Fool's Fate (Tawny Man #3)

Fool's Fate (Tawny Man #3) Page 57

“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.”