’s Fate

SEVEN Voyage

Do not make the error of thinking of the Out Islands as a kingdom under a sole monarch, such as we have in the Six Duchies, or even as an alliance of peoples such as we see in the Mountain Kingdom. Not even the individual islands, small as they may seem, are under the sole command of any single lord or noble. In fact, there are no ‘nobles or lords’ recognized among the Outislanders. Men have status according to their prowess as warriors and the richness of the spoils they bring back. Some have the backing of their matriarchal clans to enhance whatever reputation they may claim by force of arms. Clans hold territory on the islands, it is true, but these lands are the matriarchal farmlands and gathering beaches owned by the women and passed down through their daughters.

Towns, especially harbour 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 harbour or river mouth rather than by a 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 sea bird 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 mother’s song had become dominant in it again, but I heard also the trace of a kitten purring, and a reassuring echo of Nettle’s voice assuring 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 colours 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 favour 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 brow-beat 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 honour 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 wilfulness. 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.’

‘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 face 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. ‘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 Dutiful’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 practise your reading. Because we are going there, and it behoves 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.’

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 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 acknowledgement. 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 lacklustre assent that I had, and then Swift went 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 a 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 practising 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 any more. Let him know of Nettle and her strength. It didn’t mean I’d allow her to be used. ‘I asked a favour 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.

‘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, uncognizant 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 of 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 to speak to us privately about?’ Dutiful asked curiously.

Chade took a breath and almost I 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?’ Dutiful queried.

‘Did we? Well. I suppose we did. Excuse an old man’s wandering mind, my prince.’

Dutiful made a small and sceptical 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 very slow. 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, centred 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 the 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 greying 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. Then Thick’s dream retreated from me, as if I gazed at a lighted window from a distance. I looked around me. We were on the hillside, the melted tower above me and a bramble of dead briars surrounding me. Nettle stood at my side. ‘I do this for him, not you,’ she said bluntly. ‘No soul should have to endure dreams so plagued with fear.’

‘You’re angry at me?’ I asked her slowly. I dreaded her answer.

She did not look at me. From nowhere, a cold wind blew between us. She spoke through it. ‘What did they really mean, those words you told me to say to my father? Are you truly a callous beast, Shadow Wolf, that you gave me words to pierce his heart?’

Yes. No. I lacked a truthful answer to give her. I tried to say, I would never want to hurt him. But was that true? He had taken Molly to be his own. They had believed me dead; neither of them had intended me ill. But he had taken her from me, all the same. And raised my daughter, in safety and health. Yes. That was true, and I was grateful to him for that. But not grateful that she would always see his face when she heard the word ‘Papa’. ‘You asked me for those words,’ I said, and then heard how harsh I sounded.

‘And just like the wishes granted in old tales, you gave me what I wanted and it has broken my heart.’

‘What happened?’ I asked unwillingly.

She didn’t want to tell me, and yet she did. ‘I told him I’d had a dream, and that in the dream, a wolf with porcupine quills in his nose had promised to watch over Swift and bring him safely home to us. And I said the words you gave me. “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.”’

‘And?’

‘My mother was kneading bread, and she told me not to speak of Swift if all I could talk was moonshine and foolishness. But her back was to the table where I sat with my father. She did not see his eyes widen at my words. For a time, he just stared at me, with his eyes showing the whites all around them. Then he fell from the chair to the floor and lay there, staring like a corpse. I thought he was struck dead. My brothers and I carried him to his bed, fearing the worst. My mother was terrified, demanding of him where he hurt. But he did not answer. He only put his hands over his eyes, curled up like a beaten child and began to weep.

‘He wept all today, and did not say a word to any of us. As night fell, I heard him get up. I came to the edge of my loft and looked down. He was dressed for travel. My mother was holding to his arm, begging him not to go out. But he said to her, “Woman, you’ve no idea what we have done, and I haven’t the courage to tell you. I’m a coward. I’ve always been a coward.” Then he shook her off and left.’

For a terrible flashing instant, I imagined Molly spurned and abandoned. It was devastating.

