The Baker's Boy

by J. V. Jones

  She'd been in the woods for ten days now and was surprised at how quickly she had adapted to the ways of the forest. She, Lady Melliandra of the Four Kingdoms, had actually enjoyed sleeping under the stars and drinking water from bubbling streams.

  Melli was both excited and anxious about leaving the woods. The forest had in some ways protected her from the worries of the outside world. Things were simple for her: she walked, she ate, she slept. Now there would be other things to deal with: people and money and shelter. She had been lucky with the weather; although chill, it had not snowed, and the thick forest was a natural barrier to the wind. Melli knew snow would come soon, and she realized she would need warmer clothes when it did.

  If only her purse had not been stolen! She could have bought a saddle and hastened her journey. As she was now, without her valuables, she did not know what she would do when her food ran out. There was always her horse, but she suspected she would only get a silver or two for him. Besides, she didn't like the idea of parting with him.

  As she walked in the bright cold morning, Melli began to notice signs of human habitation: smoke spiraling upward in the distance, a patch of grass grazed short, a cleared ditch.

  She quickened her pace, and the forest began to give way to open land. A farmhouse appeared on the rise, and then another one. Melli spotted a dirt track and led her horse onto it.

  By afternoon she had approached a small village. It boasted a tavern but no smithy. Melli's appearance garnered much attention from the village people: the women looked at her with mistrust and the men with speculation. It was apparent to her that she must present a strange sight to the hostile villagers. She still wore her sack over her dress, and instead of a cloak she wore a blanket. She thought her face was clean, for she splashed it with water when she could, but she suspected her hair was a wild tangle.

  Noticing the inimical stares, she decided the village would not be a good place to stop. As she passed the last of the buildings, a woman's voice rang out, clear and shrill,

  "Good riddance to you. We don't want your sort here. Go to Duvitt-that's where your kind belong." Melli could hardly believe she was being addressed in such a way. All her life she had been spoken to with courtesy and respect. The cruel tone of the woman's voice caused her more distress than all the days she had been alone in the forest. Determined to be dignified, she did not look back, and she and her horse walked away from the village.

  Melli walked through the afternoon, and the road she traveled became wider and better maintained. Eventually, as it began to grow dark, Melli saw in the distance the lights of a town. Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, she took off the woven sack and smoothed her hair as best she could. Sometime later, she entered the town of Duvitt.

  Duvitt was enjoying a time of great prosperity. Situated between Harvell and the River Nestor it was in an ideal locale to exploit the war between the Four Kingdoms and Halcus. The past five years had seen a substantial increase in business, as the town catered to the hundreds of soldiers that passed through each week. Although Duvitt was firmly in Four Kingdoms' territory, the enterprising business owners were not above catering to the needs of the Halcus. And so Duvitt had become an unofficial neutral zone, where a weary soldier in any colors could find lodgings and a cup of cool, albeit rather expensive, ale.

  There were of course drawbacks to this arrangement; drunken soldiers find it hard to remain neutral for long, and so there were many violent brawls. Minor property damage and a few dead men were considered a small price to pay for prosperity. The town now boasted more taverns than anywhere else in the Four Kingdoms, and many a tavern owner, in the privacy of his bed at night, prayed that the war would continue indefinitely.

  Melli approached the town warily. There were many people in the streets, none of whom gave her more than a second look. She had little idea of what she was going to do. She would perhaps try to trade the few pots and pans Master Trout had included in her purchase. Duvitt seemed bigger to her than Harvell; it was certainly busier. She noticed that many of the people on the streets were soldiers, and this she took as a sign that she had not gone too far off track.

  She slowed down, looking for a safe place to leave her horse, wishing that she'd had the sense to tie him to a remote tree or bush before she'd entered the town. Melli decided to risk tying her horse to a wooden fence in plain view of many people, hoping that no one would steal a horse so openly. She smiled a little at her own caution; her horse would hardly be a great prize for a thief.

  She hailed a young boy who was passing. "Can you tell me where I might be able to sell some items?"

  The boy was immediately interested. "What items?" he asked, feigning casualness.

