Читать книгу Fool’s Fate - Робин Хобб - Страница 13

… despised beast-magic’s other uses. The ignorant believe that the Wit can only be used to give humans the power to speak to animals (words obscured by scorching) and shape-changing for evil intent. Gunrody Lian, the last man to admit openly at Buckkeep Court that he had (large fragment burned away) also for healing the mind as well. From beasts, too, he claimed they could harvest the instinctive knowledge of curative herbs, as well as a wariness against (this portion ends here. Next scorched fragment of scroll begins:) … set hands to her head and held her steady and looked in her eyes. So he stood over her while the ghastly surgery was done, and she never looked away from him, nor cried out in agony. This I myself saw but … (again, into the scorched edge of the scroll. The next three words may be:) dared not tell.

Fallstar’s attempt to recreate the Wit-scroll by Skillmaster Leftwell, from the burned fragments discovered in a wall of Buckkeep Castle

I managed to get all the way to the next morning before I vomited myself. I lost count of how many times I held onto Thick while he leaned far over the railing and retched hopelessly at the sea. The taunting of the sailors did not help matters, and if I had dared leave his side, I’d have taken some satisfaction from one or two of them. It was not congenial mockery of a landsman with no stomach for the sea. There was an ugly undercurrent to it, like crows drawn to torment a single eagle. Thick was different, a dimwit with a clumsy body, and they gleefully delighted in his misery as proof that he was inferior to them. Even when a few other miserable souls joined us at the railing, Thick took the brunt of their teasing.

It diminished briefly when the Prince and Chade took an evening stroll out on the decks. The Prince seemed invigorated by the sea air and his freedom from Buckkeep. As he stood by Thick and spoke to him in low tones, Chade contrived to set his hand on the railing touching mine. His back was to me and he appeared to be nodding to the Prince’s conversation with his man.

How is he?

Sick as a dog and miserable. Chade, the sailors’ mockery makes it worse.

I feared as much. But if Dutiful notices and rebukes them, the captain will come down on them as well. You know what will follow.

Yes. They’ll find every private opportunity to make life hell for Thick.

Exactly. So try to ignore it for now. I expect it will wear off once they become accustomed to seeing him about the ship. Anything you need?

A blanket or two. And a bucket of fresh water, so he can wash his mouth out.

So I remained at Thick’s side through the long and weary night, to protect him lest the taunting become physical as well as to keep him from falling overboard in his misery. Twice I tried to take him inside the cabin. Each time we did not get more than three steps from the railing before he was retching. Even when there was nothing left in his belly for him to bring up, he refused to go inside. The sea grew rougher as the night progressed, and by dawn we had a wind-driven rain soaking us as well as the flying spray from the tips of the whitecaps. Wet and cold, he still refused to budge from the railing. ‘You can puke in a bucket,’ I told him. ‘Inside, where it’s warm!’

‘No, no, I’m too sick to move,’ he groaned repeatedly. He had fixed his mind on his seasickness, and was determined to be miserable. I could think of no way to deal with it, except to let him follow it to its extreme and then be done with it. Surely, when he was miserable enough, he’d go inside.

Shortly after dawn, Riddle brought food for me. I was beginning to suspect that perhaps the naïve and affable young man truly was in Chade’s employ and assigned to assist me. If so, I wished he wasn’t, yet I was grateful for the pannikin of mush he brought me. Thick was hungry, despite his nausea, and we shared the food. That was a mistake, for the sight of it leaving Thick shortly after that inspired my own belly to be parted from what I had eaten.

That seemed to be the only thing that cheered Thick that morning.

‘See. Everyone’s going to be sick. We should go back to Buckkeep now.’

‘We can’t, little man. We must go on, to the Out Islands, so the Prince can slay a dragon and win the Narcheska’s hand.’

Thick sighed heavily. He was beginning to shake with the cold despite the blankets that swaddled him. ‘I don’t even like her. I don’t think Prince likes her either. She can keep her hand. Let’s just go home.’

At the moment, I agreed with him but dared not say so.

He went on. ‘I hate this ship, and I wish I’d never come.’

Odd, how a man can become so accustomed to something that he no longer senses it. It was only when Thick spoke the words aloud that I realized how deeply they echoed his wild Skilling-song. All night it had battered my walls, a song made of flapping canvas, creaking lines and timbers and the slap of the waves against the hull. Thick had transformed them into a song of resentment and fear, of misery and cold and boredom. He had taken every negative emotion that a sailor might feel for a ship, and was blasting it out in an anthem of anger. I could put my walls up and remain unaffected by it. Some of the sailors who crewed the Maiden’s Chance were not so fortunate. Not all were sensitive to the Skill, yet for those who were, the unrest would be acute. And in the close quarters, it would quickly affect their fellows.

