Thomas sat patiently by his window, urging the boat out of a block of wood. He used a sharp knife, nicked himself times without number, and cut himself quite badly once. Yet he kept on, aching hands or no. As he worked he daydreamed of how he and his father would go out on Sunday afternoon and sail the boat, just the two of them all alone, because Peter would be riding Peony in the woods or off playing with Ben. And he wouldn't even mind if that same carp came up and ate his wooden boat, because then his father would laugh and hug him and say it was better than a story of sea monsters eating Anduan clipper ships whole.
But when he got to the King's chamber Peter was there and Thomas had to wait for nearly half an hour with the boat hidden behind his back while his father extolled Peter's bowmanship.
Thomas could see that Peter was uncomfortable under the un-ceasing barrage of praise. He could also see that Peter knew Thomas wanted to talk to their father, and that Peter kept trying to tell their father so. It didn't matter, none of it mattered. Thomas hated him anyway.
At last Peter was allowed to escape. Thomas approached his father, who looked at him kindly enough now that Peter was gone. "I made you something, Dad," he said, suddenly shy. He held the boat behind his back with hands that were suddenly wet and clammy with sweat.
"Did you now, Tommy?" Roland said. "Why, that was kind, wasn't it?"
"Very kind, Sire," said Flagg, who happened to be idling nearby. He spoke casually but watched Thomas with bright interest.
"What is it, lad? Show me!"
"I remembered how much you liked to have a boat or two out on the moat Sunday afternoons, Dad, and..." He wanted desperately to say, and I wanted you to take me out with you again sometime, so I made this, but he found he could not utter such a thing. "... and so I made you a boat... I spent a whole day... cut myself... and... and..." Sitting in his win-dow seat, carving the boat, Thomas had made up a long, elo-quent speech which he would utter before bringing the boat out from behind his back and presenting it with a flourish to his father, but now he could hardly remember a word of it, and what he could remember didn't seem to make any sense.
Horribly tongue-tied, he took the sailboat with its awkward flapping sail out from behind his back and gave it to Roland. The King turned it over in his big, short-fingered hands. Thomas stood and watched him, totally unaware that he had forgotten to breathe.
At last Roland looked up. "Very nice, Very nice, Tommy. Canoe, isn't it?"
"Sailboat." Don't you see the sail? he wanted to cry. It took me an hour alone just to tie the knots, and it isn't my fault one of them came loose so it flaps!
The King fingered the striped sail, which Thomas had cut from a pillowcase.
"So it is... of course it is. At first I thought it was a canoe and this was some Oranian girl's washing." He tipped a wink at Flagg, who smiled vaguely at the air and said nothing. Thomas suddenly felt he might vomit quite soon.
Roland looked at his son more seriously, and beckoned for him to come close. Timidly, hoping for the best, Thomas did so.
"It's a good boat, Tommy. Sturdy, like yourself, a bit clumsy like yourself, but good-like yourself. And if you want to give me a really fine present, work hard in your own bowmanship classes so you can take a first-class medal as Pete did today."
Thomas had taken a first in the lower-circle bowmanship courses the year before, but his father seemed to have forgotten this in his joy over Peter's accomplishment. Thomas did not remind him; he merely stood there, looking at the boat in his father's big hands. His cheeks and forehead had flushed to the color of old brick.
"When it was at last down to just two boys-Peter and Lord Towson's son-the instructor decreed they should draw back another forty koner. Towson's boy looked downcast, but Peter just walked to the mark and nocked an arrow. I saw the look in his eyes, and I said to myself `He's won! By all the gods that are, he hasn't even fired an arrow yet and he's won!' And so he had! I tell you, Tommy, you should have been there! You should have..."
The King prattled on, putting aside the boat Thomas had labored a whole day to make, with barely a second look. Thomas stood and listened, smiling mechanically, that dull, bricklike flush never leaving his face. His father would never bother to take the sailboat he had carved out to the moat-why should he? The sailboat was as pukey as Thomas felt. Peter could probably carve a better one blindfolded, and in half the time. It would look better to their father, at least.
A miserable eternity later, Thomas was allowed to escape.
"I believe the boy worked very hard on that boat," Flagg remarked carelessly.
"Yes, I suppose he did," Roland said. "Wretched-looking thing, isn't it? Looks a little like a dog turd with a handkerchief sticking out of it." And like something I would have made when I was his age, he added in his own mind.