The Book of Words

by J. V. Jones

  “I will hear no further talk of Duvitt.” Her tone was harsh, but she seemed to regret it immediately, for she spoke her next words in a softer voice. “Please, Jack, I cannot bear to think of that place.”

  “I won’t mention it again,” said Jack in what he hoped to be a gallant manner, bowing his head slightly. “We must talk of other matters while we can, though. The guard could return at any minute.”

  “Where are we?” Melli looked around the small, dark cell.

  “We’re about an hour’s walk from Castle Harvell. When they brought us here dawn was just breaking. I caught a glimpse of the battlements.”

  “So we are in the town?”

  “No, from what I could tell, we’re in some kind of underground chamber. One minute we were walking in the forest, the next we were being led down a tunnel, horses and all. You were asleep the whole time. You’ve slept a lot these past days.”

  Jack paused for a second, took a deep breath, and then asked the question that had been on his mind for some time now. “Who are you, Melli?” His hazel eyes challenged her. “And what are you running away from?” Too late he realized he had laid himself open to interrogation.

  “I might ask you the same question, Jack. What possible interest could a band of mercenaries have with you?” Melli spoke in the manner, and with the confidence, of a great lady. It was obvious to him that she was a noblewoman, used to giving orders and taking charge.

  “I am, or rather was, a baker’s boy at the castle. I did something that I shouldn’t have and ran away to escape the consequences.” Jack hung his head low, it was better that she thought him a thief.

  “I too ran away from the castle.” Melli’s voice was surprisingly gentle. He looked up and saw that she was idling with the fabric of her dress. “I ran away because my father wanted me to marry someone whom I could not bear the thought of.”

  “So these men are in the pay of your father?”

  “No, my father would never stoop to hiring mercenaries.” There was more than a hint of pride in her voice. She spun around at him. “You must know who these men are paid by?” Before Jack could think of what answer to give, the door opened and in walked Baralis.

  “I think you have your answer, my dear,” he said in his low, alluring voice. Jack glanced toward Melli; she was managing to conceal her surprise well.

  “Lord Baralis.” She spoke graciously, inclining her head. “I trust you are here to see to my release.” Jack could detect an edge of anxiety to her confident tone.

  “If you would be so kind as to follow me, my lady, I will show you to more comfortable surroundings.” Baralis made a slight gesture, indicating the sparse cell. Jack caught sight of the lord’s hands. They had always been gnarled and twisted, but now they were horribly scarred. Baralis caught his glance; their eyes met. Jack felt fear as he looked into the cold, gray eyes. He looked away, unable to hold the gaze any longer.

  Baralis turned his attention back to Melli. “Follow me.”

  “And what if I refuse?” Her head was high and her manner imperious.

  “You have little choice, my lady.” Baralis beckoned and two armed guards appeared, their swords drawn. Jack watched as Melli struggled to keep her composure.

  “It appears you leave me no choice, Lord Baralis.” Jack could not help but admire her calm aloofness. “I trust you will allow my man to accompany me.” Jack did not know whether to be insulted at being called her servant or pleased that she had thought to include him.

  “That unfortunately, my dear, is out of the question. Your man—” Baralis left a slight pause indicating to Melli that while he was aware of her lie, he was too much of a gentleman to contradict her “—will have to stay here. Now, please, come this way.”

  Melli stepped out of the room, flashing Jack one last look. Baralis waited until Melli was out of sight before turning to Jack, his voice no longer alluring. “I will speak with you later.”

  Melli’s sharp ears picked up what Baralis said to Jack and she realized that her companion had not told her the whole truth. The king’s chancellor would not be interested in talking to a castle thief or minor criminal. There was more to the baker’s boy than met the eye.

  Baralis led her down a long, stone corridor and Melli felt the chill dampness of being underground. Along the route she spied a pale, translucent moss clinging to the stone walls. On impulse she reached out to touch it.

  “Don’t do that,” Baralis cautioned. She stopped, frightened by the warning in his voice. “One never knows with such growths, my lady, how deadly they might turn out to be.” Melli drew her hand back. Baralis turned and continued walking.

