover a forgotten ch.o.r.e. Children think they know what is best for themselves, and do not fear to ask the divine for it. But I have been a man for many years, and I should be shamed if I did not know better by now."

I eased my back into a more comfortable position against the railing. I suppose if you are used to the swaying of a ship, it might be restful. My muscles constantly fought against it, and I was beginning to ache in every limb. "So. How does a man pray, then?"

He looked on me with amus.e.m.e.nt, then levered himself down to sit beside me. "Don't you know? How do you pray, then?"

"I don't." And then I rethought, and laughed aloud. "Unless I'm terrified. Then I suppose I pray as a child does. 'Get me out of this, and I'll never be so stupid again. Just let me live.'"

He laughed with me. "Well, it looks as if, so far, your prayers have been granted. And have you kept your promise to the divine?"

I shook my head, smiling ruefully. "I'm afraid not. I just find a new direction to be foolish in."

"Exactly. So do we all. Hence, I've learned I am not wise enough to ask the divine for anything."

"So. How do you pray then, if you are not asking for something?"

"Ah. Well, prayer for me is more listening than asking. And, after all these years, I find I have but one prayer left. It has taken me a lifetime to find my prayer, and I think it is the same one that all men find, if they but ponder on it long enough."

"And that is?"

"Think about it," he bade me with a smile. He stood slowly and gazed out over the water. Behind us, the sails of the following ships were puffed out like the throats of courting pigeons. They were, in their way, a lovely sight. "I've always loved the sea. I was on boats since before I could speak. It saddens me that your friend's experience of it must be so uncomfortable. Please tell him that it will pa.s.s."

"I've tried. I don't think he can believe me."

"A pity. Well, best of luck to you, then. Perhaps when he wakes, he'll feel better."

He began to walk away, but I remembered abruptly that I had other business with him. I came to my feet and called after him. "Web? Did Swift come aboard with you? The boy we spoke of before?"

He halted and turned to my question. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

I beckoned him closer and he came. "You recall that he is the boy that I asked you to talk with, the one who is Witted?"

"Of course. That was why I was so pleased when he came to me and offered to be my 'page' if I would take him on and teach him. As if I even knew what a page is supposed to do!" He laughed at such nonsense, and then sobered at my serious face. "What is it?"

"I had sent him home. I discovered that he did not have his parents' permission to be at Buckkeep at all. They think that he has run away, and are greatly grieved by his disappearance."

Web stood still and silent, digesting this news, his face showing no expression. Then he shook his head regretfully. "It must be a terrible thing for someone you love to vanish, and leave you always wondering what became of him."

An image of Patience sprang into my mind; I wondered if he had intended that his words p.r.i.c.k me. Perhaps not, but the possible criticism made me irritable all the same. "I told Swift to go home. He owes his parents his labor until he either reaches his majority or is released by them."

"So some say," Web said, in a tone that indicated he might disagree. "But there are ways parents can betray a child, and then I think the youngster owes them nothing. I think that children who are mistreated are wise to leave as swiftly as they can."

"Mistreated? I knew Swift's father for many years. Yes, he will give a lad a cuff or a sharp word, if the boy has earned it. But if Swift claims he was beaten or neglected at home, then I fear that he lies. That is not Burrich's way." My heart sank that the boy could have spoken so of his father.

Web shook his head slowly. He glanced at Thick to a.s.sure himself that the man was still sleeping and spoke softly. "There are other types of neglect and deprivation. To deny what unfolds inside someone, to forbid the magic that comes unbidden, to impose ignorance in a way that invites danger, to say to a child, 'You must not be what you are.' That is wrong." His voice was gentle but the condemnation was without compa.s.sion.

"He raises his son as he was raised," I replied stiffly. It felt odd to defend him, for I had so often railed against Burrich for what he had done to me.

"And he learned nothing. Not from having to deal with his own ignorance, not from what it did to the first lad he treated so. I try to pity him, but when I consider all that could have been, had you been properly educated from the time you were small-"

"He did well by me!" I snapped. "He took me to his side when no one else would have me, and I'll not hear ill spoken of him."

Web took a step back from me. A shadow pa.s.sed over his face. "Murder in your eyes," he muttered.

