Fool's Fate (20 page)

    Towns, especially harbor towns, belong to no single clan and mob law is generally the rule in them. The City Guard will not come to your aid if you are robbed or assaulted in an Out Island town. Each man is expected to enforce the respect others should give him. Cry out for help and you will be judged weak and beneath notice. Sometimes, however, the dominant clan in the area may have a “stronghouse” in the town and set itself up in judgment over disputes there.

    The Outislanders do not build castles and forts such as we have in the Six Duchies. A siege is more likely to be conducted by enemy vessels taking control of a harbor or river mouth rather than by a land force attempting to seize land. It is not unusual, however, to find one or two clan “stronghouses” in each major town. These are fortified structures built to withstand attack and often having deep cellars with not only a well for water but also substantial storage for food. These “stronghouses” usually belonged to the dominant clan in each town, and were designed more for shelter from civil strife than to withstand foreign attack.

    --SHELLBYE'S “OUT ISLAND TRAVELS”

    When I awoke, I could feel that the ship was calmer. I had not slept for many hours, but I felt rested. About me on the deck, men still sprawled, immersed in slumber as if they had not slept well in days, as was the case.

    I rose carefully, bundling my blanket in my arms and stepping through the prone bodies. I put my blanket back into my sea chest, changed into a cleaner shirt, and then went back on deck. Night was venturing toward morning. The clouds had rained themselves out, and fading stars showed through their rent curtains. The canvas had been reset to take advantage of a kindlier wind. The barefoot sailors moved in quiet competence on the deck. It felt like the dawn after a storm.

    I found Thick curled up and sleeping, the lines of his face slack and peaceful, his breathing hoarse and steady. Nearby, Web dozed; his head drooped forward onto his bent knees. My eyes could barely make out the dark shape of a seabird perched on the railing. It was a gull of some sort, larger than the average. I caught the bright glint of Risk's eye, and nodded to her in affable greeting as I approached slowly, giving Web time to open his eyes and lift his head. He smiled at me.

    “He seems to be resting better. Perhaps the worst is over.”

    “I hope so,” I replied. Cautiously I opened myself to Thick's music. It was no longer a storm of Skill, but was still as constant as the shushing waves. His Mothersong had become dominant in it again, but I heard also the trace of a kitten purring, and a reassuring echo of Nettle's voice promising him that he was loved and safe. That unsettled me a bit; I wondered if I only heard it because I had witnessed the change, or if Chade and the Prince would also detect her words and voice.

    “You look more rested, as well,” Web observed, his voice abruptly recalling me to my manners and myself.

    “Yes, I am. And I thank you.”

    He extended a hand to me, and I took it, helping him onto his feet. Once upright, he released my hand and rolled his shoulders to limberness again. On the railing, his bird waddled a step or two closer. In the gathering light, I marked the deep yellow of her beak and feet. Somewhere in Burrich's tutelage, I seemed to recall that bright colors were indicative of a well-nourished bird. This creature gleamed with health. As if aware of my admiration, she turned her head and carefully preened a long flight feather through her bill. Then, as effortlessly as a cat lofts into a chair, she rose from the railing, her cupped wings catching the wind and lifting her in flight.

    “Show-off,” Web muttered. He smiled at me. It came to me that Wit-partners take the same inane pride in one another that parents do in their children. I smiled back, commiserating.

    “Ah. That looks genuine. In time, my friend, I think you will come to trust me. Tell me when you do.”

    I gave a small sigh. It would have been courteous to insist that I already trusted him, but I did not think I could lie well enough to deceive him. So I simply nodded. Then, as he turned to go, I remembered Swift. “I've another favor I would ask of you,” I said awkwardly.

    He turned back to me, sincere pleasure in his face. “I'll take that as an indication of progress.”

    “Could you ask Swift to give me some of his time today? I'd like to talk to him.”

    Web cocked his head like a gull regarding a dubious clamshell. “Are you going to browbeat him about returning to his father?”

    I considered. Was I? “No. I'm only going to tell him that I regard it as essential to my honor that he return safely to Buckkeep. And that I expect him to keep up his lessons with me while on this journey.” Oh, that would please Chade, I thought sourly. My time already was stretched thin, and I was taking up yet another task.

