Master and Fool (13 page)

Jack drew his lips
into a thin line that might have passed for a smile in candlelight. Sometimes,
just sometimes, one was given the chance to silence the softly scathing voices
of regret.

For months before
he had found out the truth about Melli, he had tortured himself with thoughts
of what had happened to her in the chicken coop. If only he hadn't left her. If
only he had fought harder to get away from Rovas. If only it had been
he
the
Halcus caught instead of her. Now he had been given a second chance. Melli was
in danger and this time he would be there when she needed him.

Stillfox had kept
the information about Melli's plight from him, knowing full well he would want
to go to her. Perhaps the herbalist would guess his reasons for not returning
after all. He was not a stupid man.

The moon appeared
from behind the clouds and the last of the daylight faded away. An old woman
he'd spoken to this morning said there were two roads to Bren. The Duke's
Highway was wide and cut into the rock where it could, only narrowing to
accommodate the pass. Soldiers and messengers and merchants walked its mighty
length, so the old woman said. But if he was looking for a quieter way to
Bren--a way that could only be traveled in summer and early autumn, a way that
was narrow and winding and might add ten extra leagues to his journey--then the
Old Goat Trail would do. Only spies and goatherders walked the trail, she said.
Jack had given her a wedge of cheese for her trouble, and with lips as dry as
paper she had kissed him on his cheek.

He had seen only
one goatherder all day. The man had given him a suspicious look and Jack
guessed that he thought he was a spy. Feeling a little mischievous, Jack had
openly taken a head count of the herder's goats as seriously as if they were
enemy soldiers. Rather sheepishly for a man who spent his time herding goats,
the herder had approached him.

"Are you
counting numbers for Annis or Bren?" he asked.

"Neither,"
replied Jack, quickly realizing that there was a chance for gain here. "I
count only for the Wall."

The goatherder
acted as if this information merely confirmed a prior suspicion. He nodded
knowingly and sucked in his cheeks. "Highwall," he said
"Aye." He looked at his goats, looked at Jack, looked at a distant
point on the horizon, took a deep breath, and then spoke. "What will it
take to cut those numbers by half?"

Jack was ready
with his request. He motioned toward the herder's coarse wool cloak. "Do
you keep a second cloak for feastday best?"

The herder, who
smelled of goat dung, goat cheese, and goats, brought his hand up to his face
and scratched his chin. "So you'd settle for my best cloak?" he said,
his voice a peculiar mixture of surprise and relief.

"No. I want
the one you're wearing now."

"This old
thing's stiff with goat dung," said the herder. Jack clamped his teeth
together to stop himself from laughing outright. After a moment he said,
"It will do." Anything was better than freezing to death on the dark
side of a mountain. Summer it might well be, but once night came seasons would
have little meaning. Dressed as he was at the moment, in a light tunic and
undershirt, he wouldn't stand a chance. Jack was tempted to have the man's
boots as well, and would have taken them if it wasn't for the fact that the
herder's feet were most definitely not a match for his own.

The herder handed
over his coat. "How many goats do I have now?" he asked.

Jack had counted
two scores. "Owning only a handful like you do, you're hardly worth a
mention in my report." He took the cloak from the man. It didn't smell as
bad as he thought.

The man nodded his
approval. "My wife will thank you for taking that thing off my hands.
She's been trying to make me get rid of it for years now."

"Tell her she
has the Wall to thank, not me." Jack bowed to the herder and took his
leave, purloined cloak firmly in hand.

Borc! but he was
glad of it now, though. With the appearance of the moon, summer seemed to have
given up completely. The very same breeze that had been blowing against him all
day had decided to turn nasty and was worrying away at his bones. Jack began to
slow his pace, pausing every few steps to check to either side of the path. It
was about time to find somewhere to sleep for the night.

He had, thanks to
the Baking Master's Guild, enough food to last him for a few days, and if he
ran out, well, he could always con another unsuspecting goatherder out of his
cheese. Jack smiled at the thought of the herder going home, cloakless, to his
wife. He'd obviously learnt more from Rovas than just how to defend himself. Some
of Rovas' cunning must have rubbed off along the way.

