The Bastard 2

by Jack Porter

  “Although, if you would like, perhaps we could discuss such a match later on?” I asked.

  Elaine’s eyes flashed again, and I took that as interest.

  “If so, then you can find me at the Goose and Quill Tavern.”

  I had always been good at judging what to say. With anyone else, I might have offered some mindless flattery or other, a compliment aimed at her beauty. But with Elaine, I judged that she might dismiss any flowery words as insincere, so I didn’t offer her any.

  Instead, I gave a small nod as if she had already agreed. “Until then,” I said, and moved to Emmeline at the door.

  “Thank you again for the lesson.” I said. “Until next time.”

  Lady Emmeline seemed to be trying hard not to burst out laughing, her gaze swapping back and forth between Elaine and me. It was as if she knew some secret that neither of us could fathom, but she said nothing of it.

  She just closed the door behind me, and I was out on the street.

  2

  The first thing I did was look to the sky and the roof lines of the buildings nearby. Sir George, my pet rat dragon, had grown bored sometime during the sparring session with Lady Emmeline, and had disappeared for a while. But he never went far, and he spotted me before I saw him.

  With a fluttering of his leathery, colorful wings, he landed on my shoulder, puffed a small cloud of smoke, and settled himself down.

  It was a decent walk back from Lady Emmeline’s place to the Goose and Quill Tavern, and by the time I arrived, my coat was largely sodden even though there was only a light mist in the air.

  I had deliberately not thought of anything more weighty during the walk than whether or not Elaine would join me at the tavern.

  On the face of it, I already had more than enough women in my life. Lady Emmeline, of course, but there was also Meghan le Fay, Rosalind and her friends Florence and Maisie, a number of other serving girls in various taverns, and Ember, of course, at the Goose and Quill. But I had never been the type to put an arbitrary limit on my own affections, and was already wandering how it might be possible to add Elaine to the list even as I pushed my way into the Goose and Quill and found a quiet table by myself close to the fire.

  Despite the still early hour, Ember and Jacob’s tavern was already busier than most, filled with cheerful, happy sounds of people relaxing in a city where hardship and difficulty were more common.

  It was a tidy establishment, well run and largely free of the fighting that marked many such places. Jacob saw to that, for the most part. He was a big man, and while he typically wore an easy-going smile, more than one potential troublemaker had found himself literally flying through the air, courtesy of the gentle giant’s prodigious strength, to land in the mud before blood had been spilled.

  The other main reason for the tavern’s trouble-free reputation was that during the daytime at least, Ember and Jacob served more hot cocoa than ale.

  The Goose and Quill had been the first to offer the drink, and its popularity had soared. Yet when Ember eventually emerged from the crowd and placed a flagon on the table before me, it wasn’t the warm, rich liquid, or even an ale, but simple water.

  I nodded my thanks and smiled at the slim, intelligent woman. I’d first thought that Ember and Jacob were together, and as such, had toned down my usual flirtatious approach. But when Ember had told me they were siblings, I had been more than happy to change how I thought of her – and she had been more than willing to take our relationship up another notch.

  “You’re back,” Ember said with a hint of relief in her tone.

  I studied her, looking for signs of anxiety, but finding few. Nevertheless, it had only been a few hours since I had departed.

  It made sense to make sure there was no cause to worry.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  The willowy, blond-haired woman smiled in reassurance. “No, no, everything has been quiet. No problems at all. It’s just that with all these customers to attend, we really can’t afford any…” she considered her words, “distractions.”

  I knew full well what she was talking about, and knew also that she didn’t want to say it out loud. Not with so many around to overhear.

  I nodded. I had been putting this off for too long already. And Ember was subtly telling me that it was time to deal with it.

  I dug in my coin pouch and withdrew all the gold I carried, separating it from the silvers by touch alone. It made a small pile, which I placed on the table before me.

  “I’m sorry for the trouble,” I said. “Perhaps this will ease your worries a little?”

  I could see Ember’s first instinct was to decline the payment. While she ran the tavern and needed to eat, we were friends. I hadn’t paid for anything at the Goose and Quill for some time.

  At the same time, her eyes widened at the sight of the gold on the table.

  I knew that what I was offering amounted to more than a week’s income for her and Jacob together.

  “Take it,” I said, and that was enough. Ember snaked out a hand, and the coins disappeared.

  I grinned broadly. “Only, perhaps you could also bring me some food in the bargain? And maybe a tankard of water as well.”

  Ember returned my grin. “Mordie, for that, you can eat here free for a fortnight.” Then she considered. “Not that you don’t already, but you know what I mean.”

  I kept grinning as I watched her disappear back into the crowd. Ember wasn’t the most shapely of the women I knew, but she was well proportioned, and I quite enjoyed watching her behind until she was gone.

  I was enjoying the last of my water as the fire turned the moisture within my coat into steam when Ember returned with my order. There was a bowl of thick, meaty stew, a wedge of cheese, and a hard end of bread, all sharing a wooden tray with my requested tankard of water.

  I thanked her as she placed it on the table, but I had something else in mind beyond simply digging in.

  “Do you think I could eat this in your cellar?” I asked her, one of my eyebrows raised.