  After a while his course veered off to the right and he stopped beside a heavy, wooden door. Melli watched dispassionately as Baralis struggled to draw back the bolt with his crooked hands. Something about the sight of his disfigurement stirred up a wisp of memory—a memory from long ago in her childhood. She struggled for the recollection, but it eluded her.

  Baralis pushed the door open, and he and Melli entered the chamber. It was brightly lit with many candles and surprisingly warm. There were rugs on the floor and a scattering of tables and chairs.

  “I trust you will find this to your liking. My servant Crope brought these things from the castle. They are not much, I am afraid.” Melli was aware that Baralis was playing the room down; he had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to provide her with comfort.

  “I have also taken the liberty of having some food prepared for you.” He indicated a low table where a tray of cold food was laid out. Melli’s heart warmed at the sight. There was roast fowl, veal sausage, plover eggs, hearty red cheese, a round loaf, and a selection of hothouse fruits. She looked quickly away, determined to hide her keen interest in the food from her captor.

  “It will do for now,” she said icily, hoping he would leave her soon so that she could eat.

  “You will probably wish for a bath and a change of clothes. I will arrange to have them brought to you.” Baralis moved to leave, but Melli halted him.

  “Why have you brought me here?” she demanded. Baralis paused for a moment, considering whether or not to answer. He looked at her and took a thin breath.

  “Let me say this, my dear. We have a mutual interest.”

  Something in his voice struck a chord within Melli and his motives became clear to her. “You mean, Lord Baralis, that you do not wish me to marry Prince Kylock either?”

  “You are indeed a bright girl, Melliandra.” He smiled faintly. “So much brighter than your father.” He issued the slightest of bows and then withdrew from the room. Melli heard the scrape of metal as the bolt was drawn on the other side.

  She rushed over to the food, her mind racing. It was all falling into place. Baralis hated her father; he would not want Lord Maybor to be father-in-law of the future king and grandfather to a future heir. So he had captured her before her father could. She wondered what Baralis’ plans for her were—she could not believe that he would harm her. He surely would not have provided her with such an agreeable chamber if he intended to kill her. Melli decided she would think on the subject no longer. The food looked too tempting and she did not care to ruin her appetite with apprehension.

  She settled down upon a small footstool and poured herself a glass of light, red wine. Out of habit she reached for the water jug to dilute the wine—then stopped herself, deciding that she would take her wine whole. The customs of the fine ladies of court seemed trivial to her now. She raised the wine to her lips and drank deeply. It felt good to be flouting customs. Her eyes alighted on the delicate silver paring knife that had been so thoughtfully provided for her. She disregarded it and tore at the roast fowl with her bare hands, neatly twisting a drumstick off with a pleasant snapping of bone.

  Baralis rubbed his hands together, massaging muscle and sinew. Since Winter’s Eve he had been unable to open them completely; his fingers curled in toward his palms. Every day he rubbed therapeutic oils into the red, shiny flesh, h
oping that their condition would improve and he would regain some flexibility. He was finding it more and more difficult to perform simple tasks: the mixing of compounds, the writing of letters, the drawing of a bolt.

  Baralis turned from the door and walked a few steps down the passageway. Facing the blank stone, he brushed his thumb against a section of the wall. The wall slid noiselessly back. Crope stood up guiltily as he entered, his face reddening. Baralis looked to see the cause of his guilt. The dimwit had been petting a small rodent.

  “Crope, I have told you before not to take my creatures from their cages; they are not pets to be stroked and fondled.” It was his servant’s responsibility to feed the animals that he kept for his various purposes. Crope, however, tended to get attached to the unfortunate creatures.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” he muttered. “I’ll take it back to the castle right away, see that it’s locked up tight.”

  “The creature is of little importance to me now, you lumbering simpleton. I want you to heat up some water and bring it to our guest. Take those to her also.” Baralis indicated a small heap of clothes and linens.