‘Where did he go?’ I managed to ask her.

‘I suspect he’s coming to you. Wherever you are.’ Her words were curt, and yet I heard hope in them, hope that someone knew where her father was bound and why. I had to take it from her.

‘That cannot be. But I think I know where he has gone, and I think he will come back to you soon.’ Buckkeep, I thought to myself. Burrich was a direct man. He’d go to Buckkeep, hoping to corner Chade and question him. He’d get Kettricken instead. And she would tell him. Just as she had told Dutiful who I really was. Because she believed in telling people the truth, even if it hurt them.

While I was still pondering that scene, Nettle spoke again. ‘What have I done?’ she asked me. It was not a rhetorical question. ‘I thought I was so clever. I thought I could bargain with you, and get my brother safely home. Instead … what have I done? What are you? Do you wish us ill? Do you hate my father?’ Then, with even more dread she asked, ‘Is my brother in your power somehow?’

‘Please don’t fear me. You have no reason to fear me,’ I said hastily, and then wondered if it was true. ‘Swift is safe, and I promise I will do all in my power to bring him home to you as soon as I can.’ I paused, wondering what I could safely tell her. She was no fool, this daughter of mine. Too many hints and she’d unravel the whole mystery. Like as not, then I’d lose her forever. ‘I knew your father, a long time ago. We were close. But I made decisions that went against his rules, and so we parted. For a long time, he has believed I was dead. With your words, he knows I am not. And because I never came back to him, he now believes he did me a great wrong. He didn’t. But if you know your father at all, you will know that it is what he believes in that regard that will drive him.’

‘You knew my father a long time ago? Did you know my mother then, too?’

‘I knew him long before you were born.’ Not quite a lie, but a deception nonetheless. I let her mislead herself.

‘And so my words meant nothing to my mother,’ Nettle softly concluded after a moment.

‘Yes,’ I confirmed. Then, gingerly I asked, ‘Is she all right?’

‘Of course not!’ I felt her impatience with my stupidity. ‘She stood outside the house and shouted after him when he left, and then ranted to all of us that she never should have married such a stiff-necked man. A dozen times she asked me what I said, and a dozen times I told her of my “dream”. I came so close to telling her all I knew of you. But that would not have helped, would it? For she never knew you.’

For one chill instant, I saw it through Nettle’s eyes. Molly stood in the road. In her struggle to restrain Burrich, her hair had come loose. It curled as it ever had, brushing against her shoulders as she shook her fist after him. Her youngest son, little more than six, clutched at her skirts, sobbing in terror at this wild spectacle of his father abandoning his mother. The sun was setting, tingeing the landscape with blood. ‘You blind old fool!’ Molly shrieked after her husband, and the flung words rattled against me like stones. ‘You’ll be lost or robbed! You’ll never come home to us!’ But the fading clatter of galloping hooves was her only reply.

Then Nettle turned away from the scalding memory of it, and I found we were no longer on the hill with the melted tower. Instead, we were in a loft. My wolf ears on top of my head nearly brushed the low rafters. She was sitting up in her bed, her knees clutched to her chest. Beyond the curtain that screened us from the rest of the attic, I could hear her brothers breathing. One shifted in his sleep and cried out restlessly. No one dreamed peacefully in this house tonight.

I desperately wanted to beg her to say no word of me to Molly. I dared not, for then she would be certain that I lied. I wondered how strongly she already suspected a link between her mother and myself. I did not answer her directly. ‘I don’t think your father will be gone long. When he returns home, will you tell me, to put my mind at rest?’

‘If he comes home,’ she said in a low voice, and I suddenly knew that Molly had voiced aloud the family’s very real fears. Now Nettle spoke reluctantly, as if speaking the truth made it more real. ‘He has already been robbed and beaten once when he was travelling alone seeking for Swift. He has never admitted it to us, but we all know that is what befell him. Nevertheless, he has once more set out alone.’

‘That’s Burrich,’ I said. I dared not voice aloud what I hoped in my heart: that he had ridden a horse that he knew well. Although he would never use his Wit to speak to his mount, that did not prevent the animals he worked with from communicating with him.

