The Book of Words

by J. V. Jones

  She appeared to be most pleased. Her eyes checked the room, and seeing many of the men glance appreciatively at Melli, she smiled widely. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day, my dear. I can see you are tired. I will see if the tavern keeper will bring some food to your room after all.” Melli was surprised at this sudden kindness.

  “Why, thank you. I do rather feel like a short nap.”

  Mistress Greal smiled again. “Yes, deary, you get all the beauty sleep you need. Tomorrow you will need all your energies.” Melli was instantly suspicious.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Why nothing, my dear,” said Mistress Greal sweetly. “It’s a local saying around here, that’s all.” As Melli stood up and prepared to walk away, her companion had one final thing to say: “Take the dress off before you sleep, Melli. I wouldn’t want it wrinkled.”

  Baralis was on his way to his audience with the queen, a flutter of excitement in his stomach. He knocked on the door to the meeting chamber, and the queen beckoned him to enter.

  Even to Baralis’ dispassionate eye the queen looked regal and beautiful. Her heavy pale hair was piled high on her head, and her gown of burnished silk reflected a gentle, golden light onto her fine features. For a brief moment before she spoke, Baralis indulged himself in remembering a certain night, many years before, when he had partaken of her delights. The memory gave him a feeling of power and he suddenly felt more confident than he had been on entering the chamber.

  “Lord Baralis. I bid you welcome.” He watched as the queen decided whether or not to favor him with her hand. She decided against it.

  “It is an honor to be in your presence, Your Highness.” He bowed low.

  “Lord Baralis, I trust you have heard that the king’s health has improved somewhat?”

  Baralis nodded. “I hope Your Highness is well satisfied with the medicine.”

  “I am indeed. The king had been getting much worse of late. Now I see him improving for the first time since his tragic accident.”

  “I am grateful to be the cause of such good news,” said Baralis, bowing slightly as he reminded the queen of his role in the recovery. The queen did not miss the reminder.

  “Yes, Lord Baralis, I am most thankful to you. You know there is to be a great feast tomorrow evening to celebrate the king’s health?”

  “I will, of course, be in attendance, Your Highness.” Baralis was in no rush to get to the point. He would let the queen be the first to speak of the deal.

  “Lord Baralis, I think you know why I have asked you here this day.”

  He would not make it easier for her. “I would not so presume, Your Highness.” With pleasure, Baralis noted a flicker of anger pass over the queen’s features.

  “I will not exchange small talk anymore, Lord Baralis. The point is this—I need more of your medicine for the king. What do you require in return for supplying it?”

  Baralis concealed his delight. “Your Highness is most forthright. I would indeed expect a favor for a favor.”

  “Speak what you would have: lands, gold, appointments.” The queen made a negligent gesture and turned away from Baralis.

  “I would have a say in who Prince Kylock marries.”

  The queen spun around. “What trickery is this? You will have no influence over who my son will marry.” The queen was now trembling with anger. In contrast, Baralis was very calm and even beginning to enjoy himself.

  “There is no need for deception with me, Your Highness. I know of Lord Maybor’s plans to marry his daughter to the prince.” The queen hid her surprise well.

  “How have you come to know this?” she demanded coldly.

  “Lord Maybor has a tongue that loosens when wet.” The queen regarded him with barely concealed malice. He knew, though, that she believed his excuse. Maybor was famous throughout the court as being a heavy drinker.

  “Well, Lord Baralis, if you know of this planned betrothal, you must also know that it has been firmly decided. I will not rescind the agreement.”

  “Unfortunately, there are matters of which Your Highness knows little.” Baralis spoke almost condescendingly.

  “What matters?” hissed the queen.

  “Matters concerning Lord Maybor’s delightful daughter, Melliandra.”

  “If you are to tell me she is ill, I know that already, Lord Baralis, and Lord Maybor assures me she does not have the pox.”

  “Regrettably, Lord Maybor has been lying to Your Highness.” Baralis met the queen’s eye and continued. “Lord Maybor’s daughter has run away from the castle. She has been gone over ten days now. Lord Maybor informed you she was sick to prevent you from learning the truth.” He could tell the queen was already beginning to doubt Maybor’s word.