  “Very well, master.” Crope moved to leave, gathering up the delicate fabrics in his huge arms.

  “One more thing, Crope.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I do not wish to be disturbed for the rest of the day. Go back to my chambers and make yourself useful there once you have finished your task.” Crope nodded. “And take that wretched rodent with you. I have no mind to sit here in the company of a large rat!” Baralis watched with growing impatience as Crope struggled to catch the creature while holding on to the linens. Finally his servant pocketed the sickly looking rodent. Baralis made a quick mental note of the state of the creature—the particular poison he’d been trying out on it obviously worked more slowly than he thought. He’d expected the animal to be already dead.

  Once Crope had left, Baralis’ attentions quickly turned to other matters. He was due to have an audience with the queen in the morning to deliver the new batch of the medicine for the king. He hoped that during the meeting he would be able to find out what progress the Royal Guard had made tracking the girl. It was important that they did not follow her trail back to him.

  Baralis’ thoughts lingered over the girl: such a tempting young morsel. True, she was a little worse for wear than when she had first run away, but he only found that more appealing. Perfection held little interest for Baralis. He had not decided what to do with her yet. There was no rush; her presence here could not be detected. The haven, as he liked to call it, was known to no one, although there was a tunnel running from it to the castle. Baralis surmised it had been built hundreds of years back as an escape route in times of siege and, like so many other things, had long been forgotten.

  Baralis allowed himself to feel a little smug. Events were moving in his favor once more. Not only had his mercenaries found Maybor’s daughter, they had also found the boy. Of course, the treacherous ingrates had insisted on a bonus for finding him. He decided he would let Jack sweat for a few days before he questioned him concerning the incident with the loaves. Two or three days left alone in a dark cell with only crust and water would serve to make the boy more compliant.

  Baralis moved toward a faded tapestry on the far wall. He pushed the moth-eaten fabric aside. His gnarled hand resting upon the cool stone, he found what he was looking for—a small gap the size of a thumbnail chiseled out of the stone. Baralis leaned forward and pressed his face to the wall.

  He could see every detail of Melli’s chamber. He smiled to see the girl was heartily gulping down her food, biting lustily on a large sausage and swilling wine down her slender throat. The girl obviously had a piece of food stuck between her teeth, as she picked at it unashamedly with a thin pheasant bone. Having loosened the persistent morsel, she spat it out with gusto and then downed more wine.

  Baralis could clearly hear the knock that drew her attention. He heard her bid enter, and watched as Crope lumbered into the room carrying a huge pail of boiling water. It amused Baralis to see the fear and revulsion in Melli’s face as his servant crossed the room. With delight, he noticed her eyes alight on the open door, assessing her chance of escape as Crope filled the wooden tub with hot water. The girl casually stood up and inched toward the door. Crope turned around, his hands grasping the pail of hot water.

  “I wouldn’t do that, miss,” he said so softly that Baralis had to strain to hear the words. Maybor’s daughter was clearly surprised at his servant’s gentle voice. She sat down again. Crope finished filling the tub. “Be careful, miss,” he warned. “Be sure to put plenty of cold in before you take your bath. This water could scald the skin off your back.” He left the room and returned seconds later with the clothes and linens. He placed them with great care on the bed. The servant then took his leave of the girl, bowing awkwardly.

  Baralis watched as the girl looked over the clothes that had been brought; he could see her pleasure in what had been selected. Judging by the tatty red dress she was currently wearing, she had not known the pleasure of fine clothes for some time.

  The girl crossed the room and tested the bath water, then quickly withdrew her finger. Satisfied that Crope had spoken the truth, she poured the contents of the cold pail into the bath. Baralis wetted his lips as the girl began to unlace her dress. He had seen many women disrobe in his time, but it was always more interesting when the person in question did not know she was being observed. A woman with a lover will preen and strut, holding in her stomach and thrusting out her chest. A woman alone has no need of such show; she will slouch and scratch and fart.

