by Robin Hobb
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. ”
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“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?”
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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. ”
“I'm cold,” Thick moaned, rescuing me from Web's lecture.
“There's your first errand,” I told Swift brusquely. “Ask the Prince's serving man where you can find two more blankets for Thick. Wool ones. And bring him a big mug of water, as well. ”
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 fac
e 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. ”
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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.
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 anticipation, 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 lackluster assent 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, assessing 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?
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.
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“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 t
o 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 hoarse.
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.
