The Baker's Boy

by J. V. Jones

  "No, Lord Maybor." The queen spoke with harsh dignity. "Lord Baralis may have suggested it, but it is my decision. No one forced my hand."

  Maybor did not doubt the queen thought she spoke the truth, but he knew Baralis had a way of compelling people to do what he wanted by making them believe it was best for them. What insidious words of persuasion had he whispered in her ear?

  "I did not call you here for you to question my decision, Lord Maybor," reprimanded the queen mildly.

  Maybor had little desire to mince words. "What did you bring me here for? To secure my allegiance? My support? Maybe to try and buy them-with another jeweled bed, perhaps?"

  "Lord Maybor, I undertand your acrimony, but I think it best if you hear me out before making accusations." She looked at him levelly. "You were there when I announced that Baralis was to be envoy for Kylock in Bren." Maybor nodded and she continued. "I want you to be the second envoy. The Crown's envoy, representing myself and the king. I want you to travel to Bren and oversee the arrangements for the betrothal. I need not tell you I have little trust in Baralis. 1 would feel happier knowing that you were keeping an eye on him." The queen paused, allowing Maybor to take stock of the offer. He was careful to show no emotion. "Of course, as Crown's envoy your position in Bren would be superior to Lord Baralis'." A tiny smile graced the queen's pale lips.

  This was certainly unexpected, thought Maybor. The queen was turning out to be a most ingenious woman. In one simple offer she was seeking to retain his loyalty, monitor Baralis, and very probably have Baralis monitor him. It was tempting, though; to go to Bren, to be at the forefront of such a historic event and at the same time be a source of provocation and annoyance to Baralis-the man would detest his being in Bren and loathe his superior rank.

  The queen took his silence for misgiving. "Lord Maybor, I must stress the fact that I cannot let you represent the Crown in Bren unless you can assure me that you will not allow personal enmity to cloud your judgment. I am most anxious for this match to go through and will tolerate no attempts at interference."

  "Your Highness does me great honor with this proposal." Maybor spoke plaintively, hoping to ease the queen's doubts.

  "What do you say then, Maybor?" She dropped his title in an attempt at rakishness.

  "I will be pleased to serve as Crown's Envoy in Bren." He bowed slightly and the queen rushed over and kissed him affectionately on his cheek.

  "Good. I am glad you agreed." There was unmistakable relief on the queen's face; she had successfully brought him back into the fold. "Here," she said, handing him a small object. "Look upon the future queen of the Four Kingdoms." He took it from her. It was a miniature portrait showing a picture of a golden-haired girl. She was undeniably beautiful, but a little insipid when compared to his own daughter.

  He could not bring himself to praise the girl. "When do we set off for Bren?" he asked, handing the portrait back. "Within ten days. Baralis has already started making the arrangments."

  "It will be a hard journey. The weather is bad and there's the Halcus to attend to." Maybor's mind was already racing ahead. He would have the queen agree to allow him to take some of his own men with him. He would feel safer at night knowing loyal men were around him.

  "You will have an escort of five score Royal Guard."

  "I would feel happier if I could take a score of my own men."

  "Done!" The queen smiled widely, showing her small, white teeth. She moved over to a low table where a flagon of wine was waiting with two glasses. Had she been that sure of him? She saw Maybor comprehend the significance of the two glasses. "You cannot blame a woman for hoping," she said by way of an explanation as she poured the wine.

  She handed him a glass and took the other for herself.

  "To Bren," she said, raising the glass. "May it prove to be a most advantageous partner."

  "To Bren," echoed Maybor.

  Jack had not slept well since the incident at the hunting lodge, but over the past two nights things had gotten worse. He had been plagued by unsettling nightmares. They were unusually vivid. He had dreams of one man stabbing another in the moonlight. Even now, in daylight, with a pale sun glimmering, he shuddered to think of the images.

  They had been on the eastern road for many days. Jack was beginning to think that their pursuers had given up on them, for they had seen no signs of them in the past days and the only people that traveled the road were farmers, tinkers, and tradesmen. The road itself was now in better condition, packed snow lay firmly atop the mud, and Jack and Melli had taken to walking it now that the threat of pursuit had lessened. They still dived into the nearest ditch or bush whenever they heard a rider approaching, though.

