The Baker's Boy

by J. V. Jones

  "That is not my problem. I want him dead, and I want it done soon."

  "You will not have to wait much longer, Lord Maybor. It is my intention to make my move soon."

  "How soon?" pressured Maybor.

  "Lord Maybor, I will not tell you the details. It is better that you do not know when and where. Let it come as a surprise-you will be better able to act your part that way."

  Maybor knew that what the assassin said made sense. "Very well, so be it. I must have your word that it will be done soon though."

  "You have it, Lord Maybor." The assassin was about to withdraw when a question occurred to Maybor.

  "What have you found out about Baralis? Surely you must have seen some interesting things by following him around."

  The assassin appeared to hesitate for a moment before speaking. "I have found out little about the man's secrets, he barely leaves his rooms."

  Maybor suspected that the assassin was holding something back from him. He decided to press no further until the job was done; he could not risk aggravating the assassin before then. Once it was completed was another matter. In fact, once the deed was done, he might even arrange for Scarl himself to have an accident. Maybor dearly loved his apple orchards and was loathe to part with thirty acres of them. These thoughts cheered his spirits considerably.

  "Very well, Scarl. I trust you will do as you say."

  Scarl gave him a brief guarded look and said, "I will do my job, have no fear, Lord Maybor." With that, he withdrew leaving Maybor to the stench of the middens.

  Maybor watched as the assassin walked away. He did not trust him; after all, what was he but a hired murderer? He would do his job, Maybor was sure of that. Once he had done it, however, he might find himself a victim of an assassin's knife.

  Maybor waited a while and wondered how long it would be before his daughter was found. Twelve days now had passed since she bolted. He knew she would be alive and well: the girl had spirit and initiative-after all she was his daughter. Now he had his men riding into all the towns and villages that bordered on the great forest in case Melliandra turned up in one of them. He had even spread a discreet word about rewards that could be received, if information leading to his daughter's recovery was given. There was a risk with doing so, but he was running out of time. He was forced to take broader measures: he had to find Melliandra. She would be betrothed! He would be father to a queen.

  Melli awoke and immediately felt sick. She hurried to the washstand, where she threw up, retching violently. She felt awful. She returned to sit on the bed, as she was feeling a little faint, and tried to think what to do next. She did not trust Mistress Greal. She would retrieve her horse and move on. Unfortunately, she was feeling so weak that the last thing she felt like was walking all day.

  There was the briefest of knocks on her door and Mistress Greal sailed in. "My, my. What's happened to you?" She saw the mess in the washstand. "Oh, I see, not used to cider, eh? Well never mind, you'll live. A jug of cider's never killed anyone, save old Ma Crutly-she got hit over the head with one." The woman busied herself tidying the room.

  "I thank you for your hospitality, but I will be on my way today. I have left the pots we agreed upon on top of the chest. I trust you will be happy with the payment." Melli indicated the plate and pots.

  Mistress Greal's already small eyes narrowed further. "You don't look to be in any state to be off, deary. You'd best stay another day. Relax and have a nice bath. I drew one for you last night, but when I came to ready you, you were fast asleep."

  The sound of a hot bath and a day relaxing was far too tempting, and Melli relented. "Very well, Mistress Greal, I will stay another day. But I warn you, I have nothing else to pay you."

  "Don't worry about that, deary, that's nothing to me. I just want to help a fellow woman on her way. Now, I'll have a nice breakfast sent up and arrange to have another bath drawn. I also took the liberty of seeing about a new dress. You can't go having a nice bath and then put on those filthy clothes, can you?" The woman regarded Melli's dirty and disheveled clothes with distaste, making Melli feel ashamed. "You are too good to me, Mistress Greal. But if you could just have my clothes cleaned, I would not trouble you for new ones."

  "Nonsense, that dress is badly tom. Besides, the clothes won't be new. They're very pretty, though-show you off to your best advantage." Mistress Greal left the room, and Melli had no chance to ask what she meant by showing her off to her best advantage. Melli had no desire to be shown off.

  Her attentions were diverted by the arrival of a hot and delicious breakfast: crisp bacon, poached egg, grilled mushrooms, and plenty of bread and butter. She tucked in heartily.

  Whatever Mistress Greal's motives, Melli thanked her for providing such delicious food.

  After she had eaten, a sallow-faced girl appeared and led Melli to a small room that contained a round, wooden bath. The water was steaming hot and Melli soaked for a long time, soothing the aches of her body. After a while she permitted the girl to scrub her back and wash her hair. She dried herself on a woolen towel: it felt so good to be clean. She looked at the bathwater and was horrified to see it was a murky brown color. She had obviously been a lot dirtier than she had thought.