A cluster of rocks
caught Jack's eye: it was about as good as he was going to get tonight. He left
the path and headed toward them. The wind whipped down from the mountain and
this time it brought rain for the ride. A few specks splashed against Jack's
face, then a few more, and before he knew it he was in the middle of a squall.
He raced for the rocks, cloak pulled tight about his chest.

The rocks formed a
rim around a dip. It promised great protection from the wind, but in the rain
was little but a bowl waiting to be filled. Jack looked up at the sky. The moon
was still visible behind shifting banks of clouds, which meant the rain would
probably be light. He decided to risk the rocky dip. A few young saplings were
growing to the left of the rocks, and Jack took his knife to them. He hacked an
armful of branches and laid them in the space between the rocks. Now he
wouldn't have to lie on the wet ground. He collected a few more branches for
good measure, and then settled into his den, spreading the extra branches out
on top of him. Not bad really, he thought as he snuggled down amidst the
fragrant summer leaves.

Jack immediately
began to feel sleepy: it had been a long two days. The old woman had said it
would take over a week to get to Bren by the Old Goat Trail. Well, it might
take a while, and his feet might never forgive him, but one way or another he
would make it to Melli's side. With that comforting thought on his mind, Jack
fell into a dreamless sleep. Raindrops pattered softly for a while and then
gradually faded away.

Melli counted the
weeks backward to her wedding day. Eleven. Could it really be that many? That
made her nearly three months pregnant. Her hands stole to her belly as she tested
for any sign of swelling. Nothing. Well, perhaps a slight thickening around her
waist.

Just this morning
Nabber had returned from a foray bearing several new dresses for her to wear.
Melli was rather alarmed at the size of them: they were as large and billowing
as priest's cassocks. Not to mention the fact that they were all various shades
of red. Following her beating in Duvitt, Melli had developed a strong dislike
for the color. Now, having been married in red, she despised it even more.
Nabber, however, loved red, and everything he brought her-purses, flowers,
ribbons-was either scarlet, ruby, or crimson. She didn't have the heart to tell
him that she would have preferred blue instead.

Everyone was
always so kind to her. Bodger and Grift would force fancies and sweetmeats on
her like a pair of maiden aunts, Nabber brought her gifts like an overardent
suitor, and Maybor checked in on her by the hour like a nursemaid. Tawl was
different, though. He alone allowed her breathing space. Oh, he was always there,
on the other side of the door sitting in his windowseat, but he never intruded
upon her thoughts or her time.

Every so often she
would hear his footsteps just outside the door, and she knew he was listening
for her. There was no right word to describe the way those footsteps made her
feel: secure, certainly, but something more as well. Something much more. Tawl
would lay down his life for her, Melli knew as surely as she knew her own name.
Yet that was only part of it. Tawl spent his days on guard outside her door and
his nights sleeping propped up against it. Loyalty kept him there, but it was
love that made him tiptoe up to the wood and listen for the sound of her tears.

And it was this
unassuming unspoken love that kept her going from day to day.

Once, almost two
weeks back now, Tawl had left the hideout without telling her. Melli had come
out of her room to ask him something, and when she found he wasn't there, her
heart started to pound. Tawl was always there. He had sworn never to leave her
side, and for one terrible moment, she thought he had abandoned his oath. No
one knew where he'd gone. Nabber wasn't around, either. Melli started to panic:
without Tawl she was vulnerable, alone in a world that wanted her dead. Then he
had come back. The front door opened and in he came, and instantly he saw all
on her face.

Always chivalrous,
the only thing he said was, "I will not leave you again."

Even as he spoke,
a shiver passed down Melli's spine, and she knew in her heart that he would.

Strangely, her
premonition had made her stronger. It had focused her thoughts on herself. She
had always been strong, yet since the duke's murder she had somehow stopped
relying on herself. Tawl took care of her completely, and she had willingly
relinquished control. Ever since the day of Tawl's absence, she had slowly been
claiming it back. Her premonition had told her he would go, and she wanted to
be prepared when he did. She had to be strong for her baby.