‘That’s my father,’ she agreed, both with pride and sorrow. And then the walls of the room began to run like inked letters when tears fall on them. She was the last sight to fade from my dream. When I came to myself, I was staring up at a darkened corner of the Prince’s cabin, seeing nothing.

In the tedious days and nights that followed, Thick’s condition changed little, for better or worse. He would rally for a day and a night, and then slip back into fever and coughing. His real illness had chased away his fear of seasickness, but there was no comfort for me in that. More than once, I sought Nettle’s aid in banishing Thick’s fever-dreams before they could unsettle the crew. Sailors are a superstitious lot. Under Thick’s influence, they shared a nightmare, and when they compared their night’s recollections, decided it was a warning from the gods. It only happened once, but was nearly enough to set off a mutiny.

I worked more closely and more often on Skill-dreams with Nettle than I desired. She did not speak of Burrich and I did not ask, though I know we both counted the days that he had been gone. I knew that if she had had tidings of him, she would share them. His absence in her life left a place for me. Unwillingly, I felt our bond grow stronger, until I carried a constant awareness of her with me at all times. She taught me, without realizing, how to slip behind Thick’s dreams and manipulate them, gently guiding them into consoling images. I could not do it as well as she did. Mine was more a suggestion to him, while she simply set the dream right.

Twice I felt Chade observing us. It grated on me, but there was nothing I could do about it since to acknowledge him would have made Nettle aware of him as well. Yet, in ignoring him, I profited as well, for he grew bolder, I saw my old mentor grow stronger in the Skill. Did he not realize it, or did he conceal it from me? I wondered, but did not betray that wondering to him.

I have never found sea travel enthralling. One watery seascape is much like any other. After a few days, the Prince’s cabin seemed almost as cramped, confining and stuffy as the hold my fellow guardsmen shared. The monotonous food, the endless rocking and my anxiety for Thick hollowed me. Our diminished coterie made little progress in our Skill-lessons.

Swift continued to come to me daily. He read aloud, earning knowledge of the Out Islands and refreshing mine as he did so. At the end of each session, I would question him to be sure the knowledge was settling into his mind and not simply passing through his eyes and out of his mouth. He had a good head for holding information, and asked a few questions of his own. Swift was seldom gracious but he was obedient to his teacher, and for now that was all I asked.

Thick seemed to find Swift’s presence soothing, for he would relax, and some of the lines would smooth from his brow as he listened. He spoke little and breathed hoarsely and would sometimes go off into coughing fits. The process of coaxing spoonfuls of broth into him exhausted both of us. The rounded paunch he had recently gained dwindled, and dark hollows showed under his small eyes. He was as sick a creature as I’ve ever seen, and his acceptance of his misery was heart wrenching. In his own mind, he was dying, and not even in his dreams could I completely vanquish that notion.

Nor could Dutiful aid me in that. The Prince did his best, and he was truly fond of Thick. But Dutiful was fifteen, and a boy in many ways still. Moreover, he was a boy being courted by his nobles, who daily devised distractions that would put him in their company. Freed of Kettricken’s austere traditions, they plied him with entertainment and flattery. Smaller boats shuttled between the ships of our betrothal fleet, not only bringing nobles to visit Dutiful but often carrying Chade and him off to the other vessels for wine and poetry and song. Such trips were meant to divert his attention from the ennui of the uneventful voyage and they succeeded only too well, but it behoved Dutiful to distribute his favours and attentions amongst his nobles. The success of his reign would be built upon the alliances he forged now. He could scarcely have refused to go. Yet all the same, it bothered me to see how easily his attention could be drawn away from his ill servant.

