Riddle brought me a pan of salty stew and a mug of watery beer while Thick still dozed. He'd brought his own rations as well, probably to enjoy eating on deck rather than in the cramped hold below. When I started to waken Thick to share the food, Riddle stopped me. “Let the poor moron sleep. If he's fortunate enough to be able to, he's the envy of every guardsman below.”
“And why is that?”
He lifted one shoulder in a hapless shrug. “I can't say. Perhaps it's just the close quarters. But tempers are tight, and no one's sleeping well. Half of them are avoiding food for fear it won't stay down, and some of them are seasoned travelers. If you do manage to doze off, someone shouting out in a dream wakes you. Perhaps in a few days things will settle down. Right now, I'd rather stand in a pit surrounded by snarling dogs than go back down there. There were two fistfights just a moment ago, over who got fed first.”
I nodded sagely, trying to conceal my anxiety. “I'm sure things will settle in a day or so. The first few days of a voyage are always difficult.” I was lying through my teeth. Usually the first few days were the best, while the journey was still a novelty and before the tedium set in. Thick's dreams were poisoning the guards' sleep. I tried to be congenial while waiting for Riddle to leave. As soon as he took our empty dishes and departed, I leaned over and shook Thick awake. He sat up with a wail like a startled child.
“Shush, now. You're not hurt. Thick, listen to me. No, shush and listen. This is important. You have to stop your music, or at least make it quieter.”
His face was wrinkled like a prune, with anger and hurt feelings that I had so roughly awakened him. Tears stood in his little round eyes. “I can't!” he wailed. “I'm going to die!”
The men working on deck turned scowling faces our way. One muttered angrily and made a sign against ill luck toward us. On some level, they knew the source of their uneasiness. He snuffled and sulked as I talked to him, but firmly resisted any suggestion that he could either dampen his song, or overcome his seasickness and fear. I became fully aware of the strength of his wild Skilling only when I tried to reach the Prince through the cacophony of Thick's emotions. Chade and the Prince had probably increased the strength of their walls without even noticing they were doing so. Skilling to them was like shouting into a blizzard.
When Dutiful realized how difficult it was for him to understand me, I felt panic touch him. He was in the midst of a meal and could not graciously leave. Even so, he found some way to make Chade aware of our crisis. They brought the meal to a hasty end and hastened out on deck to us.
By then, Thick had dozed off again. Chade spoke quietly. “I can mix a powerful sleeping draught and we can force it down him.”
The Prince winced. “I'd rather not. Thick does not soon forget ill-treatment. Besides, what would we gain from it? He sleeps now, and still his song is enough to torment the dead.”
“Perhaps if I put him into a very deep sleep—” Chade ventured uncertainly.
“We'd be risking his life,” I interrupted. “With no assurance that his song would stop.”
“We have only one option,” the Prince said quietly. “Turn back and take him home. Put him off the ship.”
“We can't!” Chade was aghast. “We'll lose too many days. And we may need Thick's strength, when we actually confront the dragon.”
“Lord Chade, we are seeing the full effects of Thick's strength now. And we are seeing that it is not disciplined, nor controlled by us.” There was a new note in the Prince's voice, a monarch's tone. It reminded me of Verity, and his carefully weighted words. It made me smile and that earned me an odd frown from the Prince. I hastened to clarify my own thoughts.
“Right now, Thick's strength is not governed, not even by him. He does not intend us ill, but his music threatens us all. Think what sort of damage he might do, were he provoked to true anger. Or badly hurt. Even if we can cure his seasickness and calm his song, Thick will remain a double-edged blade. Unless we can find a sure discipline for his strength, he can threaten us when he is unsettled. Perhaps we would be wiser to go back and put him ashore.”
“We can't go back!” Chade insisted. Then, as both Dutiful and I stared at him, he pleaded, “Let me have one more night to ponder. I'm sure I'll think of a solution. And give him one more night to become accustomed to the ship. Perhaps by dawn, his sickness might have passed.”
“Very well,” Dutiful replied after a moment. Again, there was that note in his voice. I wondered how he was learning it, or if he was simply growing into his role as ruler. In either case, I was glad to hear it. I was not sure if his decision to grant Chade one more day was a wise one or not. Yet it was his decision and he had made it with confidence. That was a thing to value.