Tawl loved her,
she had realized that the day she married the duke, and in a way she had used
that love. It had given her comfort in a time of chaos. For weeks after the
wedding her life had been a bleak and distant dream, and it had been Tawl's
quiet strength that had helped pull her through. His footsteps outside her door,
his gentle considerations, and most of all the knowledge that he was in
control, had given her peace of mind through the long hours of her grief.

A gentle tapping
came upon the door. "Melli, are you awake?" It was Tawl.

"Come in. I'm
awake, I'm alert, and I'm as sick as a dog."

Tawl entered
smiling. "Do you need the bowl?"

The bowl was the
bane of Melli's existence. It followed her around the house, waiting to serve.
"No. I don't feel like I'm going to be sick just yet."

Coming to stand
beside her, Tawl reached out and took her hand in his. "You know the
wedding of Catherine and Kylock is today."

Melli nodded.
"I know." She didn't want to think about it. The marriage was nothing
to her.

"There is a
good side to it," said Tawl softly. "Baralis has been so busy pulling
everything together these past ten days that he's had little time to search for
us. The streets have been quiet."

"Too quiet
for a city whose favorite daughter is married today."

Tawl took a quick
breath. "You know, we should leave. Just last night Nabber found a sluice
gate that leads under the wall. He says there are only two guards within
striking distance on the other side. I could easily take them out."

"No. I'm not
ready to leave. We're safe for the moment you said so yourself." Melli
turned her back on him. "I don't know if I could manage it if we were
chased by the guards. I can't run. I can barely stand up without being sick.
The baby's health is too important to risk. Grift says that once the first
three months are up it will be safer to move me."

"What about
the risks here?" Tawl said, grabbing hold of her shoulders and spinning
her round. "They would give up searching for us if they thought we were
out of the city-"

"Would
they?" Melli cut in harshly. "Now that my father has blurted out to a
tavern full of drunkards that I'm with child, how long do you think it would be
before Baralis came after us?"

"Baralis has
no power in Annis or Highwall. We could go there. Leave it too late and the
whole of the north will be one huge battlefield."

"You go,
then," said Melli, suddenly angry. "Right now they are looking for
you, not me. Half the city still believes it was you who murdered the
duke." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She
bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Tawl. I don't know what I'm saying. Pregnancy
seems to rob me of my wits." She wanted to say more, to tell him that the
feeling that he would leave her was never far from her thoughts, and that it had
pushed the harsh words right out of her mouth.

Tawl slid his
forefinger under her chin and tilted her face up to meet his.
"Melli," he said, his blue eyes looking straight into hers, "I
would do anything to keep you safe, and if I thought for a moment that my
presence endangered you, then I'd be gone before you took your next
breath." His voice was heavy with emotion. Something dark and hurting lay
just beneath the surface. Melli realized how little she knew of him. He never
spoke about himself or his past. He had left the knighthood, that much she
knew, and just last week, on the Feast of Borc's First Miracle, she had seen
how much pain that had caused him. He was a man who'd lost his soul that day.
But everything else he kept to himself. his family, his origins, his dreams for
the future. Day and night he kept watch outside her door, yet if he ever
crossed the threshold it was never to speak of himself.

Melli took a step
forward and up came Tawl's arms, guiding her toward his chest. She rested
herself against him, feeling the mighty beat of his heart. She wanted to beg
him never to leave regardless of what was best for her and the baby, but
something, perhaps pride, perhaps instinct, stopped the thoughts from forming
words in her mouth.

Jack entered the city
of Bren late in the afternoon. The Old Goat Trail had taken ten days of solid
walking to bring him here. He had been lucky with the weather; a little rain, a
pesky wind, and temperature that dropped sharply at night were the worst things
he'd had to contend with. Of course, the walking was another matter: his feet
now boasted more blisters than an army full of flat-footed soldiers on the
move. Or at least they felt like they did.