  “What reason had the girl to run away?”

  “I cannot say for certain, for with young girls who can tell what is in their hearts.” Baralis managed an almost wistful sigh. “However, I have heard it said that Melliandra ran away because she could not bear the thought of marrying your son.”

  The queen’s face paled with rage. “You say, you heard this foul rumor. Who else knows of it?”

  “Half the court, Your Highness,” lied Baralis.

  “This is intolerable!” The queen fingered the embroidery on her dress in agitation.

  “I sympathize with Your Highness’ predicament,” said Baralis humbly. His tone only served to annoy the queen further.

  “I would discover for myself if these accusations are true. Before I have done so, I will not speak any further on this matter.”

  “As Your Highness wishes. However, I feel it my duty to point out that if we do not resolve the situation to both our satisfactions, I fear the king may lose what little ground he has gained. The medicine must be given regularly or its effects may be reversed.”

  The queen was obviously displeased with his sly pronouncement. “Lord Baralis, I do not take kindly to blackmail. Go now. I will summon you again at my leisure.”

  Baralis bowed and left. The queen would undoubtedly call him back soon. He smiled with satisfaction at the thought of Maybor’s imminent downfall; too bad the man would be dead and unable to feel its sting.

  Nine

  Tawl was sitting quietly in Megan’s room when a loud knock startled him from his reverie. Cautiously, he went over to the door and asked who was there.

  “It’s me, Moth. Friend of the Old Man’s.” Tawl opened the door and let him in. “How are you, my friend?” said Moth, looking speculatively around the room. “I trust you’re no worse for those knocks on the head? You know Clem, though. Takes a real pride in his work. Old Man says bring him in, quiet like, and Clem takes him on his word. Two knocks from Clem are enough to make anyone quiet for a while. Three knocks from Clem and you’ll never talk again. Anyway, enough of this chatter. Let’s get down to business.”

  Tawl was rather bemused by this outpouring, but managed to beckon Moth to sit down. “I take it you’re here about the ship?”

  “That’s right, friend. Old Man says find a ship. I find a ship. A fast one, too, I’ll have you know. Very nice. Wouldn’t mind a life on the high seas myself if I had the time. Captain. That’s what I’d be. Clem could be my first mate. Anyway, back to your particulars. The ship’s called The Fishy Few. Kind of strange name, ain’t it? So, I had a word with the good captain, and needless to say a few coins exchanged hands, but that’s not for you to worry about, friend. When the Old Man says he’ll take care of something, he takes care of it. Now where was I?”

  “You had a word with the good captain,” prompted Tawl, amused by Moth’s digressions.

  “And so I did. I spoke to the good captain, told him that a friend of the Old Man’s wants to head to Larn. Let me tell you, he didn’t look too pleased. But I reminded him that the Old Man has great pull with the merchants of Rorn, could lead to a lot of business, I told him. Course, a few more coins exchanged hands. Larn ain’t a cheap place to go, I can tell you that.”

&nb
sp; “What about a rowboat, so I can land on the island?” interrupted Tawl.

  “No problem. The good captain said that a man who goes to Larn needs two things: first his head felt for malformations, and secondly a rowboat. So, the captain’s got a boat you can use. He’ll even provide a man to row you.

  “The good captain does insist that you don’t keep him waiting too long, though. Apparently, the seas around there are real rough. He says he can’t wait for you longer than a full day. That’d better be enough time, friend, ’cos the good captain will be pulling up anchor and sailing off into the sunset before you know it. And from what I’ve heard of Larn, it ain’t a place a man would care to be stuck on.”

  “When does the boat set sail?” Tawl was hoping he would have time to say good-bye to Megan.

  “First light tomorrow. You’ll have to be up with the lark. I wrote a song about a lark once—one of these days I’ll get Clem to sing it for you, he’s got a fine voice has Clem. Where was I?”

  “The ship.”

  “Aye, the ship. The Fishy Few sets sail from the north harbor. It’s a two-master, you’ll find it all right. Captain’s name is Quain. Captain Quain, he’ll be expecting you.”

  “Send my thanks to the Old Man, Moth.”

