by Robin Hobb
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 center of an immense bed. In the distance, I could make out the hazy walls of a traveling wagon such as many puppeteer families and street performers lived in when they traveled 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 Mothersong, 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 the 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 anymore," 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 seawater" 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.
Chapter 7
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 harbor 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 harbor or river mouth rather than by a landforce 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 p
ut 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 seabird 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 Mothersong had become dominant in it again, but I heard also the trace of a kitten purring, and a reassuring echo of Nettle's voice promising 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 colors 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 favor 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 browbeat 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 honor 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 othe
rs. "How fares your cat today, Civil?"
Civil held up his hand. His sleeve fell back to expose a raised red scratch the length of his forearm. "Bored. And irritated with the confinement. He'll be glad when we see land again." All the Witted ones laughed indulgently together, as parents would over a child's willfulness. I marked how comfortable they all seemed in the Prince's presence. Only Swift seemed to retain any stiffness, and that could have been due to either his awareness of me or the age difference between him and the rest of the company. So had Verity's closest nobles been with him, I recalled, and thought to myself that the casual affection of those men was more valuable than the way Regal's hangers-on used to bow and scrape to him.
So it did not seem overly odd when Web turned to look at me and then asked Dutiful, "And has Tom Badgerlock come to join us today, my prince?"
Two questions rode in his words. Was I there to admit my Wit and possibly my identity, and would I be joining their "coterie"? I held my breath as Dutiful answered, "Not exactly, Web. He tends my man Thick. I understand you kept watch by him during the night to allow Badgerlock some rest, and for that I thank you. Yet now Thick has taken a cough from his night exposure and is feverish. He finds Badgerlock's company soothing, and so the man has agreed to sit with him."
"Ah. I see. Well, Thick, I'm sorry to hear you are ill." As he spoke, Web came to peep in through the door. At the table behind him, the rest of the coterie continued their quiet conversation. Swift watched Web anxiously. Thick, huddled in his blankets and staring at the wall, seemed only mildly aware of him. Even his Skill-music seemed subdued and muted, as if he lacked the energy to drive it. When Thick made no response, Web touched me softly on the shoulder and said quietly, "I'll be happy to take a watch beside him tonight, too, if you'd like the rest. In the meanwhile..." He turned from me and gestured at Swift, whose face clouded with sudden apprehension. "I'll leave my 'page' here with you. Doubtless you two have much to discuss, and if there are any errands that can be run for Thick's comfort, I'm sure Swift will be glad to fetch for you. Isn't that right, lad?"