  Ember glanced around at the rest of the customers, noting that they were largely focused on their own doings.

  She nodded. “I think that can be arranged,” she said. “Follow me.

  The trapdoor that led to the Goose and Quill’s cellar was behind the bar. Big Jacob stepped aside while offering one of the thick candles he kept burning, and I accepted the smoky offering before making my way down the narrow steps.

  I thought Ember might accompany me down, if only to reassure herself that there was no need to worry. But she couldn’t tear herself away from the customers, and instead just told me to holler if I needed anything. I thanked her from the cellar floor, and with the tray of food balanced in one hand and the candle in the other, I looked around.

  It was just the type of cellar a tavern like the Goose and Quill needed. A large, open space packed full of ale barrels, with various meats hung from the rafters. There were baskets filled with potatoes, carrots, and onions, a pile of bread loaves next to a huge round of cheese with a good part of it missing, and a number of stalls and tables, some of them broken, but others either repaired or simply surplus to current requirements.

  I knew that somewhere within the cellar, there would be a supply of cocoa, but a casual glance failed to reveal it.

  But that wasn’t my reason for being down there. I placed the candle on a handy table, setting my tray of food down next to it while I grabbed a three-legged stool from its spot next to the wall, and positioned it close to one of the main support posts that kept the tavern itself in place.

  As if my every movement wasn’t being watched, as if I was minding my own business, I sat down on the stool and balanced the tray of food on my knees. Then, as if taking my lunch in the cellar was the most normal thing in the world, I broke part of the hard end away from the rest of the bread, dipped it into the thick, meaty stew, and started to eat.

  It was delicious. Most tavern food was largely the same. If they
served a stew, it would be thin and tasteless, with little more than runny liquid holding the odd piece of gristle and potato together.

  But this was different. Ember truly understood how to bring out the flavors, and she had a way with spices. With plenty of onions to thicken the base, the meat itself almost melted in my mouth. And even the bread tasted fresh enough that it could have been baked that very morning.

  “Mmm,” I said, making a noise of appreciation. “This is delicious.”

  As if in response to my words, Sir George made his way down my arm to inspect my meal. Perhaps, if we’d been alone, he might have jumped onto the tray and stuck his nose into the bowl. But he had been on edge since I’d entered the cellar, shifting back and forth on my shoulder, and giving the occasional chirp.

  So instead, he stayed on my arm, his wings partially unfurled as if in response to a threat, splitting his attention between the rich, aromatic stew and the other person in the room.

  “You want some?” I asked him. “A piece of the meat, perhaps? There’s plenty there. I’m not even really that hungry. I’m just eating this because it’s there.”

  In response, Sir George folded his wings and belched a small puff of smoke. I took that as an answer and dug around in the bowl with the spoon Ember had provided, digging out a chunk of meat and some of the gravy. Sir George leaned close to sniff, and then, the chunk of meat having apparently passed that test, tasted it with surprising delicacy.

  Ember’s stew passed that test as well, and that was all Sir George needed. As quick as the strike of a viper, Sir George snapped at my offering and gulped the morsel down.

  “You like that?” I asked him. “You want some more?”

  Before Sir George could reply one way or the other, we were interrupted by a noise of indignation from the other person in the cellar.

  As if in response to a threat, Sir George turned to the source of the noise, and hissed loudly while making himself look as big as he could, opening his wings out in a hostile display.

  For my part, I replaced the spoon into the remains of the stew and turned my attention for the first time to Rolf.

  3

  The treacherous Blackcoat was sitting on the floor. He had his back to the post that kept up the rest of the tavern, with his hands tucked in behind him.

  Those hands were manacled together with a short length of chain looping around the post. I’d chained him myself, borrowing the manacles from Garath the smith to replace the ropes I had used to begin with, but I didn’t really trust them against someone like Rolf.

  In the flickering candlelight, Rolf looked hale and hearty, fully recovered from the battle that had taken place between us just the day before. His color was even back to normal, Meghan’s nausea-inducing powder having done its job, weakening him at a key moment, but lasting no more than a few hours.

  “You have something to say?” I asked him.

  Rolf made an unintelligible grunting sound, which again Sir George seemed to find offensive. He hissed once more and blew another small puff of smoke in Rolf’s direction. “You’ll have to do better than that,” I said. “Speak clearly.”

  Rolf grunted again, and I could sense his frustration and anger. I thought about keeping the game going for a little longer, needling him as much as I could, in the sure knowledge that he couldn’t really respond. Because I had stuffed a rag into his mouth, too, and tied it firmly in place. Even though he had been in Ember’s cellar for many hours by then, he hadn’t managed to dislodge that gag even a little.

  Although, in truth, I wasn’t really surprised. I had tied it as tight as I could, not caring if I broke his damn jaw or not.

  I weighed the man before me, taking into account the hate and fury in his eyes, the set of his shoulders as he sat in place.

  I had beaten him one-on-one. The only reason he still breathed was because I had chosen not to kill him, although with each passing minute, I wondered if that had been the right choice.

  But Rolf didn’t think of himself as being beaten. That much was clear in how he sat, in the murder that he couldn’t keep from his glare.