The words were like being doused with cold water. But before I could ask what he meant by them, he nodded to me gravely. "Perhaps we shall speak again of this. Later." And he turned and paced away from me. I recognized his walk. It was not flight. It was how Burrich would withdraw from an animal that had learned viciousness from bad treatment and had to be slowly retrained. It shamed me.

Slowly I sat down beside Thick again. I leaned back against the railing and closed my eyes. Perhaps I could doze a bit while he slept. But it seemed I had no sooner closed my eyes than his nightmare threatened me. Closing my eyes was like venturing downstairs into the noisy, smoky common room of a cheap inn. Thick's nauseous music swirled up into my mind, while his fears amplified the roll of the ship into a terrifying series of plunges and leaps without a pattern. I opened my eyes. Enduring sleeplessness was better than being swallowed by that bad dream.

Riddle brought me a pan of salty stew and a mug of watery beer while Thick still dozed. He'd brought his own rations as well, probably to enjoy eating on deck rather than in the cramped hold below. When I started to waken Thick to share the food, Riddle stopped me. "Let the poor moron sleep. If he's fortunate enough to be able to, he's the envy of every guardsman below."

"And why is that?"

He lifted one shoulder in a hapless shrug. "I can't say. Perhaps it's just the close quarters. But tempers are tight, and no one's sleeping well. Half of them are avoiding food for fear it won't stay down, and some of them are seasoned travelers. If you do manage to doze off, someone shouting out in a dream wakes you. Perhaps in a few days things will settle down. Right now, I'd rather stand in a pit surrounded by snarling dogs than go back down there. There were two fistfights just a moment ago, over who got fed first."

I nodded sagely, trying to conceal my anxiety. "I'm sure things will settle in a day or so. The first few days of a voyage are always difficult." I was lying through my teeth. Usually the first few days were the best, while the journey was still a novelty and before the tedium set in. Thick's dreams were poisoning the guards' sleep. I tried to be congenial while waiting for Riddle to leave. As soon as he took our empty dishes and departed, I leaned over and shook Thick awake. He sat up with a wail like a startled child.

"Shush, now. You're not hurt. Thick, listen to me. No, shush and listen. This is important. You have to stop your music, or at least make it quieter."

His face was wrinkled like a prune, with anger and hurt feelings that I had so roughly awakened him. Tears stood in his little round eyes. "I can't!" he wailed. "I'm going to die!"

The men working on deck turned scowling faces our way. One muttered angrily and made a sign against ill luck toward us. On some level, they knew the source of their uneasiness. He snuffled and sulked as I talked to him, but firmly resisted any suggestion that he could either dampen his song, or overcome his seasickness and fear. I became fully aware of the strength of his wild Skilling only when I tried to reach the Prince through the cacophony of Thick's emotions. Chade and the Prince had probably increased the strength of their walls without even noticing they were doing so. Skilling to them was like shouting into a blizzard.

When Dutiful realized how difficult it was for him to understand me, I felt panic touch him. He was in the midst of a meal and could not graciously leave. Even so, he found some way to make Chade aware of our crisis. They brought the meal to a hasty end and hastened out on deck to us.

By then, Thick had dozed off again. Chade spoke quietly. "I can mix a powerful sleeping draught and we can force it down him."

The Prince winced. "I'd rather not. Thick does not soon forget ill-treatment. Besides, what would we gain from it? He sleeps now, and still his song is enough to torment the dead."

"Perhaps if I put him into a very deep sleep-" Chade ventured uncertainly.

"We'd be risking his life," I interrupted. "With no a.s.surance that his song would stop."

"We have only one option," the Prince said quietly. "Turn back and take him home. Put him off the ship."

"We can't!" Chade was aghast. "We'll lose too many days. And we may need Thick's strength, when we actually confront the dragon."

"Lord Chade, we are seeing the full effects of Thick's strength now. And we are seeing that it is not disciplined, nor controlled by us." There was a new note in the Prince's voice, a monarch's tone. It reminded me of Verity, and his carefully weighted words. It made me smile and that earned me an odd frown from the Prince. I hastened to clarify my own thoughts.