  "Two tin cups and a plate and a copper pot."

  The boy's interest visibly waned. "You might try Master Huddle, two doors down." Melli was about to thank the boy, but he was off, looking for more profitable prospects.

  She duly followed his advice and entered a small, dirtylooking shop crammed with all manner of wares. The shopkeeper looked at her as she entered, took in the poor condition of her clothes and then ostentatiously ignored her, turning his attention back to his other customer.

  "Yes, Mistress Greal, I'll try and have your boots mended by this time tomorrow."

  "See that you do, sir. And I want a good job, mind, no half stitches."

  "I will personally ensure that my boy does full stitches."

  "Very well. Good night, sir." The woman turned around and was about to leave when she caught sight of Melli. Her eyes narrowed and she looked Melli up and down. She watched as Melli approached the shopkeeper.

  "What d'you want, girl?" demanded the man in an entirely different tone than the one he had just been using.

  "I would sell some items," said Melli with dignity. "What've you got?"

  "Two tin cups and a plate and a copper pot."

  "Not interested, girl. Now get out of here!" Melli's face flushed with anger and embarrassment. She stormed out of the shop and was about to head for her horse when she felt a tap on her arm. She swung around and saw it was the woman customer who had stopped her.

  "What's the rush, deary?" said the woman. "Got no money, no place to stay?" Melli did not reply, and the woman continued, "I can see you're a pretty girl under all that dirt." Melli blushed further and tried to move around the woman, who was now blocking her path. The woman stepped ahead of her and spoke once more. "I'll give you hot food and a bed for the night."

  "Why would you do that?" replied Melli, suspicious of the woman's intentions.

  For the briefest instant, a look of cunning passed over the woman's face. "I have need of some pots and pans, of course."

  Melli did not believe the woman, but the sound of hot food and a bed was very tempting to her. "Is there somewhere to stable my horse?"

  "There most certainly is, my pretty. Follow me. I'll have a boy see to your horse."

  Melli followed the woman to a large tavern. Seeing Melli's puzzled look the woman said, "Oh, I have my rooms upstairs. You'll be staying there with me." Melli was forced to walk through the tavern to reach the stairs at the back. As they passed one man, he shouted to her companion: "Mistress Greal, I see you have a new girl." Mistress Greal did not look very happy at this outburst and hurried her along. Melli wondered what the man had meant by his comment, however she soon forgot about it when Mistress Greal showed her to her room.

  "This will be yours, deary. I'll see about some food and hot water for a bath." With that she was gone. Melli looked around the small room-it contained a bed, a chest of drawers, and a washstand. The room made Melli feel a little caged in at first, for she had become used to the vast forest as her bedroom.

  She started to feel better when Mistress Greal returned carrying a huge tray full of delicious smelling food. There was hot game pie, thick leek soup, a wedge of crumbly white cheese, and crusty bread lavished with butter. To her delight Mistress Greal left her to dine alone, and so she felt free to eat as muc
h as she liked as fast as she liked. When she had eaten her fill, she wrapped the leftovers of pie and cheese in a piece of cloth and tucked them away with her other possessions. Then, as an afterthought, she rummaged in her blanket and found the cups and pot that formed her half of the bargain. She placed them on the chest of drawers: no one would say she did not pay her debts.

  Melli drained the last of the tall mug of cider that Mistress Greal had provided with the meal. As a lady of court, she had only been permitted to drink watered wine, and the strong and heady cider of the region went straight to her head. She lay on the bed, noting that it was rather lumpy, and fell fast asleep.

  Lord Maybor was not at all happy about what he had to do. He had asked the queen for an audience and she had granted him one. Ten days had passed since the betrothal was agreed upon, and now it seemed it was more unlikely to happen than ever. He paced his room. Damn Melliandra. The girl had made a mockery of his plans, and now he was forced into telling a dangerous lie to the queen.

  He regarded his reflection in his shattered mirror. He did not feel his usual satisfaction at the sight of himself in fine robes. Nothing was going right-even the assassin was slow in slitting Baralis' treacherous throat. Scarl had been much faster the last time he'd commissioned his services. Lord Glayvin was seen to within three days.