I spent a few moments watching the crew at work. The current watch moved among their tasks effectively but resentfully. Their competence had an angry edge to it, and the mate who drove them from task to task watched with an eagle’s eye for the slightest sign of slackness or idleness. The congeniality I had glimpsed when they were loading the ship was gone, and I sensed their discord building.

Like a nest of hornets that felt the thud of the axe echoing from the tree trunk below, they were stirred to a buzzing anger that had, as yet, no target. Yet if their general fury continued to mount, we could well be faced with brawls or worse, a mutiny. I was watching a pot come to a seething boil, knowing that if I did nothing, we’d all be scalded.

Thick. Your music is very loud right now. And very scary. Can you make it different? Calm. Soft like your mothersong?

‘I can’t!’ He moaned the words as he Skilled them. ‘I’m too sick.’

Thick, you’re frightening the sailors. They don’t know where the song comes from. They can’t hear it, but some of them can feel it, a little bit. It’s making them upset.

‘I don’t care. They’re mean to me anyway. They should make this ship go back.’

They can’t, Thick. They have to obey the captain, and the captain has to do what the Prince tells him. And the Prince must go to the Out Islands.

‘Prince should make them go back. I’ll get off and stay at Buckkeep.’

But Thick, we need you.

‘I’m dying, I think. We should go back.’ And with that thought, his Skill-music swept to a crescendo of fear and despair. Nearby, a team of sailors had been hauling on a line to put on yet more canvas. Their loose trousers flapped in the constant wind, but they didn’t seem to notice it. Muscles bulged in their bare arms as they methodically hauled on the sheets. But as Thick’s despondent song soaked them their rhythm faltered. The front man took more weight than he could manage, and stumbled forward with an angry shout. In an instant, the sailors had regained control of the line, but I had seen enough.

I sought the Prince with my mind. He was playing stones in his cabin with Civil. Swiftly I relayed my problem to him. Can you pass this on to Chade?

Not easily. He’s right here, watching the play, but so are Web and his boy.

Web has a boy?

That Swift boy.

Swift Witted is on board?

Do you know him? He came on board with Web and seems to serve him as a page serves a master. Why? Is that important?

Only to me, I thought. I grimaced with frustration. Later. But as soon as you can, tell Chade. Can you reach to Thick and calm him?

I’ll try. Drat! You distracted me and Civil just won!

I think this is more important than a game of stones! I replied testily and broke the contact. Thick was sitting on the deck at my feet, his eyes closed, swaying miserably, his music a queasy accompaniment to the rhythm of his body. It was not the only thing making me feel sick. I’d promised Nettle that her brother was on his way back to her. He wasn’t. What was I to say to her? I set it aside as something I couldn’t solve right now. Instead I crouched down beside Thick.

‘Listen to me,’ I said quietly. ‘The sailors don’t understand your music and it frightens them. If it goes on much longer, they might –’

And there I halted. I didn’t want to make him fear the sailors. Fear is a solid foundation for hate. ‘Please, Thick,’ I said helplessly, but he only stared stubbornly out over the waves.

The morning passed while I waited for Chade to come and help me. I suspected that Dutiful Skilled a reassurance to him, but Thick stolidly ignored it. I stared at our wake, watching the other Buckkeep ships that trailed us. Three carracks followed us like a row of fat ducklings. There were two smaller vessels, pinnaces that would serve as communication vessels between the larger ships, enabling travelling nobles to exchange messages and visit one another as the voyage progressed. The smaller boats could use oars as well as sails, and could be used to manoeuvre the heavier ships in and out of crowded harbours. It was a substantial flotilla for Buckkeep to dispatch to the Out Islands.

The rain dwindled to a drizzle and then ceased, but the sun still hid behind the clouds. The wind was a constant. I tried to be positive about it for Thick. ‘See how swiftly it drives us over the water. Soon enough, we’ll reach the Out Islands, and think how exciting it will be to see a new place!’