    Web smiled warmly. “It would please me greatly to send him to you to hear those things,” he replied. He offered me a sailor's brief bow before he departed, and I nodded back.

    A Skilled suggestion from me meant that the Prince rose early and was on the deck beside Thick when he finally stirred. A servant had brought up a small basket, with warm bread and a pot of hot tea in it. The smell of it made me aware I was ravenous. He set it on the deck near Thick and then the Prince dismissed him. We stood silently staring out over the sea, waiting for Thick to awaken.

    When did his music change? When I awoke this morning, I could not believe how relaxed and rested I felt. It took me some time before I realized what the change was.

    It's such a relief, isn't it? I wanted to say more, but dared not. I could not admit to the Prince that I had tampered with Thick's dreams, because I wasn't really the one who had done it. I doubted that Thick had even been aware I was there.

    Thick's awakening saved me. He coughed, and then opened his eyes. He looked up at Dutiful and me and a slow smile spread over his face. “Nettle fixed my dream for me,” he said. Before either Dutiful or I could respond to his words, he went off in a fit of coughing. Then, “I don't feel good. My throat hurts.”

    I seized the opportunity to divert the conversation. “It's probably from all the retching you've done. Look, Thick, Dutiful has brought you tea and fresh bread. The tea will ease your throat. Shall I pour you some?”

    His only reply was another spell of coughing. I crouched down beside him and touched his cheek. His face was warm, but he had just awakened and he was still wrapped in wool blankets. It didn't mean he had a fever. He pushed the blankets away irritably, and then sat shivering in his wrinkled, damp clothing. He looked miserable and his music began to swirl discordantly.

    The Prince took action. “Badgerlock, bring that basket. Thick, you are coming back into the cabin with me. Immediately.”

    “I don't want to,” he groaned, then shocked me by slowly standing up. He staggered a step, then looked out over the rolling waves and seemed to recall. “I'm seasick.”

    “That's why I want to take you to the cabin. You'll get better there,” the Prince told him.

    “No I won't,” Thick insisted, but all the same when Dutiful started off toward the cabin, he slowly fell in behind him. His gait was unsteady, as much from weakness as from the gentle shifting of the deck. I stepped up to take his arm and escorted him, the laden basket on my other arm. He wobbled along beside me. We stopped twice for coughing spells, and by the time we reached the door of the Prince's cabin, my concern had become worry.

    Dutiful's chamber was more elaborate and better furnished than his bedchamber at home. Obviously someone else had designed it to a Buckkeep idea of what a prince merited. It had a bank of windows that looked out onto the wake behind the ship. There were rich carpets over the polished deck, and heavy furniture that was well anchored against the sway of the ship. I would probably have been more impressed if I had lingered there longer, but Thick arrowed for his own small room that opened off the main chamber. It was far more modest, little more than a closet the size of his bunk with a space beneath it for storing personal items. The architect of the ship had probably intended it for a valet rather than a bedchamber for the Prince's pet simpleton. Thick immediately crumpled onto the bed. He moaned and muttered as I shook him out of his stained and sweaty clothing. When I covered him with a light blanket, he clutched it to himself and complained, teeth chattering, of the cold. I fetched him a stuffed coverlet from the foot of the Prince's own bed. I was certain of his fever now.

    The pot of tea had cooled a bit, but I poured a cup for Thick and sat by him while he drank it. At my Skilled suggestion, the Prince sent for willow bark tea for his fever and raspberry root syrup for his cough. When the servant finally brought them, it took me some time to coax Thick to accept them. But his stubbornness seemed to have been eroded by the fever, and he gave way to me.

    The room was so small that I could not shut the door while I was sitting on the edge of his bed, so it remained open and I idly watched the flow of people through my prince's chamber as I tended our simpleton. I found little of interest until Dutiful's “Witted coterie” arrived. They were Civil, Web, the minstrel Cockle, and Swift. Dutiful was seated at the table, softly rehearsing his Outislander speech, when they came in. As the servant admitted them and then was dismissed, he pushed the scroll aside with apparent relief. Civil's cat padded in at his heels and immediately made himself comfortable on the Prince's bed. No one seemed to take any notice of him.