  Jack decided that the snow was probably making them harder to track-their footsteps were covered over and if the men were using dogs it would be difficult for them to follow a scent buried beneath deep snow.

  Unfortunately the snow was making it increasingly difficult for them to find places to spend the night. They risked frostbite and exposure by sleeping on the ground under such conditions. Last night they'd sneaked into a dairy farmer's barn and slept amongst the cows and hay. Melli had awakened early and found the farmer's store of winter cheeses. The large, red wheels had looked incredibly tempting to them. Jack had not wanted to take any, but Melli had insisted, telling him that she was already a convicted horse thief and one round of cheese would make little difference. He could find no argument with that and consequently his pack was now heavier than it had been in some time.

  Yesterday they had passed close to a small village. They saw the turn-off and then later the smoke above the treetops. Jack had considered slipping into the town to buy some badly needed food, but Melli had pleaded with him not to go. She was afraid, but Jack suspected it wasn't for herself, but for him. He could understand why: she didn't want to risk another incident. What happened to the mercenaries had shocked Melli badly. Every now and then Jack would catch her looking at him, and there was wariness on her face.

  What must she think of him? Was she scared of him? He doubted that. Melli was not the type of girl to be afraid of a mere baker's boy. But he was more than that now; she knew it, and ever since the mercenaries' attack, she'd treated him differently. Almost with respect.

  The kind of respect he'd seen hunters use on trapped bears. Jack smiled. Is that what his powers had made of him-a dangerous animal? Still, he had to admit, it was rather nice to have Melli treat him with more regard. In fact, things weren't really that bad: he was off on an adventure to find a new life, perhaps learning something about his mother on the way, he was free from Master Frallit's temper tantrums, and there was a beautiful girl at his side.

  Jack laughed out loud: he sounded just like a hero from one of Baralis' books. Some men might even consider him lucky.

  Melli came running back at the sound of his laughter. She'd been fetching water from a stream. "What's the matter?"

  "I'll be the only hero who knows how to roll shortening." Melli appeared so worried that he might have lost his mind, he forced himself to stop laughing. "I'm all right. I was just considering how lucky I was."

  Melli gave him a withering look. "Next time you're considering yourself lucky, I'd appreciate it if you didn't do it so loudly. You made me spill the water." She peered into the flask, and smiling sweetly at him, she said, "At least it was only your portion that was lost."

  Brushing the snow from a fallen log, Melli sat down. "How far before we're in Halcus territory?" she asked, munching on a wedge of cheese.

  "The River Nestor is still about two days' walk, I think." Jack had little idea himself, but he was determined not to let Melli know that. "Once we cross that we'll have to watch out."

  "We're southeast of Harvell, aren't we?" Jack nodded. "Well, last I heard most of the fighting was in the northeast."

  "Your father has lands around here?" Everybody at court knew of Maybor's extensive land holdings.

  "It wouldn't surprise me, Jack, if we're walking
through his lands as we speak. Most people only think my father owns the land next to the river, and he did at one time, but he's been secretly buying up land in the east for years now. Not just apple orchards, either-forest, meadow, fields." Melli waved her arms expansively. Jack noted a touch of pride in her voice.

  "Your father's a very rich man."

  "The richest," she stated simply.

  "Do you regret leaving Harvell behind? You've lost so much. It's different for me-I never had anything to start with."

  Melli sighed deeply. "I don't know, Jack. I had much, if you mean fine gowns and fancy food; I had little, if you mean freedom. I couldn't even walk in the garden unchaperoned." She gave him a bittersweet smile. He decided it was time to ask her a question that had been on his mind for some time. "Who were you to be wed to?" He watched as Melli considered whether or not to answer the question.

  Finally after some time she said in a low voice, "Prince Kylock." She looked down, drawing circles in the snow with her fingers. "That's why Baralis wanted to capture me."

  "To force you to marry him?"

  "No." Melli shook her head and laughed. "To prevent me from marrying him." She saw Jack's confusion and explained further. "Baralis hates my father. He would do anything to stop him from getting nearer to the throne."