  Once dry, the girl handed Melli a deep, crimson-colored dress. It was not to Melli's taste, but as her own dress had been taken away, she was forced to put it on. The bodice was cut low and exposed much of Melli's breast. The girl then pulled the lacing so tight that Melli could hardly breathe, and her breasts were pushed up high toward her chin. There was no mirror so she could not see what she looked like, but she suspected she must look rather improper, not at all like a lady of the court. She asked the girl to loosen the lacings a little, but the girl refused.

  "That's the way Mistress Greal likes 'em," she said.

  A few moments later, as the girl was dressing her hair, Mistress Greal herself walked in. She seemed pleased at what she saw. She walked around Melli, making approving, clucking sounds. She finally spoke. "My, my. Who would have guessed you would have turned out so well? Of course, I have got a good eye for beauty, but I can see I've surpassed myself this time." She then spoke to the girl, "Keddi, leave her hair down. Such fine hair, it's a waste to tie it up." The girl obediently took the pins from Melli's hair. Mistress Greal came toward Melli and smoothed her hand over Melli's face and bosom.

  "My, my, you are a pretty one." She noticed Melli's distaste at being touched. "No need to be coy, girl. I would have thought such a pretty posy as you would be well used to being admired."

  "Please, Mistress Greal, I find this all rather embarrassing. If you could ask your maid to hurry washing my dress, I would be most gratified. I fear that this one is not to my taste." Mistress Greal's expression turned cold as Melli spoke.

  "Nonsense, this dress suits you fine. You should be grateful! That dirty thing you wore is not a patch on this one for quality." Melli had to bite her lip. Torn and dirty though her dress was, it was made from the finest lambswool and was by far the better quality of the two. However, Melli knew better than to speak of such things. She did not want Mistress Greal to know of her former position as a lady of the court.

  Mistress Greal seemed to regret her sharp words, and when she spoke again it was in a more beguiling tone. "Perhaps you would care to join me for a sup of ale in the tavern?" Melli most definitely did not wish to do so.

  "I would prefer to spend the day in my room. Of course, I would like to check on my horse first."

  "There's no need to check on the horse," said the woman quickly. "It is well looked after, my boy has seen to that." Melli began to feel decidedly uneasy. She did not press the point further, but resolved to go and check on her horse later anyway.

  "Why don't you join me for a sup? It would be a shame to waste such a pretty dress. Besides, you must be hungry and the tavern keeper does not serve midday meal in his private rooms." Mistress Greal shot a glance to the maid, warning her not to contradict what she said. Melli knew she was bein
g forced; she also knew she couldn't now refuse.

  "Very well, I will join you for a short while."

  Mistress Greal was most pleased. "Very good, very good. We shall have a nice time."

  She and Melli walked through the tavern and found a table at which to sit. The table was too public for Melli's liking, right in the center of the room. When Melli protested and asked to be seated somewhere more discreet, Mistress Greal spoke of the warmth from the fire and the fresh air from the door. To Melli the table appeared to be close to neither.

  Melli sat quietly and drank little of the ale. Mistress Greal appeared to know everyone in the tavern: she nodded and waved at all of the men. In fact, their little party seemed to be the focus of attention in the room. Melli hoped that no one who knew her from Castle Harvell was there. On a brief scan around the room, she saw no one familiar.

  After a little while, a man came up to them. He spoke to Mistress Greal, but his eyes were on Melli. "I wish you joy of the day, Mistress Greal," he said, his eyes lingering over Melli's exposed bosom.

  "Joy to you, Edrad," replied Mistress Greal, noting with approval where the man's eyes looked.

  "May I have the pleasure of being introduced to your lovely companion?"

  "Why, certainly, sir. This is Melli. Where did you say you were from my dear?"

  Melli had not said; she struggled to think of a suitable place. "I am from ... Deepwood."

  "Deepwood? Never heard of it. Where might that be?" asked the man.

  "It's far south of here."

  "It must be very far south if I have never heard of it," remarked Mistress Greal sharply.

  Melli was thinking of a polite way to excuse herself when the man spoke to her companion: "Mistress Greal, I wonder if I might have a word with you in private?" The woman agreed, and the two withdrew beyond Melli's hearing distance. She watched as the man asked something and the woman shook her head. The man then asked something else and this time Mistress Greal nodded. The man departed, with one last look toward Melli, and Mistress Greal returned to the table.

  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 an
d unable to feel its sting.

  Chapter 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."

  "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."