Web was my sole comfort. He came every day, offering quietly to keep watch by Thick while I took some time for myself. I could not completely relax my vigil, of course. I maintained a Skill-awareness of Thick lest he sweep us all into some wild and fearful dream. But I could at least leave the confines of the cabin to stroll briefly on the deck and feel some wind in my face. This arrangement, however, kept me from having time alone with Web. It was not just for Chade’s ends that I longed to speak with him. More and more, his quiet competency and kindness impressed me. I had a sense that he courted me, not as Dutiful’s nobles courted the Prince, but as Burrich had insinuated himself into the presence of a horse he wished to retrain. And it worked, despite my being aware of it. With every passing day, I felt less wariness and caution toward him. It no longer seemed a threat that he knew who I really was, but almost a comfort. I harboured a host of questions I longed to ask him: How many of the Old Blood knew that FitzChivalry still lived? How many knew I was he? Yet I dared not voice such questions in Thick’s hearing, even when he wandered in his fever dreams. There was no telling how he might repeat such words, aloud or in dreams.

Very late one evening, when the Prince and Chade had returned from some entertainment, I waited until Dutiful had dismissed his servants. He and Chade sat with glasses of wine, talking quietly on the cushioned bench beneath the window that looked out over our wake from our dimly lit cabin. I rose and left Thick’s side, and going to the table, beckoned them. Weary as they both were from a long session of stones with Lord Excellent, they were still intrigued enough to immediately join me. I spoke to Dutiful without a preamble. ‘Has Web ever confided to you that he knows I am FitzChivalry?’

The look of astonishment on his face was answer enough.

‘Did he need to know that?’ Chade grumbled at me.

‘Is there a reason to keep such knowledge from me?’ the Prince replied for me, more sharply than I would have expected.

‘Only that this bit of intrigue has nothing to do with our present mission. I would keep your mind focused on the matters that most concern us, Prince Dutiful.’ Chade’s voice was restrained.

‘Perhaps, Councillor Chade, you could let me decide which matters concern me?’ The asperity in Dutiful’s voice warned me that this was a topic that had been discussed before.

‘Then there is no sign that anyone else in your “Witted coterie” knows who I am?’

The Prince hesitated before replying slowly. ‘None. There has been talk, from time to time, of the Witted Bastard. And when I think back, Web has initiated it. But he brings it up in the same manner in which he teaches us Witted history and traditions. He speaks of a topic, and then asks us questions that lead us deeper into understanding it. He has never spoken of FitzChivalry as other than a historic figure.’

A little unnerving, to hear of myself as a ‘historic figure’. Chade spoke before I became too uncomfortable.

‘Then Web teaches your Witted coterie formally? History, traditions … what else?’

‘Courtesy. He tells us old fables of Witted folk and beasts. And how to prepare before beginning a Search for an animal partner. I think that what he teaches are things that the others have known from childhood, but he teaches them for my benefit and Swift’s. Yet when he tells tales, the others listen closely, especially the minstrel Cockle. I think he possesses much lore that was on the verge of being lost, and he speaks it to us that we may keep it safe and pass it on in our turn.’

I nodded to that. ‘When persecution broke up the Witted communities, the Witted had to conceal their traditions and knowledge. It would be inevitable that less of it was passed on to their children.’

‘Why, do you think, does Web speak of FitzChivalry?’ Chade asked speculatively.

I watched Dutiful think it through, in the same way Chade had taught me to ponder any man’s action. What could he gain by it? Who did it threaten? ‘It could be that he suspects that I know. Yet I don’t think that is it. I think he poses it to the Wit-coterie to make them consider, “what is the difference between a ruler who is Witted or unWitted? What would it have meant for the Six Duchies if Fitz had come to power at that time instead of being executed for his magic? What might it mean for the Six Duchies if it ever becomes safe for me to reveal that I am Old Blood? And also, how does it benefit my people, all my people, to have an Old Blood ruler? And how can my Wit-coterie assist me in my reign”?’

‘In your reign?’ Chade asked sharply. ‘Do their ambitions run that far ahead of us? They had spoken of aiding you on this quest, to show the Six Duchies that the Wit can be put to a good cause. Do they think to continue as advisors beyond this task?’

Dutiful frowned at Chade. ‘Well, of course.’

When the old man knit his brows in irritation, I intervened. ‘It seems natural to me that they would, especially if their efforts do assist the Prince in his quest. To use them and then cast them aside afterward is not the sort of political wisdom you have taught me over the years.’

