When Thick awoke, he was sick again. I suspected that his prolonged hunger had as much to do with his weakness now as his seasickness did. He was sore from retching, for the muscles of his belly ached and his throat was raw. I could not persuade him to take anything except water, and that he accepted reluctantly. The day was neither cold nor warm, but Thick shivered in his damp clothes. They chafed him, but my suggestion that we go into his cabin and change or get warm met angry resistance. I longed to simply pick him up and drag him there, but knew he would scream and fight me, and that his music would become wild and violent. Yet I feared that he might soon slip into a real illness.
The slow hours passed miserably, and not just for us. Twice I heard the mate explode in anger at his bad-humored crew. The second time, he threatened a man with a lashing if he didn't show a more respectful face. I could feel the tension building aboard the ship.
In late evening the rain returned as a pervasive misting. I felt as if I had not been dry for a week. I put my blanket over Thick, hoping the weight of wool would be good for some warmth. He was dozing fitfully on the deck, twitching in his sleep like a dog with nightmares. I had often heard the jest “You can't die from seasickness, but you wish you could.” Now I wondered if it was wrong. How long could his body accept this treatment?
My Wit made me aware of Web before his silhouette lumbered out of the dim light of the ship's lantern to stand over me. “You're a faithful man, Tom Badgerlock,” he observed as he hunkered down beside me. “This can't be pleasant duty, but you've not left his side even for a moment.”
His praise both warmed me and made me uncomfortable. “It's my responsibility,” I replied, letting his compliment slide past me.
“And you take it seriously.”
“Burrich taught me that,” I said, a bit testily.
Web laughed easily. “And he taught you to hang on to a grievance like a pit dog hanging on to a bull's nose. Let it go, FitzChivalry Farseer. I'll say no more of the man.”
“I wish you would not bandy that name about so casually,” I said after a moment of heavy quiet.
“It belongs to you. It's a piece of you that is missing. You should take it back.”
“He's dead. And better left that way, for the sake of all I hold dear.”
“Is it truly for them, or is it for yourself?” he asked of the night.
I wasn't looking at him. I was staring out over the stern, watching the other ships that trailed us through the watery night. They were black hulks, their sails blotting out the stars behind them. The lanterns they bore rose and fell with them, distant moving stars. “Web, what do you want of me?” I asked him at last.
“Only to make you think,” he answered soothingly. “Not to make you angry, though I seem to excel at that. Or perhaps your anger is always there, festering inside you, and I am the knife that lances the boil and lets it burst forth.”
I shook my head at him silently, not caring if he could or could not see me. I had other things to deal with right now, and wished I were alone.
As if he could read my thoughts, he added, “And tonight I did not even intend to start you on your thinking path. Actually, I came here to offer you respite. I'll sit vigil with Thick, if you wish to take a few hours to yourself. I doubt you've slept deeply since you took up this watch.”
I longed to move about freely on my own, to see what the temper was on the rest of the ship. Even more than that, I longed for a little unguarded sleep. The offer was incredibly attractive. It therefore made me immediately suspicious.
“Why?”
Web smiled. “Is it that unusual for people to be nice to you?”
His question jolted me in an odd way. I took a breath. “Sometimes it seems that way, I suppose.”
I rose slowly, for I had stiffened in the night chill. Thick muttered in his uneasy rest. I raised my arms over my head and rolled my shoulders as I arrowed a swift thought to Dutiful. Web is offering to take over my watch of Thick for a time. May I allow this?
Of course. He seemed almost surprised that I had asked.
But then, sometimes my prince trusted too easily. Please let Chade know.
I felt Dutiful's agreement. I spoke aloud to Web, at the end of my stretch. “Thank you. I'll take you up on your offer, very gratefully.”
I watched him settle himself carefully beside Thick and take the smallest seapipes I'd ever seen from inside his shirt. Seapipes are probably the most common musical instrument in any fleet, for they withstand both bad weather and careless handling. It takes little to learn to play a simple tune on them, yet a talented player can entertain like a Buckkeep minstrel with them. I wasn't surprised to see them in Web's hands. He'd been a fisherman; he probably still was, in many ways.