"Right now, Thick's strength is not governed, not even by him. He does not intend us ill, but his music threatens us all. Think what sort of damage he might do, were he provoked to true anger. Or badly hurt. Even if we can cure his seasickness and calm his song, Thick will remain a double-edged blade. Unless we can find a sure discipline for his strength, he can threaten us when he is unsettled. Perhaps we would be wiser to go back and put him ash.o.r.e."

"We can't go back!" Chade insisted. Then, as both Dutiful and I stared at him, he pleaded, "Let me have one more night to ponder. I'm sure I'll think of a solution. And give him one more night to become accustomed to the ship. Perhaps by dawn, his sickness might have pa.s.sed."

"Very well," Dutiful replied after a moment. Again, there was that note in his voice. I wondered how he was learning it, or if he was simply growing into his role as ruler. In either case, I was glad to hear it. I was not sure if his decision to grant Chade one more day was a wise one or not. Yet it was his decision and he had made it with confidence. That was a thing to value.

When Thick awoke, he was sick again. I suspected that his prolonged hunger had as much to do with his weakness now as his seasickness did. He was sore from retching, for the muscles of his belly ached and his throat was raw. I could not persuade him to take anything except water, and that he accepted reluctantly. The day was neither cold nor warm, but Thick shivered in his damp clothes. They chafed him, but my suggestion that we go into his cabin and change or get warm met angry resistance. I longed to simply pick him up and drag him there, but knew he would scream and fight me, and that his music would become wild and violent. Yet I feared that he might soon slip into a real illness.

The slow hours pa.s.sed miserably, and not just for us. Twice I heard the mate explode in anger at his bad-humored crew. The second time, he threatened a man with a lashing if he didn't show a more respectful face. I could feel the tension building aboard the ship.

In late evening the rain returned as a pervasive misting. I felt as if I had not been dry for a week. I put my blanket over Thick, hoping the weight of wool would be good for some warmth. He was dozing fitfully on the deck, twitching in his sleep like a dog with nightmares. I had often heard the jest "You can't die from seasickness, but you wish you could." Now I wondered if it was wrong. How long could his body accept this treatment?

My Wit made me aware of Web before his silhouette lumbered out of the dim light of the ship's lantern to stand over me. "You're a faithful man, Tom Badgerlock," he observed as he hunkered down beside me. "This can't be pleasant duty, but you've not left his side even for a moment."

His praise both warmed me and made me uncomfortable. "It's my responsibility," I replied, letting his compliment slide past me.

"And you take it seriously."

"Burrich taught me that," I said, a bit testily.

Web laughed easily. "And he taught you to hang on to a grievance like a pit dog hanging on to a bull's nose. Let it go, FitzChivalry Fa.r.s.eer. I'll say no more of the man."

"I wish you would not bandy that name about so casually," I said after a moment of heavy quiet.

"It belongs to you. It's a piece of you that is missing. You should take it back."

"He's dead. And better left that way, for the sake of all I hold dear."

"Is it truly for them, or is it for yourself?" he asked of the night.

I wasn't looking at him. I was staring out over the stern, watching the other ships that trailed us through the watery night. They were black hulks, their sails blotting out the stars behind them. The lanterns they bore rose and fell with them, distant moving stars. "Web, what do you want of me?" I asked him at last.

"Only to make you think," he answered soothingly. "Not to make you angry, though I seem to excel at that. Or perhaps your anger is always there, festering inside you, and I am the knife that lances the boil and lets it burst forth."

I shook my head at him silently, not caring if he could or could not see me. I had other things to deal with right now, and wished I were alone.

As if he could read my thoughts, he added, "And tonight I did not even intend to start you on your thinking path. Actually, I came here to offer you respite. I'll sit vigil with Thick, if you wish to take a few hours to yourself. I doubt you've slept deeply since you took up this watch."

I longed to move about freely on my own, to see what the temper was on the rest of the ship. Even more than that, I longed for a little unguarded sleep. The offer was incredibly attractive. It therefore made me immediately suspicious.

"Why?"

Web smiled. "Is it that unusual for people to be nice to you?"

His question jolted me in an odd way. I took a breath. "Sometimes it seems that way, I suppose."

I rose slowly, for I had stiffened in the night chill. Thick muttered in his uneasy rest. I raised my arms over my head and rolled my shoulders as I arrowed a swift thought to Dutiful. Web is offering to take over my watch of Thick for a time. May I allow this? Web is offering to take over my watch of Thick for a time. May I allow this?