  Reluctantly Maybor proceeded to the meeting chamber, knocked on the door, and was bidden enter.

  The queen held out the royal hand for him to kiss, a warm smile gracing her lips. "Lord Maybor. I take it you are here to discuss the details of the betrothal?"

  "I am, Your Highness. But I fear there may be a delay."

  "Delay." Gone were the queen's pleasing tones. "What delay? I had hoped to announce the betrothal on Winter's Eve festival. It was to be a double celebration-the king's improved health and the announcement of the betrothal to the court. And now you speak to me of delay. I can brook no delay, Lord Maybor."

  Maybor could understand the queen's nervousness; just last week news had come from Bren of the duke's advancement. This year alone he'd already conquered three towns to the southeast of the city. The man would soon style himself a king. "Your Highness, my daughter is not well." Maybor inwardly cursed his daughter once more.

  "That is no problem. The marriage will not take place until spring. The betrothal ceremony is a brief one. Surely your daughter could make an effort to attend."

  "Your Highness, Melliandra cannot leave her bed. She has a bad fever and is most seriously ill." Maybor watched as the queen's face became grave.

  "Maybor, has she the pox? I can not risk marrying Kylock to a girl who has had the pox." It was well known the pox caused disfigurement and impotence.

  "No, Your Highness, it is but a wet fever. She will be well in a few days. That is all I ask for: ten days."

  "Ten days is more than a few, Lord Maybor." The queen paced the room. "Very well, I will delay it."

  Maybor breathed a sigh of relief. "I have heard that the king's health has much improved, ma'am."

  "Yes, Lord Baralis has made a medicine that seems to help him a little." Maybor grew cold. What mischief was Baralis up to now-trying to ingratiate himself with the queen?

  "You may leave now, Lord Maybor. I trust I will see you at the Winter's Eve festival."

  As Maybor made his way back to his chamber, he decided he would meet with the assassin on the morrow and order him to make haste with his task. Baralis was up to no good.

  Chapter Eight

  Tawl was shaken awake. As he came to, someone splashed icy cold water on his face. "Come on, my friend, wake up." Tawl opened his eyes.

  "Look, he's awake now. Leave off. The Old Man won't like it if you treat him too rough, Clem." Tawl was now being slapped hard on his cheeks.

  "I don't think he's quite awake enough, Moth." Tawl felt another sharp blow.

  "Clem, his eyes are open. Leave off." Tawl looked around. He was in a small dark room with two men looming over him. His hands were tied behind his back.

  "Head hurtin' a bit?" The smaller of the two was speak ing. "Sorry about that. Clem gets a bit carried away, if you know what I mean. Don't you, Clem?" The one called Clem nodded. The other man continued, "Nothing personal. The Old Man says bring him in, and we bring him in. Is that right, Clem?" Clem nodded once more. "Course, you'll have a few beauties on your head, but you know what Clem says?"

  "What do I say, Moth?" asked Clem.

  "You say, better a lump on your head than a lump in your bed. That's what you say."

  "That's what I say, Moth," repeated Clem.

  "Here, we'd better get a move on, can't keep the 0 Man waiting. Will you do the honors, Clem?" The one called Clem produced a huge and deadly-looking knife and cut the rope that tied Tawl's wrists together.

  "Clem's sorry if he tied you up a bit tight. Aren't you, Clem?" Clem obediently nodded. "He's also sorry that he's going to have to 'fold you. Aren't you, Clem?" Tawl never got to see Clem's nod this time, as a thick black cloth was pulled over his eyes. He felt his arm being taken and he was guided out of the room.

  "You look a bit stiff, friend. Don't worry, Clem won't lead you off a cliff. Will you, Clem?"

  Tawl was guided down some stairs and on a journey through somewhere that smelled strongly of human excrement. "Never mind the smell, friend. It won't do you any harm. Clem's spent his whole life down here and it didn't hurt him. Did it, Clem?"

  "No, Moth. Should we go the usual route, or the fancy one?"