  "You could have been queen." Jack could hardly believe it. The dark-haired girl sitting next to him on the snowladen log looked anything but royal.

  "Well, I won't be now." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "And I can't say that I'm sorry. Kylock was not my idea of an ideal husband. Oh, he is handsome and clever and good with a sword, and doubtless some woman will find him irresistible. I always thought he was lacking in something." She thought for a moment. "Something basic like kindness or humanity. He was always perfectly polite but I felt as if . . ." She shook her head, unable to find the right words.

  "I think I know what you mean."

  Melli looked up surprised. "You saw him around the castle?"

  "Yes, sometimes he visited Baralis' chambers."

  "Baralis friends with Kylock. That's hard to believe." Melli's hand stole to her face. "Or is it? There's something very similar about those two."

  Jack considered what she said for a moment. "You're right. They're both. . ." He struggled to find the right word. ". . . Secretive."

  "I wouldn't know about that. I was thinking more of their appearances. Both tall and dark." She shrugged. "So, what business did Kylock have in Baralis' chambers?"

  "He was interested in Baralis' animals." Jack put his head down. He knew Melli wanted to hear more, but he wasn't sure if he should go on. Sometimes he would arrive early for scribing and catch Kylock and Baralis together. The things he'd seen Kylock doing to Baralis' creatures were sickening. Kylock liked to discover just how much he could torture an animal before it finally died on him. He would delicately stab a dove countless times, or slowly crush a mouse in the palm of his hand. Jack shuddered. The most disturbing thing of all was that Baralis just looked on, nodding his head like an indulgent father.

  It was good to be free of the castle.

  Melli, almost as if she guessed at the nature of Kylock's action, said: "So you don't blame me for running away?" She seemed to be looking for reassurance.

  "No." He placed his hand on her arm. "I would have done the same thing in your place."

  Melli smiled gently and stood up. "It's time we were on our way. I'm just going to fill the skin up with water." She dashed off into the trees, a small figure in a dark cloak.

  Jack collected his pack together and swung it over his shoulder. Pain shot through his body. He had forgotten about his injury. He sat down for a minute to recover himself, glad that Melli was gone-he didn't want her knowing how bad it still was. Her own wounds had healed quickly and she assumed that his had done the same. Jack's wound was more serious: the arrow had lodged deep within his muscle, grazing the bone. He tentatively felt his shoulder. At least there was no blood-the old woman had done a good job with the needle. He stood up once more and held his pack on his other side.

  He made his way along the eastern road, wondering what lay ahead. Danger for one thing: the Halcus would kill them if they realized they were from the Four Kingdoms.

  They'd have to keep their mouths closed; the accent of the Halcus was entirely different from their own and to speak would be to give themselves away. There was even greater danger for Melli if they found out who she was-Lord Maybor was a hated figure amongst the Halcus, and they would take cruel delight in torturing his daughter and then ransoming what remained of her.

  Even if they made it through Halcus, there was no guarantee they would get as far as Bren. Jack had little idea of what lay beyond the River Nestor; he only knew Bren was an impossibly long distance away, especially for two people on foot in winter. Then there were the mountains, the Great Divide-they ran the length of the Known Lands. He had heard that they were not as steep around Bten and there were many passes, but everyone knew passes were treacherous in winter.

  Melli came bounding out from the trees, her waterskin full. Jack suddenly remembered she was not going as far as Bren-her journey ended at Annis. He would be crossing the mountains alone. She came and linked his arm, and they walked eastward together.

  Nabber woke up feeling much better. He could tell by the light stealing in from under the shutters that the morning was well gone. He sat up and found his head felt clearer than it had in days-the wiseman's medicine had worked its cure. Nabber liked Bevlin. He liked his house and all the interesting things in his kitchen-he hadn't liked the greased duck much, but he supposed that a man with as few teeth as Bevlin needed food that would slide down without much chewing.

  Nabber considered it was the best thing he'd ever done, linking up with Tawl. He was getting to see the world, go adventuring, meet strange people, and make a handsome profit on the side. He felt a little guilty about keeping some of his stash back from Tawl, but what was a boy to do? Who could tell when he might have need?

