Fool's Fate Part 7

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 s.h.i.+ps. She felt very sorry for me, that I had to go. She said every day on a s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p. 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 s.h.i.+p's tarry timbers intensified. Overhead, the captain ordered the s.h.i.+p'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 s.h.i.+p'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 the 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. 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. 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, n.o.bleman 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 a.s.sume 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."

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 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 h.e.l.l 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 s.h.i.+p. 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 naive and affable young man truly was in Chade's employ and a.s.signed to a.s.sist me. If so, I wished he wasn't, yet I was grateful for the pannikin of mush he brought me. Thick was hungry, despite his nausea, and we shared the food. That was a mistake, for the sight of it leaving Thick shortly after that inspired my own belly to be parted from what I had eaten.

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

"See. Everyone's going to be sick. We should go back to Buckkeep now."

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

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

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

He went on. "I hate this s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p, and was blasting it out in an anthem of anger. I could put my walls up and remain unaffected by it. Some of the sailors that crewed the Maiden's Chance 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. 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 s.h.i.+p 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. He moaned the words as he Skilled them. "I'm too sick." "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 s.h.i.+p 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. 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.

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

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

Web has a boy?

That Swift boy.

Swift Witted is on board?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The morning pa.s.sed while I waited for Chade to come and help me. I suspected that Dutiful Skilled a rea.s.surance to him, but Thick stolidly ignored it. I stared at our wake, watching the other Buckkeep s.h.i.+ps that trailed us. Three carracks followed us like a row of fat ducklings. There were two smaller vessels, pinnaces that would serve as communication vessels between the larger s.h.i.+ps, enabling traveling n.o.bles to exchange messages and visit one another as the voyage progressed. The smaller boats could use oars as well as sails, and could be used to maneuver the heavier s.h.i.+ps in and out of crowded harbors. It was a substantial flotilla for Buckkeep to dispatch to the Out Islands.

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

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

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

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

Dutiful didn't have any more success with Thick than I had. Thick stared out sullenly over the s.h.i.+p's wake while the Prince spoke earnestly to him.

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

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

"You had him arrested?" I was horrified.

"Now, lad, be easy. He's a n.o.bleman and his offense is a fairly trivial one; he'll be treated far better than you were. And they'll only hold him two or three days; just long enough for all the Out Islandbound s.h.i.+ps to be gone. It seemed the easiest way to deal with him. I didn't want him coming up to Buckkeep Castle and confronting me, or begging a favor of the Queen."

"She knows why we did this, doesn't she?"

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

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

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

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

And that too was true but scarcely comforting.

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

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

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

"No. The floor goes up and down."

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

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

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

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

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

"Well. Sada is wrong," Chade declared briskly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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