  "I think the fancy one, don't you, Clem? I feel like a bit of sea air." Tawl was guided up some stairs and then into the sunlight. He immediately felt salty sea breezes.

  "Weather's right nice today ain't it, Moth?"

  "You've never spoken a truer word, Clem. Beautiful, balmy breezes for so late in the season."

  "You should've been a minstrel, Moth."

  "Alas, Clem, if a life of crime hadn't called, I might have been."

  "It's minstreling's loss, Moth."

  Tawl was led down another set of steps and the reek of the sewer returned stronger than ever. After a while their route led upward and the odor became less pervasive. He was then guided through a confusion of twists and turns and was finally brought to a standstill. The scent of fresh flowers assailed his senses.

  "The Old Man likes things to smell sweet. Don't he, Clem? Could you stay with my friend a minute while I tell the Old Man we're here?"

  "Should I take the 'fold off him, Moth?"

  "Best wait until the Old Man gives the nod, Clem." Tawl and Clem waited in silence for a few minutes until Moth returned.

  "Take the 'fold off now, Clem, if you would." Tawl blinked from the light. "Old Man says step inside." Tawl was pushed gently through a door.

  He found himself in a room filled with flowers-a small, old man was sitting by a bright fire.

  "Come in, young man. Would you like a cup of nettle tea?" The Old Man didn't wait for a reply. "Of course you would, eh. Nothing like nettle tea for a swelling of the head. Everyone I bring in swears by it. Of course, to my mind, the best thing to cure anything is the laces, but you know all about that, young man, don't you?" The Old Man gave Tawl a shrewd look. Tawl decided his best policy was silence. He watched as the Old Man poured him a cup of greenishlooking tea and handed it to him.

  Tawl made no motion to drink the tea. "Come, come, young man, you'll regret not taking the tea when those lumps swell to the size of your balls." Tawl reluctantly took the cup of unpleasant-looking liquid. "Sit down, Tawl. You don't mind if I- call you by your name, do you? When you get to my age there's no time for formalities. I might drop dead at any second." Tawl secretly thought that he had never seen a healthier looking old man.

  "Of course, I'm sorry about the way you were brought in, but I find it's the best method in the long run. No awkward questions, no unpleasantries. I'm sure you understand."

  There was a. soft knock on the door and Moth stepped into the room.

  "Sorry to interrupt you, Old Man, but Noad's j
ust told me there's been a bit of trouble with Purtilan."

  "You know what to do then, Moth." Moth nodded his head gravely and was about to leave when the Old Man spoke again. "Make it unpleasant, Moth. You and Clem do one of your specials. There's been far too much trouble in the Market District of late."

  Moth left and the Old Man continued, "You are a man who attracts interest in high places. Do you know that the archbishop of Rorn is having you followed?" The Old Man did not wait for Tawl to answer. "Now whenever the venerable archbishop is interested in a person, I'm interested in that person, too. Especially when that person and I have a mutual friend." The Old Man was looking rather smug. "Bevlin, the wiseman, is an old, old friend of mine."

  Tawl finally decided to speak. "And what if I have never heard of this Bevlin whom you speak of?"

  "You disappoint me, Tawl. I would expect nothing but the truth from a knight of Valdis." The Old Man crossed the room and chose an orange-colored chrysanthemum from one of the many vases. He drew it to his nose and inhaled deeply. "When you were captured by Tavalisk's cronies, they found a skin of laces on you. Now, I have a few resources myself and I managed to obtain that skin. As I suspected, it had Bevlin's mark upon it."

  "Why did you think he gave it to you? Let me explain. Bevlin is no fool; he knew that the laces skin was marked, and he hoped that his mark might at some time prove useful to you. He has many friends who would aid his causes. Unfortunately, Tavalisk also saw the mark, and that is why you spent a year in one of his dungeons." The old man replaced the flower in the vase, careful to maintain the arrangement.

  "Now, I would help you. I owe many debts to Bevlin and I would pay one back."

  Tawl considered all the Old Man had said, he made a decision and then spoke. "I need a fast ship to take me to Larn." The Old Man's sharp gaze did not falter. "So be it. I will arrange it for you. Is there anything more?"