Fool’s Fate. Робин Хобб

was divided into two chambers. The larger of these had been given over to the Prince and Chade, and the Wit-coterie crowded into the smaller one. This temporary cabin on the aft deck was for the guardsmen. The walls were made of heavy leather stretched on poles with the entire structure lashed down to pegs set in the deck. These shelters were a concession to our Six Duchies sensibilities; the Outislanders themselves preferred an open deck as best for hauling freight or fighting. A look at the faces of my fellow guardsmen persuaded me of how little welcome Thick would be amongst them. After my shameful performance on the dock, I was little higher in their regard. Web was trying to get Thick to sit down on one of the sea chests that had been brought from the Maiden’s Chance.

      ‘No,’ I told him quietly. ‘The Prince prefers that Thick be housed close at hand to him. We should take him to the other cabin.’

      ‘It’s even more crowded than this one,’ Web explained, but I only shook my head.

      ‘The other cabin,’ I insisted, and he relented. Thick went with him, still with that glazed look of trust on his face. I followed, feeling as exhausted as if I’d spent a morning in sword training. It was only later that I realized that it was Web’s own pallet he settled Thick onto. Civil sat in the corner on a smaller pallet, his snarling cat on his lap. The minstrel Cockle was disconsolately inspecting three broken strings on a small harp. Swift was looking everywhere but at me. I could feel his dismay that this half-man had been brought right into his living space. The silence in the tiny room was thicker than butter.

      Once Thick had settled on the pallet, Web smoothed a calloused hand over his sweaty brow. Thick stared up at us in puzzlement for a moment and then closed his eyes, weary as a child. His breathing was hoarse as sleep claimed him. After the buffeting he’d dealt me, I longed to join him there, but Web was taking my arm.

      ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We have to talk, you and I.’

      I would have resisted him if I could, but when he set his hand on my shoulder, my defiance melted. I let him steer me out onto the deck. I heard the jesting shouts of the sailors when I reappeared, but Web chose to ignore them as he steered me to a rail. ‘Here,’ he said, and from his hip took a leather flask and unstoppered it. The scent of brandy reached me. ‘A bit of this down you, and then take some deep breaths. You look like a man who has bled half to death.’

      I did not think I needed the brandy until I took some and felt its heat run through me.

       Fitz?

      The Prince’s worried query reached me as a whisper. I realized abruptly how tightly I was still holding my walls. Gingerly I eased them down, and then reached back to Dutiful. I’m fine. Web has Thick settled now.

      ‘That’s right. I do. But you scarcely need to tell me that.’

      Give me a moment, my prince, to gather myself. I had not even realized that I had spoken aloud the thought I’d previously Skilled to Dutiful. ‘I know. I’m a bit rattled, I suppose.’

      ‘Yes, you are. What I don’t understand is why. But I have my suspicions. The simple man is very important to the Prince, isn’t he? And it has something to do with how he could stop a warrior in his prime from forcing him to do a thing he didn’t wish to do. What made you flinch before his touch? When I touched him, nothing happened to me.’

      I handed him back his flask. ‘Not my secret,’ I said bluntly.

      ‘I see.’ He took a mouthful of his brandy. He looked aloft pensively. Risk did a lazy loop around our ship, waiting for us. Canvas blossomed suddenly on the mast. A moment later, it bellied in the wind and I felt our ship dip and then gather speed. ‘Short journey, they tell me. Three days, four at most. If we’d taken the Maiden’s Chance, she would have had to sail around the whole cluster of islands, and then we would have had to put her at harbour on one of the other islands and still take another shallow draught vessel to reach Wuislington.’

      I nodded sagely to that, not knowing if it was true or not. Perhaps his bird had told him. More likely, it was sailor gossip, gained by his own ready ears.

      As if it were a logical continuation, he asked, ‘If I were to guess this secret, would you tell me I’d got it right?’

      I gave a short sigh. Only now that the struggle was over did I realize how weary I was. And how strong Thick had been when driven by his fear and anger to apply all his strength to me. I hoped he had not burned reserves he could not afford. His sickness had already drained much of his vigour. He had thought himself in a life-or-death struggle with me; of that I had no doubt. Concern for him suddenly filled me.

      ‘Tom?’ Web pressed me, and with a start I recalled his question.

      ‘It’s not my secret,’ I repeated doggedly. Hopelessness was welling up in me like blood from a puncture wound. I recognized it as Thick’s. That didn’t help. I’d have to quell it somehow, before it could affect the rest of the people on the ship.

       Can you handle him for us?

      The assent I sent to the Prince was an acknowledgement of his request rather than a confirmation that I could accomplish it.

      Web was offering me his flask again. I took it, swigged from it, and then said, ‘I have to go back to Thick. It’s not good for him to be left alone.’

      ‘I think I see that,’ he agreed as he took the flask back from me. ‘I wish I was sure if you were protector or gaoler to him. Well, Tom Badgerlock, when you judge that it’s safe for me to be the one to stay with him, you let me know. You look as if you could use a bit of rest yourself.’

      I nodded without replying and left him there. I went to the little chamber allotted to the Wit-coterie. All the other folk had fled, probably made uncomfortable by the strength of the emotions emanating from Thick on a swelling Skill-tide. He slept, but it was for exhaustion, not peace. I looked down on his face, seeing a simplicity there that was not childish or even simple. His cheeks were flushed and tiny beads of sweat stood on his forehead. His fever was back and his breathing was raspy. I sat on the floor by his pallet. I was ashamed of what we were doing to him. It wasn’t right and we knew it, Chade and Dutiful and I. Then I gave in to my weariness and lay down at his side.

      I gave myself three breaths to centre myself and gather my Skill. Then I closed my eyes and put my arm lightly across Thick in order to deepen our Skill-connection. I had expected him to have his walls up against me, but he was defenceless. I slipped into a dream in which a lost kitten paddled desperately in a boiling sea. I drew him from the water as Nettle had done and took him back to the waggon and the bed and the cushion. I promised him that he was safe and felt his anxiety ease a little. But even in his dreams, he recognized me. ‘But you made me!’ the kitten suddenly cried out. ‘You made me come on a boat again!’

      I had expected anger and defiance, or even an attack following those words. What I received was worse. He cried. The kitten wept inconsolably, in a small child’s voice. I felt the gulf of his disappointment that I could betray him so. He had trusted me. I picked him up and held him, but still he cried, and I could not comfort him, for I was at the base of his sorrow.

      I was not expecting Nettle. It was not night, and I doubted that she was sleeping. I suppose I had always assumed that she could only Skill when she slept. A foolish notion, but there it was. As I sat rocking the tiny creature that was Thick, I felt her presence beside me. Give him to me, she said with a woman’s weariness at a man’s incompetence. Guilty at my relief, I let her take him from me. I faded into the background of his dream, and felt his tension ease as I retreated from him. It hurt that he found my presence upsetting, but I could not blame him.

      After a time, I found myself sitting at the base of the melted tower. It seemed a very forsaken place. The dead brambles coated the steep hillsides all around it, and the only sound was the wind soughing through their branches. I waited.

      Nettle came. Why this? she asked, sweeping an arm at the desolation that surrounded us.

      It seemed appropriate, I replied dispiritedly.

      She