  A good friend of his named Swift, the same one who had introduced him to the lucrative world of pocketing, had taught him a word once: contingency. "It means," he had explained, "keeping a little back just for yourself." Swift himself held a healthy contingency back from his gaffer, not to mention his wife and family. Nabber had immediately embraced the idea of contingency and always made a point of having one. Since being with Tawl his contingency had grown considerably and had now become rather difficult to conceal.

  Nabber got out of bed and dressed. He was worried about Tawl. His friend had been acting strangely ever since the drunk in the tavern had accosted him. He was short-tempered and moody. Nabber hoped that the wiseman might be able to help him; Tawl had certainly been eager to see him. He looked at the cold water in the wash bowl and decided against it. Being clean was not a priority with him. He did, however, make an effort to comb his hair. Swift had told him that being a guest carried certain responsibilities, one of which was to look reasonably neat for your host, "else you won't get invited back." Nabber wanted to make sure Bevlin invited him back.

  As soon as he was ready he burst in on the kitchen, eager for some hot food and company. He knew something was wrong the second he entered: the fire was out and the room was bone cold. He heard a noise-the sound of floorboards creaking-and he moved around the huge table. Tawl was there, covered in blood, crouched down holding Bevlin in his arms, rocking him back and forth like a baby. The wiseman was dead.

  Nabber had lived in the worst part of Rorn amidst cutthroats and murderers. He had seen prostitutes with their wrists cut, swindlers with knives in their belly-he was no stranger to blood.

  He knew the first thing he had to do was get Tawl away from the body and get something hot inside him. Nabber went and knelt beside Tawl. He put his arm around his shoulders. "Come on, Tawl," he said gently. "Time to get up." Tawl looked up at him and Nabber saw no recognition in his face. The boy tried to pull Bevlin's body away from Tawl. The knight fought it at firs
t, trying to keep hold of the dead man, but Nabber's words seemed to soothe him. "Come on, Tawl, time to let go, time to let Bevlin go." Tawl released his hold on the wiseman and Nabber laid the old man on the floor.

  He gripped Tawl's arm and urged him to stand up, all the time gently coaxing. He looked around for somewhere to sit Tawl. The bench wouldn't do-it was covered in blood. He led him to a chair by the fire and made him sit. His body was blue with cold and Nabber wondered how long he had been crouching there in the kitchen. He ran into the bedroom and pulled out a heavy woolen blanket and covered Tawl with it. The knight looked tired and dazed and seemed willing to stay put.

  Nabber built a hasty fire and put several pots to boil. Tawl needed something hot to drink. He decided he would deal with Bevlin's body later-the dead benefited little from haste. He tried not to wonder what had happened. He had learned early on in life not to ask too many questions, but he could not. help noticing the thickness of blood around Bevlin's chest-the man had been stabbed in the heart.

  He searched the wiseman's larder for suitable fare; he found eggs, milk, butter, and ducks. A waterskin caught his eye-the lacus. It had cured him; it probably wouldn't do Tawl any harm. He poured a measure of the pale, milky substance into a pot and warmed it a little before giving it to Tawl. The knight took the offered bowl and held it close to his face, breathing in the pungent vapors. After a while he brought the bowl to his lips and drank. Nabber heaved a sigh of relief and put more logs on the fire.

  He was feeling rather hungry himself, but he didn't think it was very respectful to eat with a dead man in the room, and he was sure Swift wouldn't approve. So Nabber bided his time, cleaning the blood from bench and floor and keeping an eye on Tawl. He scrubbed away, trying not to look at Bevlin, but the face of the old man seemed to draw his eye. It was not an upsetting sight. The wiseman looked as if he was in a deep sleep, a little pale perhaps, but at peace.

  Blood, Nabber considered, was not an easy thing to clean off. He tried his best, but it just seemed to make everything worse, causing ugly red smears over the floor. He looked at his hands and they were covered in bloody water; he felt a tension in his throat and found he had to stop. He stood up and glanced over to Tawl. The knight was sitting motionless with his eyes closed.