  “It’s as good as done, friend.”

  “I thank you, too, Moth.” Tawl thought for a moment and then added, “And send my regards to Clem.”

  “Clem will be most gratified. And as for me, it was my pleasure. I got a nice walk down to the harbor out of it.”

  “Oh, one more thing, Moth. The Old Man mentioned helping my friend Megan.”

  “The Old Man does what he says. I’m glad you reminded me.” Moth rooted into the depths of his cloak and handed Tawl a heavy purse. “The Old Man wouldn’t have been pleased if I’d forgotten to give you that. He’d have me strung up . . . and Clem, too. We’re a pair: I mess up, he pays for it. Clem wouldn’t have it any other way, though.

  “Oh, one more thing. The Old Man says you should take some gold for yourself. He hates to see a knight without a decent sword. No offense intended, but that knife you got ain’t up to much. Course, I saw you put that thief away—real fast you were, but you could have done better with the right equipment. Pity you ain’t here much longer. I could have got you something real nice in the way of weaponry. Never mind, there’s always another time. I must be off, Clem’s expecting me to help him with a little business. I bid you well, friend.” With that Moth was off, letting himself out.

  When he had gone, Tawl couldn’t help but wonder what business Moth and Clem had to do. He decided he was best not knowing. He emptied the purse and found twenty gold pieces. Tawl replaced all save one of them.

  A little while later, Megan let herself in. She had, as always, brought him some tasty morsels to eat and drink. She was about to lay a meal out when he stopped her, beckoning her to sit with him for a while. “Megan, I must leave you tomorrow.”

  Her pretty face grew grave. “I had not expected you to go so soon.” Megan pulled away from him, stood up and, bowing her head, began to slice oranges.

  Hair fell over her face, such a glorious mix of chestnut and gold. She was so young—Anna, the youngest of his sisters, would have been about the same age. There was something in the plane of her cheeks and the gold in her hair that reminded Tawl of his sisters. Such gentle girls, like Megan. Yet unlike her, they were so dependent upon him. His mind traveled back to the little cottage on the marshes. He was all they had, and he’d let them down so badly.

  * * *

  The midwife nodded her approval. Tawl remembered the blood on her apron: his mother’s blood. “You made a wise decision,” she said. “I’ll open her now, while the cord still holds.” As she turned to enter the cottage, he put a hand upon her arm.

  “Let me see her first.”

  The midwife huffed her disapproval, but let him go ahead. His sisters greeted him, taking the fishes from his pack. Anna had just learned her numbers and slowly counted the fish on her chubby fingers. Sara, the eldest, had no patience with her and counted them loudly with a superior air. “There’s one extra,” she said, superiority giving way to excitement. “Is it for the baby?”

  Tawl nodded and turned away. Tears prickled in his eyes and he swept them away before they could fall. He could hear his sisters behind him, busily picking out the biggest fish for the baby.

  “Can he have this one?” cried Anna, a large fish in her lap.

  “Yes,” said Tawl, kneeling down and putting his arms around her shoulders. “The baby must have the biggest one of all.” He kissed her cheek and put his arm out for Sara. She came to him as she always did, resting her head upon his shoulder. Tawl hugged her close and stroked Anna’s golden hair. Such baby-fine texture, but then, what was she but a baby? Barely five years old. Too soon they would know the truth. He crushed his sisters to his chest, using his strength to express what he could never say with words.

  The moment passed, leaving him calmer. Standing up, he left his sisters sitting on the floor amidst the fish, and opened the door to his mother’s room. He would be the one to tell her, the news would come from her son, not the mouth of a stranger.

  The smell was sickly. Flies buzzed around the bed and finding no hindrance landed on the drying blood. “Tawl, is that you?” His mother’s voice was gentle. He could tell she was afraid.

  “Yes, Mama, it’s me.” He came and sat on the stool by her bedside, keeping his eyes low, so as not to look at the swell of her belly.

  “How many fishes today?” It was strange how in this time of distress his mother chose to speak of everyday events. He played along, too young to see where she led.

  “Nine, but they were slow to bite.”

  She sighed in sympathy. “Never mind, you may need fewer tomorrow.”