Chade was still scowling. ‘Well … I suppose … if they truly proved to be of any value, they would expect some compensation.’

The Prince spoke levelly, but I could sense him holding his temper. ‘And what would you expect them to ask in return if they were a Skill-coterie aiding me?’ He sounded so like Chade as he set his trap question that I almost laughed aloud.

Chade bristled. ‘But that would be entirely different. The Skill is your hereditary magic, as well as being vastly more powerful than the Wit. That you would bond with your Skill-coterie and accept both counsel and companionship from them would be expected.’ Then he stopped speaking abruptly.

Dutiful nodded slowly. ‘Old Blood is also my hereditary magic. And I suspect there is far more to it than we know. And, yes, Chade, I do feel a bond of both companionship and trust with those who share that magic. It is, as you said, to be expected.’

Chade opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. After an instant, he opened his mouth, but again subsided. Irritation vied with admiration when he said quietly, ‘Very well. I follow your logic. I do not necessarily agree with the conclusion, but I follow it.’

‘That is all I ask,’ the Prince replied and in his words I heard the echo of the monarch he would be.

Chade turned his beetling gaze on me. ‘Why did you bring this up?’ he asked me crossly, as if I had sought to precipitate a quarrel between them.

‘Because I need to know what it is that Web seeks from me. I sense that he courts me, that he tries to draw me closer into his confidence. Why?’

There is no true silence on board a ship. Always there are the ongoing conversations between wood and water, canvas and wind. Those voices were the only ones in the cabin for a time. Then Dutiful gave a small snort. ‘Unlikely as you think it, Fitz, perhaps he only wishes to be your friend. I see nothing here for him to gain.’

‘He holds a secret,’ Chade said sourly. ‘There is always power in holding a secret.’

‘And danger,’ the Prince countered. ‘Revealing this secret is as dangerous to Web as it is to Fitz. Think what would follow if he revealed it. Would it not undermine my reign? Would not some of the nobles turn on my mother the Queen, angered that she had kept this secret from them and preserved Fitz’s life?’ In a lower voice he added, ‘Do not forget that in revealing to Fitz that he knew his identity, Web put himself at risk, also. This is a secret that some men would kill to preserve.’

I watched Chade sift it through his mind. ‘Truly, the threat is to your reign as much as to Fitz,’ he conceded worriedly. ‘Right now, you are correct. It benefits Web most to keep the secret a secret. As long as your reign is amiable toward the Witted, they have no interest in deposing you. But if you ever turned against them? What then?’

‘What then indeed?’ Dutiful scoffed. ‘Chade, ask yourself as you have so often asked me, “what would happen next?” If my mother and I were overthrown, who would seize power? Why, those who had overthrown us. And they would be the enemy of the Witted, a harsher enemy than Old Blood has had to confront in my lifetime. No. I think Fitz’s secret is safe. More, I think he should set aside his wariness and become Web’s friend.’

I nodded, wondering why such an idea made me so uneasy.

‘I still see little benefit in this Witted coterie,’ Chade muttered.

‘Do you not? Then why do you ask me each day what Web’s bird has seen? Does it not ease your mind to know that all the ships she has shown Web have been honest merchant or fishing vessels? And think what tidings she gave us today. She has flown over the harbour and town of Zylig, and Web has looked down on it through the bird’s eyes. He has seen no massing of folk as for battle or treachery. True, the city is swelled with people, but it seems to flaunt a festive air. Do you not take comfort in that?’

‘I suppose so. But it is a thin comfort, given that treachery is so easy to disguise.’

Thick rolled over, muttering, and I made that my excuse to leave them. Not long after, Chade departed for his own cabin, the Prince went to his bed and I made up my pallet beside Thick’s bunk. I thought of Web and Risk, and tried to imagine seeing the ocean and the Out Islands through a bird’s eyes. It would be a marvel and a wonder. Yet before my imagination could capture me completely, a wave of longing for Nighteyes swept over me. That night, I dreamed my own dreams, and they were of wolves hunting in the summer-seared hills.