  All at once, I came to a decision. The time for game playing was done.

  In one fluid movement, I stood and placed the tray back on the table, ignoring Sir George’s flutters as he scrambled back up to my shoulder. I drew one of my knives, a sharp, simple dagger that I had doused in several of Meghan’s alchemical gifts.

  “See this?” I said to Rolf, holding it up. “It is coated in poison. It won’t kill you, but you will wish you were dead. If this poison merges with your blood, it will cause you the most frightening agony. Do you understand?”

  The only indication that he did was that the hatred in his eyes grew even stronger.

  “Good,” I said as if he had answered. “Now, I am going to remove your gag. But know this. If you make any moves against me, if you try to lash out with your feet or struggle in any way, I will use this dagger. You will get to feel the effects of its venom. Do you understand?”

  Once again, he refused to answer.

  “The same goes for if you make a sound any louder than normal speech. There are customers in the tavern above, and I don’t want to them to hear you screaming. So even if you make me stab you, you are to bite your tongue. Because if you do not, I will stab you again and again and again, until you fall silent.”

  I watched him narrowly. “Do you understand?” I asked again.

  Again, Rolf just glared at me, his eyes two hot smoldering balls of pure rage.

  I decided that wasn’t enough.

  “There is one more rule,” I added. “If you refuse to answer, I will stab you as well. Do you understand?”

  I held his glare, my dagger in plain view, and hoped he would maintain his defiance. But just as I started to move, started to take a step toward him to carry out my threat, he nodded his head.

  I allowed myself a sardonic smile. “Good. We understand each other.”

  Then, just because I could and he wouldn’t be expecting it, I lunged forward and stabbed just the tip of my dagger into the fleshiest part of his thigh. I did it out of malice, and to show him that I wasn’t lying about the power of the knife. I saw his rage turn to shock, and then to horror as the first wave of agony hit him.

  I sensed him drawing in a deep breath, getting ready to shout out his pain into the gag, and held the knife up once again.

  “Remember the rules!” I said. “You make a noise louder than normal speech, and I will stab you again.”

  Despite this warning, Rolf couldn’t help himself. He made a few muffled sounds into his gag, the part of his face I could see turning bright red, and his eyes promising a lingering death.

  I waited until his efforts started to fade, then approached him again.

  The gag was indeed tied tightly in place. It took me some time to loosen the knot, during which I had to sheath my knife so I could use both of my hands. But by then, I was standing behind the Blackcoat who had turned my life upside down, and I knew I could draw it again if I needed to.

  I didn’t. After considerable effort, the gag came free, and Rolf spat the rag I’d stuffed in his mouth onto the floor.

  Not a good move on his part, I thought. The floor was a long way from clean, and I had every intention of replacing that rag when our conversation was done.

  I waited to see if he would say anything right away, and when it seemed he would not, I drew my knife again and resumed my seat on the stool before him.

  We glared at each other for some seconds. Finally, it was Rolf who spoke first. “You utter bastard,” he said. “When I get out of here–”

  I cut him off with a laugh. “You think you’re getting out of here?” I asked. “Seriously?”

  “You don’t have the balls to keep me,” he replied, his voice thick with hate. “If you did, I would be dead already.”

  I allowed my sardonic smile to return. “There is only one reason you’re still alive,” I said. “And it’s not because I lack
the balls to end you. Or have you forgotten what happened to Bryce and Durstan?”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Rolf said, and somehow, even though he was chained and I was not, he made it sound like a threat.

  But I didn’t say anything further. I let the silence between us stretch out, and waited for him to speak first.

  Finally, he did. “What do you want?” he demanded.

  I stared at him. There were too many thoughts in my mind for me to express.

  All my life, I had wondered who I was, where I had come from. An orphan and a bastard, and I hadn’t known anything beyond the life on the streets I had lived. There were secrets attached to who I was, and Rolf had revealed them.

  I had the blood of the King running through my veins, and the blood of a dragon.

  Of the Pendragon line even if my name didn’t reflect it.

  The bastard of King Arthur himself, for all the good that did me.

  I knew Rolf would lie through his teeth if he thought it would serve his interest. At the same time, the way he had told me this secret – and where he had told me – left no doubt as to its truth.

  Rolf had told me who I was in the deepest dungeon beneath the palace itself, in the presence of a captured dragon. All by itself, that wouldn’t have convinced me. And yet, I had felt the truth of it, in the same way I had felt the dragon blood in my veins resonate when I had entered that chamber.

  And if that wasn’t enough, my fondness for Sir George tipped the balance.

  A miniature dragon in all ways, most people would shoo a rat dragon away in the same manner as the rodents after which they were named.

  Nobody kept them as pets. Yet, in my darkest moment, in the jail where I waited to be hanged, I had bonded with Sir George just as he had bonded with me.

  There was no doubt in my mind I was a descendant of King Arthur. My true name was Mordred Pendragon, and I was the only surviving blood kindred of Arthur himself.

  All this bubbled through my mind at Rolf’s question, and while I knew I needed to talk it through with someone, that someone was not Rolf. Nor were there any real questions associated with it, at least as far as the Blackcoat could answer.