  So she knew. For an instant a weight was taken from his shoulders, but then, just as quickly, it returned, heavier than ever. “Mama, I’m sorry.”

  “Ssh, Tawl.” She clasped his hand in hers. “Don’t worry about me, it’s your sisters who need you now. You must be strong for them.” His mother’s eyes held such strength of purpose, it was impossible to believe she was so weak. “You must promise me you’ll look after them.”

  The pressure of her hand upon his was almost unbearable. “And the baby,” he said, half statement, half question.

  “And the baby, if it lives.”

  Megan took his hand. “Tawl, are you all right?” His legs buckled under him and he sat down on the floor. The mixture of present and past disoriented him—the images took longer than normal to leave. The baby had survived, and the midwife had known of a wet nurse. The pay was two fishes—his mother’s portion. She’d been wrong, then, his mother: the catch had remained the same.

  Megan handed him a cup filled with steaming liquid. Its sharp tang of oranges brought him to the present more forcefully than any words. Oranges were unheard of in the marshes.

  “Forgive me, Megan,” he said. “I am still a little weak.”

  “Are you sure you should be on your way, then? Stay a little longer. Not for my sake, but for your own.”

  He had to go. The quest was all there was, and he couldn’t allow anything else to matter. He was destined to always leave like this: a soft good-bye with no chance of returning. “No, Megan. I must be on my way.” He searched for the familiar words of parting, but they wouldn’t come. By giving so much, Megan had taken something from him—he could not leave her with glib phrases. She deserved more than that. He took her face in his hands. “I’m afraid that if I stay any longer, I might never go. You would be better off with someone else. There is much about me you don’t know.”

  “I know you’re in pain.” Megan’s voice was tender. “Tawl, I can tell you’re not happy. You make the mistake of thinking that once you finish your quest and find who you seek, everything will be all right. But you’re wrong—it’s love, not achievement, that will rid you of your demons.”

  Was he that transp
arent? Or was she just perceptive? He kissed her gently—it was his only reply.

  Later, when passion had gone, leaving tenderness in its wake, Tawl handed Megan the heavy purse. “Take this, it will help you live a life of your own choosing.”

  Megan took the purse and opened it up. Seeing the many gold pieces, she handed it back to him. “I want no payment from you, Tawl, save your promise to keep yourself safe.” Tawl gently pushed the purse back to her.

  “This is no payment, this is a gift. I beg you to take it.”

  Megan picked up the purse. “Will I see you again?”

  “I am a knight of Valdis, Megan, sworn to make no promise that can’t be kept.” Tawl found strength in the formality of his words. He knew he sounded cold, but he was a knight first and foremost, and it was time to do his duty. Megan drew away from him, just as he expected. It took all his willpower to stop himself from pulling her back.

  Baralis slipped into the concealed passageway and headed for Maybor’s chamber. On his way, he noted what he thought to be an entirely new moss clinging to the wet, stone walls. He made a mental note to come back another day with a specimen dish. Mosses were always a thing of great interest. A new one could mean interesting innovations in his poisoning skills.

  He decided he would take a less direct route to Maybor’s chamber than usual. He felt the need for great caution, but could not exactly say why. Finally, having taken a twisted path, he found himself outside the lord’s bedchamber. He checked that the room was empty and then slipped quietly through.

  Baralis knew little of such things, but even he could tell that Maybor’s rooms were furnished with more money than taste. Hideous scarlet tapestries lined the walls, silver and crimson rugs covered the floor, even the bed was covered in lurid red silk. He had little time to amuse himself with Maybor’s bad taste, however, and stole toward the small dressing room, which was just off the bedchamber.

  Baralis allowed himself a thin smile as he took in the contents of Maybor’s wardrobe. The man had more robes than most court ladies—in colors to outdazzle any peacock. He quickly decided that Maybor would wear one of two red-colored robes that evening. The queen was to be in attendance at the Winter’s Eve dance and Maybor would surely use this chance to display himself in his richest. The two robes that Baralis picked out were by far the most ostentatious: gold embroidery, ruffles, and pearls. Baralis shuddered. He himself would wear a discreet black. He never liked to draw unnecessary attention upon himself.