But Thick only replied, ‘It’s pushing us farther and farther from home. Take me back now.’ Riddle brought us a noon meal of hard bread, dried fish and watery beer. I think he was glad to be out on the deck. The guard was expected to stay below and out of the sailors’ way. No one had said that the more they kept us separate, the less chance there was for fighting, but we all knew it. I spoke little, but Riddle chatted anyway, letting me know that the guardsmen below were also out of sorts. Some were seasick who swore they had never been bothered by that ailment before. That was not good news to me. I ate, and I managed to keep my food down, but I couldn’t persuade Thick even to nibble on the sea bread. Riddle took our dishes and left us alone again. When Chade and the Prince finally appeared, my impatience and anger had been worn away to a dull resignation. While the Prince spoke to Thick, Chade swiftly conveyed to me how difficult it had been for the Prince and him to get out of the cabin alone. In addition to Web, Civil and Swift, no less than three other nobles had come to his cabin to visit and lingered to talk long. As Chade had pointed out earlier, there was little else to occupy the time, and the nobles who had accompanied the Prince had done so to ingratiate themselves with him. They’d take advantage of every moment.

‘So. When are we to work in Skill-lessons?’ I asked him very softly.

He scowled. ‘I doubt that we’ll manage much time for those. But I’ll see what can be done.’

Dutiful didn’t have any more success with Thick than I had. Thick stared out sullenly over the ship’s wake while the Prince spoke earnestly to him.

‘Well. At least we managed to get away without Lord Golden,’ I observed to Chade.

He shook his head. ‘And that was far more difficult than I expected it to be. I imagine you heard of his blocking the docks in an attempt to board. He only gave up on that when the City Guard arrived and arrested him.’

‘You had him arrested?’ I was horrified.

‘Now, lad, be easy. He’s a nobleman and his offence is a fairly trivial one; he’ll be treated far better than you were. And they’ll only hold him two or three days; just long enough for all the Out Island-bound ships to be gone. It seemed the easiest way to deal with him. I didn’t want him coming up to Buckkeep Castle and confronting me, or begging favour of the Queen.’

‘She knows why we did this, doesn’t she?’

‘She does. She doesn’t like it, however. She feels a great debt to the Fool. But don’t worry. I left enough hurdles that it will be difficult if not impossible for Lord Golden to get an audience with her.’

I had not thought my spirits could sink lower, but now they did. I hated to think of the Fool imprisoned and then snubbed by Buckkeep’s royalty. I knew how Chade would have worked it: a word there, a hint, a rumour that Lord Golden was not in the Queen’s graces any more. By the time he was out of the gaol, he’d be a social outcast. A penniless social outcast, with outstanding debts.

I’d only meant to leave him safely behind, not put him into such a position. I said as much to Chade.

‘Oh, don’t worry about him, Fitz. Sometimes you behave as if no one can manage without you. He’s a very capable, very resourceful creature. He’ll cope. If I’d done any less, he’d be on our heels right now.’

And that, too, was true but scarcely comforting.

‘Thick’s seasickness can’t go on much longer,’ Chade observed optimistically. ‘And when it passes, I’ll put it about that Thick has become attached to you. That will give you good reason to be at his side, and sometimes in his chamber adjacent to the Prince’s. Perhaps we shall have more time to confer that way.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said dully. Despite the Prince’s conversation with Thick, I sensed no lessening of his discordant music. It wore on my spirits. By an effort of will, I could convince myself that Thick’s nausea was not mine, but it was a constant effort.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come back to the cabin?’ Dutiful was asking him.

‘No. The floor goes up and down.’

The Prince was puzzled. ‘The deck moves up and down here, too.’

It was Thick’s turn to be confused. ‘No, it doesn’t. The boat goes up and down on the water. It’s not as bad.’

‘I see.’ I saw Dutiful surrender any hope of explaining it to Thick. ‘In either case, you’ll soon get used to it and the seasickness will go away.’

‘No, it won’t,’ Thick replied darkly. ‘Sada said that everyone will say that, but it isn’t true. She got sick every time she went on a boat and it never went away. So she wouldn’t come with me.’

I was beginning to dislike Sada and I’d never even met the woman.

‘Well. Sada is wrong,’ Chade declared briskly.

‘No she isn’t,’ Thick replied stubbornly. ‘See. I’m still sick.’ And he leaned out over the railing again, retching dryly.

‘He’ll get over it,’ Chade said, but he did not sound as confident as he had.

‘Do you have any herbs that might help him?’ I asked. ‘Ginger, perhaps?’

Chade halted. ‘An excellent idea, Badgerlock. And I do believe I have some. I’ll have the cook make him a strong ginger tea and send it up to you.’

