“Thick’s seasickness can’t go on much longer,” Chade observed optimistically. “And when it passes, 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 snatched 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.
I looked up at him and he nodded gravely down at me. Then he stood by the rail and lifted his eyes. I followed his gaze to a seabird sweeping lazy arcs across the sky behind us. I had never met the creature, but I knew she must be Risk. The Wit-bond between man and bird seemed a thing woven of blue sky and wild water, at once calm and free. I basked in the edges of their shared pleasure in the day, trying to ignore how it whetted the edge of my loneliness. Here was the Wit Magic at its most natural, a mutual bond of pleasure and respect between man and beast. His heart flew with her. I could sense their communion and imagine how she shared her joyous flight with him.
It was only when my muscles relaxed that I realized how tense I had been. Thick sank into a deeper sleep and some of the frown eased from his face. The wind in his Skill-song took on a less ominous note. The calm that emanated from Web had touched us both, but my awareness of that came slowly. His warm serenity pooled around me, diluting my anxiety and weariness. If this was the Wit, he was using it in a way I’d never experienced before. This was as simple and natural as the warmth of breath. I found myself smiling up at him and he returned the smile, his teeth flashing white through his beard. “It’s a fine day for prayer. But then, most days are.”
“That’s what you were doing? Praying?” At his nod, I asked, “For what do you petition the gods?” He raised his brows. “Petition?”
“Isn’t that what prayer is? Begging the gods to give you what you want?”
He laughed, his voice deep as a booming wind, but kinder. “I suppose that is how some men pray. Not I. Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I think that children pray so, to find a lost doll or that Father will bring home a good haul of fish, or that no one will discover a forgotten chore. Children think they know what is best for themselves, and do not fear to ask the divine for it. But I have been a man for many years, and I should be shamed if I did not know better by now.”
I eased my back into a more comfortable position against the railing. I suppose if you are used to the swaying of a ship, it might be restful. My muscles constantly fought against it, and I was beginning to ache in every limb. “So. How does a man pray, then?”
He looked on me with amusement, then levered himself down to sit beside me. “Don’t you know? How do you pray, then?”
“I don’t.” And then I rethought, and laughed aloud. “Unless I’m terrified. Then I suppose I pray as a child does. ‘Get me out of this, and I’ll never be so stupid again. Just let me live.’”
He laughed with me. “Well, it looks as if, so far, your prayers have been granted. And have you kept your promise to the divine?”
I shook my head, smiling ruefully. “I’m afraid not. I just find a new direction to be foolish in.”
“Exactly. So do we all. Hence, I’ve learned I am not wise enough to ask the divine for anything.”
“So. How do you pray then, if you are not asking for something?”
“Ah. Well, prayer for me is more listening than asking. And, after all these years, I find I have but one prayer left. It has taken me a lifetime to find my prayer, and I think it is the same one that all men find, if they but ponder on it long enough.”
“And that is?”
“Think about it,” he bade me with a smile. He stood slowly and gazed out over the water. Behind us, the sails of the following ships were puffed out like the throats of courting pigeons. They were, in their way, a lovely sight. “I’ve always loved the sea. I was on boats since before I could speak. It saddens me that your friend’s experience of it must be so uncomfortable. Please tell him that it will pass.”
“I’ve tried. I don’t think he can believe me.”
“A pity. Well, best of luck to you, then. Perhaps when he wakes, he’ll feel better.”
He began to walk away, but I remembered abruptly that I had other business with him. I came to my feet and called after him. “Web? Did Swift come aboard with you? The boy we spoke of before?” He halted and turned to my question. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
I beckoned him closer and he came. “You recall that he is the boy that I asked you to talk with, the one who is Witted?”
“Of course. That was why I was so pleased when he came to me and offered to be my ‘page’ if I would take him on and teach him. As if I even knew what a page is supposed to do!” He laughed at such nonsense, and then sobered at my serious face. “What is it?”
“I had sent him home. I discovered that he did not have his parents’ permission to be at Buckkeep at all. They think that he has run away, and are greatly grieved by his disappearance.”
Web stood still and silent, digesting this news, his face showing no expression. Then he shook his head regretfully. “It must be a terrible thing for someone you love to vanish, and leave you always wondering what became of him.”