    Web glanced at me, bemused, before he greeted the Prince. “All's fair aloft, Prince Dutiful.” I thought it was an odd courtesy, until it dawned on me that he was relaying the word from his bird, Risk. “No ships save our own are in sight.”

    “Excellent.” The Prince smiled his approval before he turned his attention to the others. “How fares your cat today, Civil?”

    Civil held up his hand. His sleeve fell back to expose a raised red scratch the length of his forearm. “Bored. And irritated with the confinement. He'll be glad when we see land again.” All the Witted ones laughed indulgently together, as parents would over a child's willfulness. I marked how comfortable they all seemed in the Prince's presence. Only Swift seemed to retain any stiffness, and that could have been due to either his awareness of me or the age difference between him and the rest of the company. So had Verity's closest nobles been with him, I recalled, and thought to myself that the casual affection of those men was more valuable than the way Regal's hangers-on used to bow and scrape to him.

    So it did not seem overly odd when Web turned to look at me and then asked Dutiful, “And has Tom Badgerlock come to join us today, my prince?”

    Two questions rode in his words. Was I there to admit my Wit and possibly my identity, and would I be joining their “coterie”? I held my breath as Dutiful answered, “Not exactly, Web. He tends my man Thick. I understand you kept watch by him during the night to allow Badgerlock some rest, and for that I thank you. Yet now Thick has taken a cough from his night exposure and is feverish. He finds Badgerlock's company soothing, and so the man has agreed to sit with him.”

    “Ah. I see. Well, Thick, I'm sorry to hear you are ill.” As he spoke, Web came to peep in through the door. At the table behind him, the rest of the coterie continued their quiet conversation. Swift watched Web anxiously. Thick, huddled in his blankets and staring at the wall, seemed only mildly aware of him. Even his Skill-music seemed subdued and muted, as if he lacked the energy to drive it. When Thick made no response, Web touched me softly on the shoulder and said quietly, “I'll be happy to take a watch beside him tonight, too, if you'd like the rest. In the meanwhile...” He turned from me and gestured at Swift, whose face clouded with sudden apprehension. “I'll leave my 'page' here with you. Doubtless you two have much to discuss, and if there are any errands that can be run for Thick's comfort, I'm sure Swift will be glad to fetch for you. Isn't that right, lad?”

    Swift was in an untenable position and he knew it. He came to heel like a whipped dog and stood beside Web, eyes downcast.

    “Yes, sir,” he replied softly. He lifted his gaze to me and I didn't like what I saw there. It was fear coupled with dislike and I did not feel I had done anything to justify either of those emotions.

    “Swift,” Web said, drawing the boy's eyes back to him. He went on quietly, in a voice pitched for our ears alone. “It will be fine. Trust me. Tom wishes to be sure you will continue your education while you are aboard this ship. That is all.”

    “Actually, there is more,” I said unwillingly. That made both of them stare at me. Web lifted a brow. “I've given a promise,” I said slowly. “To your family, Swift. I promised that I'd put my life between you and anything that threatened you. I've promised that I'll do my best to see you safely home, when all this is over.”

    “What if I don't want to go home when all this is over?” Swift asked me insolently, his voice rising. I felt more than saw the Prince become aware of the conversation. And then the boy added, indignantly, “Wait! How did you talk to my father? There wasn't time for you to send a messenger and then get a reply before we left. You're lying.”

    I drew a slow breath through my nostrils. When I could speak calmly, I replied, keeping my voice pitched low. “No. I am not lying. I sent my promise to your family. I didn't say they had replied. I still consider it just as binding.”

    “There wasn't time,” he protested, but more quietly. Web looked at him disapprovingly. I scowled. Web flicked a disapproving glance at me, but I met it steadily. I'd promised to keep the boy alive and return him home. That didn't mean I had to tolerate his insults gladly.

    “I suppose this may be a long voyage for both of you,” Web observed. “I'll leave you to each other's company, and hope you both learn to make the best of it. I believe you each have something to offer the other. But you'll only value it if you discover it for yourselves.”