When the tea arrived, it smelled as much of valerian and sleepbalm as it did of ginger. I approved of Chade’s thought. Sleep might be the best cure for Thick’s determined seasickness. When I offered it to him, I firmly told him that it was a well-known sailor’s antidote to seasickness, and that it was certain to work for him. He still regarded it doubtfully; I suppose my words did not carry as much weight as Sada’s opinion. He sipped it, decided he liked the ginger, and downed the whole cup. Unfortunately, a moment later he spewed it up just as swiftly as it had gone down. Some of it went up his nose, the ginger scalding the sensitive skin, and that made him adamantly refuse to try any more, even in tiny sips.

I had been on board for two days. Already it seemed like six months.

The sun eventually broke through the clouds, but the wind and flying spray snatched away whatever warmth it promised. Huddled in a damp wool blanket, Thick fell into a fitful sleep. He twitched and moaned through nightmares swept with his song of seasickness. I sat beside him on the wet deck, sorting my worries into useless piles. It was there that Web found me.

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 petition the gods?’

He raised his brows. ‘Petition?’

‘Isn’t that what prayer is? Begging the gods 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 any more.’

‘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 chore. 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 amusement, then levered himself down to sit beside me. ‘Don’t you know? How do you pray, then?’

‘I don’t.’ And then, I re-thought, 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 pass.’

‘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 prick me. Perhaps not, but the possible criticism made me irritable all the same. ‘I told Swift to go home. He owes his parents his labour 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 assure 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 compassion.

‘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 passed 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 re-trained. 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 travellers. 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 to 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.’

Dutiful 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 assurance 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 ashore.’

‘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 passed.’

‘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 passed miserably, and not just for us. Twice I heard the mate explode in anger at his bad-humoured 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 onto a grievance like a pit-dog hanging onto a bull’s nose. Let it go, FitzChivalry Farseer. 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 properly 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?

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

But then, sometimes my prince trusted too easily. 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 sea-pipes I’d ever seen from inside his shirt. Sea-pipes 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 the hope 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, over-populated tub. I had hoped for wash water, 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 above decks 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 humour 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. Prone 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 mist. 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 snatched 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 thorny 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 for a time staring up at a glass 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 a spider’s web. 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 flavour in moderation, but choking by the mouthful. When I finally reached the glass tower 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 recreated 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 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 bloody 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, 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.

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.’

‘I am not real as you see me,’ I replied slowly. ‘But I am real. And once upon a time, your father knew me.’

‘Once upon a time,’ she said scornfully. ‘Another tale from Shadow Wolf. Take your silly stories away.’ She took a shuddering breath and fresh tears started down her face. ‘I’m not a child any longer. Your stupid stories can’t help me.’

So I knew I had lost her. Lost her trust, lost her friendship. Lost my chance of knowing my child as a child. Terrible sadness welled up in me, but it was laced with the music of brambles growing. I glanced behind me. The thorn vines and fog had crept higher. Was it just my own dream threatening me, or had Thick’s music become even more menacing? I didn’t know. ‘And I came here seeking your help,’ I reminded myself bitterly.

‘My help?’ Nettle asked in a choked voice.

I had spoken without thinking. ‘I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything.’

‘No. You don’t.’ She was looking past me. ‘What is that, anyway?’

‘A dream. A nightmare, actually.’

‘I thought your nightmares were about falling.’ She sounded intrigued.

‘That’s not my nightmare. It belongs to someone else. He is … it’s a very strong nightmare. Strong enough to spread out from him and take over the dreams of other people. It’s threatening lives. And I don’t think the man whose dream it is can control it.’

‘Just wake him up, then.’ She offered the solution disdainfully.

‘That might help, for a little time. But I need a more permanent solution.’ For a brief moment, I considered telling her that the man’s nightmare endangered Swift as well. I pushed the thought aside. There was no use frightening her, especially when I wasn’t sure she could help me.

‘What did you think I could do about it?’

‘I thought you could help me go into his dream and change it. Make it pleasant and calm. Convince him that what is happening to him won’t kill him, that he’ll be fine. Then his dreams might be calmer. And we could all rest.’

‘How could I do that?’ And then, more sharply, ‘And why should I do that? What do you offer me in exchange, Shadow Wolf?’

I did not like that it had come down to barter, but I had only myself to blame. It was cruellest of all that the only thing I had to offer her would bring pain and guilt for her father. I spoke slowly. ‘As to how, you are very strong in the magic that lets one person walk into another person’s dreams and change them. Strong enough, perhaps, to shape my friend’s dream for him, even though he himself is also very strong in magic. And very frightened.’

‘I have no magic.’

