“How many men is Dutiful allowed?”
“Twelve. And we make up the count of them far too quickly. You and me, Web, Civil, Cockle, Riddle, Thick, Longwick, and four guardsmen.” He shook his head. “I wish Dutiful would consider leaving at least Civil and Cockle here. Two more seasoned warriors can make all the difference in a situation.”
“What of Swift? Is he staying here, then?” I could not decide if I felt relief or uneasiness at the thought.
“No, we'll take him. But as he's a boy yet, he doesn't count toward our quota of warriors.”
“And we leave tomorrow?”
Chade nodded. “Longwick has spent the last week gathering provisions for us. Most of what we brought of Six Duchies victuals has been used; I'm afraid we'll be eating the local provender. He has sorted through what we had and acquired what we need for a party of twelve. I've already warned him that there will be a cat to feed as well as the rest of us. We will all carry weapons, regardless of whether we've been trained in them or not. An axe for you?”
I nodded. “And one for Swift. He has his own bow and arrows, but as you said before, an axe for chopping ice may be more to the point.”
Chade sighed. “And that is where my invention runs out. I have no idea what we'll be facing, Fitz. We'll have food and tents and weapons and some tools. But beyond that, I've no idea what we'll need.” He poured himself a stingy dollop of brandy. “I'll not deny that I take pleasure in knowing that Peottre is just as dismayed by all this as I am. He and the Narcheska will be accompanying us. Bloodblade is coming on the ship, but I don't think he's staying for the dragon-slaying.” He smirked sarcastically as he called it that, doubting it would be any such thing. “It's damnably inconvenient all round, this giving a task the rules of a contest. They've limited us to two message birds as well, but to be used only to summon the ship back when we are ready to leave the island. They'll be in the keeping of our chaperones.”
His words pushed my mind in another direction. “Do you suppose the bird you sent has reached Kettricken yet?”
He gave me a pitying look. “You know there's no way for us to tell. Wind or storms, a hawk . . . so many things can delay or stop a bird. A message bird flies only toward its home and mate. There is no way for Kettricken to send word back to us.” Delicately he added, “Have you thought of trying to reach Burrich?”
“Last night,” I replied. To his lifted eyebrow, I replied, “Nothing. I felt like a moth battering at a lantern glass. I can't reach him. Years ago, I used to be able to catch glimpses of them, of Molly and Burrich. Not a mind-to-mind touch, but . . . well, it's no use. That's gone. I suspect that Nettle was my focus for it, though I did not see through her eyes.”
“Interesting,” he said softly, and I knew he was squirreling away that bit of information for possible future use. “But you cannot reach Nettle?”
“No.” I boxed the word in, refusing to let any emotion ride on it. I reached across the table and picked up the brandy bottle.
“Go easy on that,” Chade warned me.
“I'm nowhere near drunk,” I retorted irritably.
“I didn't say you were,” he responded mildly. “But we haven't much left. And we may want it more on Aslevjal than we do here.”
I set the bottle down as Dutiful came back into the room. Thick trailed him, a sullen look on his face. “I'm not going,” Thick announced as he came in.
“Yes you are,” Dutiful responded stubbornly.
“Not.”
“Are.”
“Enough!” Chade interjected as if they were seven-year-olds.
“Not!” Thick breathed as he sat down with a thump at the table.
“Yes you are,” Dutiful insisted. “Unless you want to stay here all by yourself. All alone, with no one to talk to. All by yourself, just sitting in this room until we come back.”
Thick thrust out his chin, lower lip, and tongue all at once. He crossed his short thick arms on his chest and cast Dutiful a measuring glance. “I don't care. Not alone, anyway. I'll just talk to Nettle. She'll tell me stories.”
I sat up with a jolt. “You can talk to Nettle.”
He glared at me, as if he had just realized that in needling Dutiful he had given something away to me. He swung his feet. “Maybe. But you can't.”
I knew I could not afford to lose my temper with him, or push him too hard.
“Because you are stopping me from talking to her?”