Of course. He seemed almost surprised that I had asked. He seemed almost surprised that I had asked.

But then, sometimes my prince trusted too easily. Please let Chade know. Please let Chade know.

I felt Dutiful's agreement. I spoke aloud to Web, at the end of my stretch. "Thank you. I'll take you up on your offer, very gratefully."

I watched him settle himself carefully beside Thick and take the smallest seapipes I'd ever seen from inside his shirt. Seapipes are probably the most common musical instrument in any fleet, for they withstand both bad weather and careless handling. It takes little to learn to play a simple tune on them, yet a talented player can entertain like a Buckkeep minstrel with them. I wasn't surprised to see them in Web's hands. He'd been a fisherman; he probably still was, in many ways.

He waved me away. As I departed, I heard a breathy sigh of music. He was playing, very softly, a child's tune on his pipes. Had he instinctively known that might soothe Thick? I wondered why I hadn't thought of music as a way to comfort him. I sighed. I was becoming too set in my ways. I needed to remember how to be flexible.

I went to the galley in hopes of begging something hot to eat. Instead I got hard bread and a piece of cheese no bigger than two fingers. The cook let me know I could consider myself fortunate for being allowed that. She didn't have food to waste, she didn't, not aboard this top-heavy, overpopulated tub. I had hoped for washwater, just enough to splash the salt from my hands and face, but she told me I hadn't a prayer of that. I'd had my share for the day, hadn't I? I should take what I was issued and be happy with it. Guardsmen. No idea what life aboard a vessel required of a man in self-discipline.

I retreated from her sharp tongue. I longed to stay abovedecks to eat, but I was out of my territory there, and the sailors were in a mood to prove it to me. So I went below, down to where the rest of the guard snored and muttered and played cards by the swinging light of a lantern. Our days at sea had not improved the smell of our quarters. I found that Riddle had not exaggerated the ill humor of the men. The comments of one man on "the returning nursemaid" would have been enough justification for a fight if I'd wanted one. I didn't, and managed to shed his insults, eat my food hastily, and dig my blanket out of my sea chest. Finding a place to stretch out was impossible. p.r.o.ne guardsmen littered the floor. I curled up in their midst. I would have preferred to sleep with my back to a wall, but there was no hope of that. I eased off my boots and loosened my belt. The man next to me muttered nastily and rolled over as I tried to settle on the deck and cover most of myself with my blanket. I closed my eyes and breathed out, reaching desperately for unconsciousness, grateful for the opportunity to close my eyes and sleep. At least in my dreams I could escape this nightmare.

But as I crossed the dim territory between wakefulness and sleep, I recognized that perhaps I held the solution to my problems. Instead of wallowing my way into full sleep, I slid sideways through it, seeking Nettle.

My task was harder than I had expected. Thick's music was here, and finding my way through it was like blundering through brambles in a fog. No sooner did I think of that than the sounds sprouted tendrils and thorns. Music should not hurt a man, but this did. I staggered through a fog of sickness, hunger, and thirst, my spine tight with cold and my head pounding with the discordant music that s.n.a.t.c.hed and dragged at me. After a time I halted. "It's a dream," I said to myself, and the brambles writhed mockingly at my words. As I stood still, pondering my situation, they began to wrap around my legs. "It's a dream," I said again. "It can't hurt me." But my words did not prevail. I felt the thorns bite through my leggings into my flesh as I staggered forward. They tightened their grip and held me fast.

I halted again, fighting for calm. What had begun as Thick's Skill-suggestion was now my own nightmare. I straightened up against the weight of the th.o.r.n.y vines trying to pull me down, reached to my hip and drew Verity's sword. I slashed at the brambles and they gave way, wriggling away like severed snakes. Encouraged, I gave the sword a blade of flame that singed the writhing plants and lit my way through the encroaching fog. "Go uphill," I told myself. "Only the valleys are full of mist. The hilltops will be clean and bare." And it was so.