  Melli quickly took off her skirt followed by her bodice. Baralis admired her high, white breasts. She turned to her bath and Baralis took a sharp intake of breath. On her back were six deep, red welts. They were obviously only a few days old, for dried blood was caked around two of them. What is this, he wondered? The mercenaries never mentioned a beating. Baralis could not tear his eyes from the sight; such perfection, such beautiful, creamy skin, such fine legs and buttocks, all thrown into magnificent relief by the presence of the vicious, red scars. Instead of detracting from her beauty they seemed, by their very hideousness, to magnify it. Baralis felt a stirring in his loins.

  Melli gathered the soap, brush, and linen swab that she needed for her bath and gingerly lowered herself into the water. She soaked for a while, her head barely above water. Baralis looked on as she began to lather up her brush, she scrubbed her feet and her legs with the brush and then swapped to the cloth rag to clean her more tender areas. She then began to rub her back with the soapy cloth; she winced as it touched the welts. The girl put down the cloth and carefully felt the wounds on her back. She looked afraid of what she felt there. She stood up from the bath, water running in rivulets down her slender frame, and stepped out. She glanced quickly around the room. Baralis could guess what she was searching for: a looking glass. He was pleased that he had thought to provide her with one.

  She rushed over to the mirror, her body scattering droplets of water onto the fine rug. She placed her back to the mirror and twisted her head and neck around so that she could see the cause of her distress. Baralis watched the girl’s frightened face crumble into tears at the sight of her scarred back. She fell onto the floor, sobbing quietly.

  Baralis moved away from the stone. He had seen enough for the time being. The sight of the girl crying had left him unmoved. He carefully replaced the tapestry and sat down in a comfortable chair, pouring himself a glass of wine.

  He turned his attention to other matters, calculating if his letter to Bringe would have been delivered by now. He was anxious to go ahead with his plan to mutilate Maybor’s orchards. Bringe, Baralis mused, was just the sort of man he liked—a greedy one.

  Sixteen

  Tavalisk was down in the palace wine cellar testing the various vintages. “I will try a cup of this one,” he said to the young boy who was shadowing him.

  “If Y
our Eminence pleases, I am not allowed to touch the barrels. I will call for the master cellarer.”

  “You will do no such thing, boy, I cannot bear the sight of that sanctimonious toad. He knows nothing about wine.” Tavalisk smiled pleasantly. “Come boy, a glass of the red.” The boy reluctantly tapped the barrel, filled a cup, and handed it to the archbishop. “See, boy,” he said, “you have already pleased me more than the cellarer ever did. He only pours me a mere quarter cup when I’m tasting.” Tavalisk held the liquor up to the lamplight, admiring its rich color. A flicker of annoyance crossed his brow as he saw Gamil walking up to him.

  “If Your Eminence would be so good as to forgive this intrusion?”

  “What now, Gamil?” The archbishop swirled the wine around the glass.

  “I have news for Your Eminence.” Gamil eyed the young boy.

  “There is no need for me to dismiss this young man, Gamil. I’m sure he can be trusted, and besides, he is being most helpful to me.” Tavalisk favored the boy with another smile.

  “I have delicate matters to speak of,” persisted Gamil.

  “Do not contradict me!” The archbishop’s voice was icy cold. He turned to the boy, who was now red-faced, and said sweetly, “Fetch me a glass of the Marls white.” The boy rushed off to another barrel. “Now, Gamil, tell me your news.”

  “Well, Your Eminence, I have confirmed that there was a fire at Castle Harvell the night of Winter’s Eve—the same night you felt the drawing. I have heard reports of strange things happening at the time the fire started.”

  “Let me guess, Gamil. Metal objects warm to the touch? A wave of heat and force?” The boy had returned with another cup of wine and Tavalisk took a mouthful.

  “Yes, Your Eminence.” The archbishop savored the wine then spat it it out.

  “Sorcery follows the same rules, whoever the practioner. It takes a strong aftermath to warm metals, though. Sounds to me like Baralis acted out of desperation, not cunning. He was trained at Leiss and should know the dangers of using such an indiscreet amount of force.”