I ignored her words. ‘As for why … I have told you that Swift is with me, and safe. You doubt me. I don’t blame you, for it appears I have failed you in my earlier assurance. But I will give you words, to say to your father. They will … they will be hard for him to hear. But when he hears them, he will know that what I say is true. That your brother is alive and well. And with me.’

‘Tell me the words, then.’

For one brief Chade-ish moment, I thought of demanding that first she help me with Thick’s dreaming. Then I harshly rejected that notion. My daughter owed me exactly what I had given her: nothing. Perhaps there was also the fear that if I did not speak to her then, I would lose my courage. Uttering those words was like touching my tongue to a glowing coal. I spoke them. ‘Tell him that you dreamed of a wolf with porcupine quills in his muzzle. And that the wolf said to you, “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”.’

I had cloaked my message as best I could, under the circumstances. Nettle still struck far too close to the truth when she eagerly asked, ‘My father cared for your son, years ago?’

Some decisions are easier if you don’t allow yourself time to think. ‘Yes,’ I lied to my daughter. ‘Exactly.’

I watched her mull this for a moment. Slowly her tower of glass began to melt into water. It flowed, warm and harmless, past my feet until her balcony had descended to the ground. She offered me her hand to help her climb over the railing. I took it, touching and yet not touching my daughter for the first time in her life. Her tanned fingers rested briefly on my black-clawed paw. Then she stood clear of me and looked down at the fog and creeping briars that were ascending the hillside toward us.

‘You know I’ve never done anything like this before?’

‘Neither have I,’ I admitted.

‘Before we go into his dream, tell me something about him,’ she suggested.

The fog and bramble crept ever closer. Whatever I told her about Thick would be too much, and yet for her to enter his dream ignorant might be dangerous to all. I could not control what Thick revealed to her in the context of the dream. For one fleeting second, I wondered if I should have consulted Chade or Dutiful before seeking Nettle’s aid. Then I smiled grimly to myself. I was Skillmaster, was I not? In that capacity, this decision was mine alone.

And so I told my daughter that Thick was simple, a man with the mind and heart of a child, and the strength of an army when it came to Skill-magic. I even told her that he served the Farseer Prince, and that he journeyed with him on a ship. I told her how his powerful Skill-music and now his dreams were undermining morale on the ship. I told her of his conviction that he would always be seasick and that he would likely die from it. And as I told her these things, the thorns grew and twined toward us, and I watched her quickly drawing her own conclusions from what I said; that I was on board the ship also, and therefore that her brother was with me, on a sea-voyage with the Farseer Prince. Rural as her home was, I wondered how much she had heard of the Narcheska and the Prince’s quest. I didn’t have to wonder long. She put the tale together for herself.

‘So that is the black dragon that the silver dragon keeps asking you about. The one the Prince goes to slay.’

‘Don’t speak her name,’ I begged her.

She gave me a disdainful look that mocked my foolish fears. Then, ‘Here it comes,’ she said quietly. And the brambles engulfed us.

They made a crackling sound as they rose around our ankles and then our knees, like fire racing up a tree. The thorns bit into our flesh and then a dense fog swirled up about us, choking and menacing.

‘What is this?’ Nettle exclaimed in annoyance. Then, as the fog stole her from my sight, she exclaimed, ‘Stop it. Shadow Wolf, stop it right now! This is all yours; you made this mess. Let go of it!’

And she wrested my dream from me. It was rather like having someone snatch away your blankets. But most jarring for me was that it evoked a memory I both did and did not recognize: another time and an older woman, prying something fascinating and shiny from my chubby-fisted grasp, while saying, ‘No, Keppet. Not for little boys.’

I was breathless in the sudden banishment of my dream, but in the next instant we literally plunged into Thick’s. The fog and brambles vanished, and the cold salt water closed over my head. I was drowning. No matter how I struggled I could not get to the top of the water. Then a hand gripped mine and as Nettle hauled me up to stand beside her, she exclaimed irritably, ‘You are so gullible! It’s a dream, and that’s all it is. Now it’s my dream, and in my dream we can walk on the waves. Come on.’

She said it and it was so. Still, I held on to her hand and walked beside her. All around us, the water stretched out, glittering shoreless from horizon to horizon. Thick’s music was the wind blowing all around us. I squinted out over the water, wondering how we would ever find Thick in the trackless waves, but Nettle squeezed my hand and announced clearly through Thick’s wild song, ‘We’re very close to him now.’

And that, too, was so. A few steps more and she dropped to her knees with an exclamation of pity. The blinding sunlight on the water hid whatever she stared at. I knelt beside her and felt my heart break.