When I finally struggled clear of Thick's Skill-fog, I found myself at the edges of Nettle's dream. I stood staring up at a gla.s.s tower on the hilltop above me. I recognized the tale. The hillside above me was littered with tangling threads. As I waded in, they clung like spiderweb. I knew that Nettle was aware of me. Nonetheless, she left me to my own devices, and I floundered through the ankle-deep tangle that represented all the broken promises her false lovers had made to the princess. In the old tale, only a truehearted man could tread such a path without falling.

In the dream, I had become the wolf. All four of my legs were soon bound by the clinging stuff and I must needs stop and chew myself clear of it. For some reason, the thread tasted of anise, a pleasant enough flavor in moderation, but choking by the mouthful. When I finally reached the gla.s.s tower and looked up at her, my chest was wet and my jaws dripped saliva. I gave myself a shake, droplets flying, and then asked her, "Aren't you going to invite me to come up?"

She did not reply. She leaned on the parapet of her balcony and stared out over the countryside. I looked behind me, down to where the brambles waved above the banked fog in the deep valleys. Was the fog creeping closer? When Nettle continued to ignore me, I trotted around the base of the tower. In the old tale, there was no door and Nettle had re-created it faithfully. Did that mean she had had a lover who had been faithless to her? My heart turned over in me and for a moment I forgot the purpose of my visit. When I had circled the tower, I sat down on my haunches and looked up at the figure on the balcony. "Who has betrayed you?" I asked her.

She continued to stare out and I thought she would not answer. But then, without looking down at me, she replied, "Everyone. Go away."

"How can I help you if I go away?"

"You can't help me. You've told me that often enough. So you might as well just go away and leave me alone. Like everyone else."

"Who has gone away and left you alone?"

That brought me a furious glare. She spoke in a low voice full of hurt. "I don't know why I thought you might remember! My brother, for one. My brother Swift, who you said would soon be coming home to us. Well, he hasn't! And then my stupid father decided to go look for him. As if a man with fogged eyes can go look for anything! And we told him not to go, but he did. And something happened, we don't know what, but his horse came home without him. So I went out on my horse, despite my mother shrieking at me that I wasn't to leave, and I tracked his horse's trail back and found Papa by the side of the road, bruised and b.l.o.o.d.y and trying to crawl home dragging one leg. So I brought him home, and then my mother scolded me again for disobeying her. And now my father is in bed and all he does is lie there and stare at the wall and not speak to anyone. My mother forbade any of us from bringing him any brandy. So he won't talk to us or tell us what happened. Which makes my mother furious at all of us. As if it were my fault."

Halfway through this tirade, her tears had begun to stream down her face. They dripped from her chin and ran over her hands and trickled down the wall of the tower. Slowly they solidified into opal strands of misery. I reared up on my hind legs and clawed at them, but they were too smooth and too shallow for me to gain any purchase. I sat down again. I felt hollow and old. I tried to tell myself that the misery in Molly's home had nothing to do with me, that I had not caused it and could not cure it. And yet, the roots of it ran deep, did they not?

After a time, she looked down at me and laughed bitterly. "Well, Shadow Wolf? Aren't you going to say you can't help me with that? Isn't that what you always say?" When I could think of no reply, she added in an accusing tone, "I don't know why I even speak to you. You lied to me. You said my brother was coming home."

"I thought he was," I replied, finding words at last. "I went to him and I told him to go home. I thought he had."

"Well, perhaps he tried to. Perhaps he started this way, and was killed by robbers, or fell in a river and drowned. I don't suppose you ever considered that ten is a bit young to be out on the roads alone? I suppose you never thought that it might have been kinder if you had brought him home safely to us, instead of 'sending' him? But no, that might have been inconvenient to you."

"Nettle. Stop. Let me speak. Swift is safe. Alive and safe. He is still here, with me." I paused and tried to breathe. The inevitability of what must follow those words sickened me. Here it comes, Burrich, Here it comes, Burrich, I thought to myself. I thought to myself. All the pain I ever tried to save you. All tied up in a tidy package of misery for you and your family. All the pain I ever tried to save you. All tied up in a tidy package of misery for you and your family.

For Nettle asked, as I knew she must, "And where is 'safe with you'? And how do I know he is safe? How do I know you are a true thing at all? Perhaps you are like the rest of this dream, a thing I made. Look at you, man-wolf! You are not real and you offer me false hope."