by Robin Hobb
I returned to the barracks to find most of the guard stirring to wakefulness. I watched the rest of the men-at-arms don their blue tunics and complain about the weight of wool cloaks on a warm spring day. Chade had never admitted it, but there were a half-dozen of our company who, I suspected, were as much spies as guardsmen. There was a quiet watchfulness about them that made me think they saw more than they seemed to.
Riddle, a youngster of about twenty, was most emphatically not. He was as excited as I was jaded. A dozen times he consulted his mirror, paying particular attention to a rather new mustache. He was the one who insisted on loaning me pomade for my hair, saying he could not allow me to set forth on such an important day looking like a shaggy-haired farmer. He himself, dressed for display and seated on his bunk, tapped his feet impatiently on the floor and kept up a constant stream of chatter, everything from teasing me about the ornate hilt on my sword to demanding whether I knew if it was true that dragons could be slain only with an arrow to the eye. His loose energy was as annoying as a pacing dog. I was relieved when Longwick, our newly appointed captain, tersely ordered us to form up outside.
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Not that the order meant imminent departure. It meant only that it was time for us to stand in formation and wait. Guardsmen spend more time waiting than they ever do in drill or fighting. This morning was no exception. Before we were ordered to move, I'd listened to a very detailed account of all three of Hest's liaisons of the night before, while Riddle helpfully asked detailed questions. When we did get the order to move, it was only as far as the courtyard in front of the main doors. Here we formed up around the Prince's horse and groom, and waited some more. Servants and lackeys who, like ourselves, were dressed and deployed to show their master's importance, soon joined us. Some held horse's heads, some leashed dogs, and some, like us, merely stood, armed and attired and waiting.
Eventually the Prince and his entourage emerged. Thick was at his heels and Sada, the woman who tended him on such occasions, was right behind him. Dutiful spared no glance for me today; I was as faceless as the rest. The Queen and her men preceded us, while Councilor Chade and his escort came immediately behind us. I spotted Civil, with his cat by his side, chatting with Web as they found their places in the procession. Despite Chade's objection, the Queen had announced that several of her “Old Blood friends” would travel with the Prince. The court reaction had been mixed, with some saying that we'd soon see if Old Blood Magic was good for anything and others muttering that at least it got the beast-magickers out of Buckkeep.
Behind them came the favored nobles who would accompany the Prince, both to curry favor with him and to investigate trading opportunities in the Out Islands. Behind them trailed those who would bid us farewell and then enjoy Spring Fest. But although I craned my neck, I saw no sign of Lord Golden as the procession formed up. By the time Dutiful was up and mounted and we were striding out of the gate, it seemed as if all of Buckkeep Castle were following us. I was grateful to be in the forefront, for by the time all passed, the road would be a trampled mire of mud and manure.
We reached the ships but could not simply load and depart. There were speeches and presentations of flowers and last-minute gifts. I had half-expected to find Lord Golden and his baggage and servants still camped out on the docks but there was no sign of them. I wondered uneasily what had happened. He was a resourceful man. Had he managed to find a way aboard the ship?
I sweated through the formalities. Then we moved aboard the ship, flanking the Prince, who went to his cabin, where he would receive farewell visits from the nobles who were not accompanying him, while those who were to be passengers boarded the ship and settled. Some of us were stationed outside the Prince's cabin, but the rest, including myself, were sent belowdecks, to be out of the way.
I spent most of that miserable afternoon sitting on my sea chest. Above me, the planks resounded with the noise of people coming and going. Somewhere a dog barked in a continuous frenzy. It was like being stuck inside a cask while someone beat on the outside of it. A dim, smelly cask, I amended to myself, with the rising stink of the bilges, elbow to elbow with men who thought they had to shout to be heard. I tried to distract myself by wondering what had become of the Fool, but that only increased my sensation of suffocation. I bowed my chin down to my chest, closed my eyes, and tried to be alone.
It didn't work.
Riddle perched on my sea chest beside me. “Eda's tits, but it stinks down here! Think it'll get worse when we're under way and the bilge is sloshing around?”
“Probably. ” I didn't want to think of that before it happened. I'd traveled by sea before, but on those voyages, I'd slept on the deck, or at least had free access to it. Here, in the confined darkness, even the rhythmic swaying of the ship against its mooring was giving me a headache.
“Well. ” He kicked his heels against the chest, sending the vibration up my spine into my head. “I never have been to sea before. Have you?”
“Once or twice. On little boats, where I had light and air. Not like this. ”
“Oh. Ever been to the Out Islands?”
“No. ”
“Are you all right, Tom?”
“Not really. Too much to drink and not enough sleep last night. ”
It was a lie but it worked. He grinned, gave me a friendly jostle that made me snarl, and then left me alone. The bustle and noise pressed me from all sides. I was miserable and frightened and I wished I hadn't eaten all the sweet pastries at breakfast. No one was paying attention to me. My collar was too tight, and Sada had already left the ship, so she couldn't fix it for me.