He knew it too well. He must have seen it, sometime. The drowned kitten floated just beneath the water. Too young even for his eyes to be opened, he dangled weightlessly in the sea’s grip. His fur floated around him, but as Nettle reached in to grip him by the scruff of the neck and pull him out, his coat sleeked suddenly flat with the water. He dangled from her hand, water streaming from his tail and paws and dribbling from his nose and open red mouth. She cupped the little creature fearlessly in her hand. She bent over him intently, experimentally flexing the small rib cage between her thumb and forefingers. Then she held the tiny face close to hers and blew a sudden puff of air into the open red mouth. In those moments, she was entirely Burrich’s daughter. So I had seen him clear birth-mucus from a newborn puppy’s throat.

‘You’re all right now,’ she told the kitten authoritatively. She stroked the tiny creature, and in the wake of her hand, his fur was dry and soft. He was striped orange and white, I suddenly saw. A moment before, I thought he had been black. ‘You’re alive and safe, and I will not let any evil befall you. And you know that you can trust me. Because I love you.’

At her words, my throat closed up and choked me. I wondered how she knew them to say. All my life, without knowing it, I had wanted someone to say those words to me, and have them be true and believable. It was like watching someone give to another the gift you had always longed for. And yet, I did not feel bitterness or envy. All I felt was wonder that at sixteen, she would have that in her to give to another. Even if I could have found Thick in his dream, even if someone had told me those were the words I must say, the words he most desperately needed to hear, I could not have said them and made them true as she did. She was my daughter, blood of my blood, and yet the wonder and amazement she made me feel at that moment made her a creation entirely apart from me.

The kitten stirred in her hand. It looked about blindly. When the little red mouth opened wide, I was prepared for a yowl. Instead, it questioned in a hoarse little voice, ‘Mam?’

‘No,’ Nettle replied. My daughter was braver than I. She did not even consider the easy lie. ‘But someone like her.’ Nettle looked around the seascape as if noticing it for the first time. ‘And this is not a good place for someone like you. Let’s change it, shall we? Where do you like to be?’

His answers surprised me. She coaxed the information from him, detail by detail. When they were finished, we sat, doll-sized, in the centre of an immense bed. In the distance, I could make out the hazy walls of a travelling wagon such as many puppeteer families and street performers lived in when they travelled from town to town. It smelled of the dried peppers and braided onions that were roped across one corner of the ceiling. Now I recognized the music around us, not just as Thick’s mother song, but also the elements that comprised it: the steady breathing of a sleeping woman, the creak of wheels and the slow-paced thudding of a team’s hoofbeats, woven as a backdrop for a woman’s humming and a childish tune on a whistle. It was a song of safety and acceptance and content. ‘I like it here,’ Nettle told him when they were finished. ‘Perhaps, if you don’t mind, I’ll come and visit you here again. Would that be all right?’

The kitten purred, and then curled up, not sleeping, but simply being safe in the middle of the huge bed. Nettle stood up to go. I think that was when I realized that I was watching Thick’s dream but was no longer part of it. I had vanished from it, along with all other discordant and dangerous elements. I had no place in his mother’s world.

‘Farewell for now,’ Nettle told him. And added, ‘Now remember how easy it is to come here. When you decide to sleep, all you have to do is think of this cushion.’ She touched one of many brightly embroidered pillows on the bed. ‘Remember this, and when you dream, you’ll come straight here. Can you do that?’

The kitten rumbled a purr in response, and then Thick’s dream began to fade around me. In a moment, I stood again on the hillside by the melted glass tower. The brambles and fog had vanished, leaving a vista of green valleys and shining rivers threading through them.

‘You didn’t tell him he wouldn’t be seasick any more,’ I suddenly remembered. Then I winced at how ungrateful my words sounded. Nettle scowled at me and I saw the weariness in her eyes.

‘Do you think it was easy to find all those things and assemble them around him? He kept trying to change it all back into cold sea-water.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m sleeping, and yet I suspect I’m going to wake exhausted.’

‘I apologize,’ I answered gravely. ‘Well do I know that magic can take a toll. I spoke without thinking.’

‘Magic,’ she snorted. ‘This dream-shaping is not magic. It is just a thing I can do.’

And with that thought, she left me. I pushed from my mind the dread of what might be said when she gave Burrich my words. There was nothing I could do about any of that. I sat down at the base of her tower, but without Nettle to anchor it, the dream was already fading. I sank through it into a dreamless sleep of my own.