Fool's Fate (Tawny Man #3)

Fool's Fate (Tawny Man #3) Page 49

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.”

An image of Patience sprang into my mind; I wondered if he had intended that his words prick me. Perhaps not, but the possible criticism made me irritable all the same. “I told Swift to go home. He owes his parents his labor until he either reaches his majority or is released by them.”

“So some say,” Web said, in a tone that indicated he might disagree. “But there are ways parents can betray a child, and then I think the youngster owes them nothing. I think that children who are mistreated are wise to leave as swiftly as they can.”

“Mistreated? I knew Swift's father for many years. Yes, he will give a lad a cuff or a sharp word, if the boy has earned it. But if Swift claims he was beaten or neglected at home, then I fear that he lies. That is not Burrich's way.” My heart sank that the boy could have spoken so of his father.

Web shook his head slowly. He glanced at Thick to assure himself that the man was still sleeping and spoke softly. “There are other types of neglect and deprivation. To deny what unfolds inside someone, to forbid the magic that comes unbidden, to impose ignorance in a way that invites danger, to say to a child, ‘You must not be what you are.' That is wrong.” His voice was gentle but the condemnation was without compassion.

“He raises his son as he was raised,” I replied stiffly. It felt odd to defend him, for I had so often railed against Burrich for what he had done to me.

“And he learned nothing. Not from having to deal with his own ignorance, not from what it did to the first lad he treated so. I try to pity him, but when I consider all that could have been, had you been properly educated from the time you were small—”

“He did well by me!” I snapped. “He took me to his side when no one else would have me, and I'll not hear ill spoken of him.”

Web took a step back from me. A shadow passed over his face. “Murder in your eyes,” he muttered.

The words were like being doused with cold water. But before I could ask what he meant by them, he nodded to me gravely. “Perhaps we shall speak again of this. Later.” And he turned and paced away from me. I recognized his walk. It was not flight. It was how Burrich would withdraw from an animal that had learned viciousness from bad treatment and had to be slowly retrained. It shamed me.

Slowly I sat down beside Thick again. I leaned back against the railing and closed my eyes. Perhaps I could doze a bit while he slept. But it seemed I had no sooner closed my eyes than his nightmare threatened me. Closing my eyes was like venturing downstairs into the noisy, smoky common room of a cheap inn. Thick's nauseous music swirled up into my mind, while his fears amplified the roll of the ship into a terrifying series of plunges and leaps without a pattern. I opened my eyes. Enduring sleeplessness was better than being swallowed by that bad dream.