“Thick,” I whispered, recognizing the source of my woe. I sat up straight, drew a deep breath of the foul air, and tried not to retch. Then I reached for him. Hey, little man. Are you all right?
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No.
Where are you?
In a little room. There's a round window and the floor moves.
You're better off than me. I've got no window at all.
The floor moves.
I know. But we'll be fine. Soon all the extra people will get off the boat, and the sailors will throw the lines free and we'll set off on our adventure. Won't that be fun?
No. I want to go home.
Oh, it'll be better once we get under way. You'll see.
No it won't. The floor moves. And Sada said I'd get seasick.
I wished someone had thought to tell Sada to speak positively of the journey to come.
Is Sada coming with us, then? Is she on board?
No. Only me, by myself. Because Sada gets horribly sick on ships. She felt very sorry for me, that I had to go. She said every day on a ship is like a year to her. And there's nothing to do except be sick, and vomit and vomit and vomit.
Unfortunately, Thick was right. It was late afternoon before the well-wishers were escorted from the ship. I managed to get up on the deck, but only briefly, for the captain cursed all the guard, ordering us to get back down below, to give his crew room to work. My glimpse of the crowd on the docks did not show me the Fool. I had dreaded to meet his accusing stare, but it worried me even more not to see him there. Then I was herded belowdecks with the rest and the hatches were closed over us, cutting off what little light and air we'd had before. I perched on my sea chest again. The resinous smell of the ship's tarry timbers intensified. Overhead, the captain ordered the ship's boats to tow us away from the dock. The sounds changed as we began to move through the water. The captain shouted incomprehensible commands, and I heard the pattering of bare feet as sailors rushed to obey them.
I heard the ship's boats called back and taken in. The vessel gave a sort of dip and then the rhythm of the motions changed again. I judged that our canvas had caught the wind. This was it. We were finally under way. Someone took pity on us down below and opened the hatch a crack, which taunted more than comforted. I stared at th
e skinny band of light.
“I'm already bored,” Riddle confided to me. He stood next to me, carving on the heavy planks of the hull.
I made a noise at him. He went on carving.
Well, Tom Badgerlock, we're under way. How do you fare down below?
The Prince sounded cheery, but what could one expect of a fifteen-year-old, off on a sea voyage to slay a dragon and win the hand of a narcheska? I could sense Chade in the background, and pictured him at a table next to the Prince, Dutiful's fingers lightly touching the back of his hand. I sighed. We still had a lot of work to do to make the Skill coterie work. I'm already bored. And Thick seems distressed.
Ah. I was hoping you'd appreciate a task. I'll send a man to your captain. Thick is at the afterrail, and could use some company. You'll be joining him. That was unmistakably Chade, speaking through the Prince.
Is he sick already?
Not quite yet. But he has convinced himself that he will be.
Well, at least it would get me out into the air, I thought sourly.
A short time later, Captain Longwick called out my name. When I reported to him, he informed me that I was to tend the Prince's man Thick, who was indisposed on the afterdeck. The men who overheard my orders chivied me for being nursemaid to a half-wit. I grinned and replied that being abovedecks watching over one simpleton was far better than being trapped belowdecks with a troop of them. I climbed the ladder and emerged into the fresh sea air.
I found Thick on the afterdeck, holding on to the railing and staring dolorously back at Buckkeep. The black castle on top of the rocky cliffs was dwindling behind us. Civil stood near the little man, his hunting cat at his heels. Neither he nor the cat looked pleased to be there, and as Thick leaned out over the railing and made retching noises, the cat flattened his ears.
“Here's Tom Badgerlock, Thick. You'll be fine now, won't you?” Civil gave me a brief nod, nobleman to guardsman. As always, he stared at me searchingly. He knew I was not what I seemed. I'd saved his life from the Piebalds back in Buckkeep Town. He had to wonder at how I'd suddenly appeared and come to his aid. He'd have to keep wondering, just as I had to wonder how much Laudwine had told him about Lord Golden and me. We'd never spoken of it, nor did I intend to now. I made my eyes opaque and bowed.
“I'm here to assume my duties, sir. ” My tone was neutrally respectful.
“I'm very glad to see you. Well, farewell, Thick. You're in good hands, now. I'm going back into the cabin. I'm sure you'll feel better soon. ”
“I'm going to die,” Thick replied dismally. “I'm going to puke my guts out and die. ”
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Civil gave me a sympathetic look. I pretended not to see it as I took my place at the railing alongside Thick. He leaned far out again, forcing gagging sounds from his throat. I held on to the back of his jacket. Ah, yes. The adventure of travel by sea.
Chapter 6
VOYAGE OF DREAMS
. . . 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] 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 RE-CREATE 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 on to 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 the Prince 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. ”
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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 ou
t in an anthem of anger. I could put my walls up and remain unaffected by it. Some of the sailors that 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 the sheets into place. 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.