Master and Fool (4 page)

The sting was
taken from the whole affair by one single calculated act of compassion.
Catherine had taken Lord Carhill's wife into the palace, publicly proclaiming
that the poor widow would never want for food nor shelter. This little
performance was for the benefit of the people, not the court.
Catherine
might be firm,
they said,
but at least she is not without charity.
Baralis
pursed his lips in distaste. The common folk were easily swayed by such showy
acts of mercy.

In fact, public
opinion was the least of his problems. Catherine was seen to be a tragic
figure: her father murdered, a heavy responsibility newly fallen upon her
shoulders, alone in a world drawing perilously close to war. Of course, it
helped that she was young and beautiful. Beauty was yet another thing that
swayed the common folk. Baralis shook his head slowly. No, his problems were
not with Catherine and the people of Bren. His problem was with Kylock. What
would the new king do next? Maybor's eldest brat, Kedrac, was finishing off
Halcus for him, yet would he stop there? Was Annis next in line? And if it was,
when did he plan to take it? Baralis only hoped he left it till after the
wedding. Bren might support the marriage at the moment, but it was an uneasy,
suspicious support, easily shaken by unfavorable news. And never would there be
news so unfavorable as Kylock's overwhelming greed.

There was such a
delicate balance to be maintained: Annis and Highwall were now certain to move
against Bren. The question was would they leave it until after the wedding, or
would they move before? Baralis received daily reports from the two mountain
cities, and there was no mistaking their intent: mercenaries, armaments, siege
engines, and chemicals were flooding into both cities. Tavalisk was underwriter
to them all. The chubby, interfering archbishop was seeing to it that Annis and
Highwall had unlimited funds with which to purchase the necessities of war. It
seemed the south was willing to pay a high price to keep trouble away from its
prosperous shores.

Baralis sighed,
not deeply. All would have to be dealt with as it came.

Then there was his
second problem: Maybor and his wayward daughter. Where were they? What did they
know or guess about the assassination? And what did they plan on doing next?
Would they quietly leave the city, content that they were at least alive? Or
would they try and make some claim upon Catherine's inheritance? Knowing
Maybor, it would most likely be the latter of the two; the lord of the
Eastlands had never styled himself a shrinking violet.

Just then, Baralis
was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of a commotion at his door. A few
minutes earlier he had been aware of a knock, but had paid it no heedCrope was
ordered to send everyone away except Catherine.

A shrill scream
pierced the rain-clear air, and Baralis rushed across to the reception room.

Crope was in the
doorway. Huge arms stretched out in front of him; he had a boy dangling by the
scruff of his neck. The boy was squirming and kicking with venomous gusto, but
Crope had him firmly in hand.

"You kicked
Big Tom," accused the hulking servant. "Leave it out, Crope. It's
only a rat!" cried the boy. "You should count yourself lucky old
Thornypurse hasn't set eyes upon it. She would have had it squeezed and bottled
by now."

"No one's
gonna bottle Big Tom," said Crope, lifting the boy higher into the air.

"If you don't
put me down this instant, Crope, I'll personally see to it that old Thornypurse
is rubbing Big Tom's oily remains into her wrinkles before the day is
through."

"Put him
down, Crope," ordered Baralis. "But master-"

"Down, Crope.
" The tone of Baralis' voice killed all protest instantly and Crope
lowered the boy to the ground. "Leave us now," said Baralis.

Crope flashed
Nabber an evil look, muttered something comforting to the large and rat-shaped
bulge in his tunic, and then backed away.

Baralis turned to
the boy. "So, Nabber, what brings you here? Come to turn your friend the
knight in?" He stretched a smile designed only to show the sharpness of
tooth. "He's wanted for murder, you know."

The boy looked a
lot more scared now than he did when he was in Crope's clutches. He was trying
to cover it, though, smoothing down his collar with a nonchalant air, and then
raising his fingernails to the light to check for dirt. Baralis was extremely
pleased by this surprise visit. If one waited in one's web long enough, the
prey would always come. "You've been wading, I take it?" Baralis
indicated the boy's britches, which were soaked to the knee. "I must say,
it's just the day for it."

The boy looked
most indignant. "What about you, Baralis? Attracted any new crawling
insects lately?"

"Come
inside," hissed Baralis, annoyed at himself for stooping to trade insults
with a mere boy.

Nabber looked
quickly to his left and right. "I'm not sure that I want to."

"Aah,"
Baralis said slowly, in the manner of one about to draw a logical conclusion.
"Then you're afraid."

"I am not!
Let me past." The boy stomped into the room. Baralis smiled behind his
back.

The boy made a
quick survey of the room. Once satisfied that they were alone, he pulled a
sheet of sealed and folded paper from his tunic. Before he handed it to
Baralis, he said, "I'll be wanting an answer straightaway."

Baralis snatched
it from him. The bloodred seal was Maybor's: the swan and the double-edged
sword. Like the man himself, it took quite a breaking. Quickly, Baralis read
the spidery, uncultivated script. Once finished he turned to the boy. "Why
does he want to meet me?"

Nabber shrugged.
"Don't ask me. I'm just the messenger." Baralis took a thinking
breath. The boy was a liar-and not a bad one at that. "Am I to understand
that I am to come with you now?"

"Yes. Here
and now. No henchmen, no weapons, no chance to warn the guard."

"How do I
know this is not a trap?"

Nabber smiled
sweetly. "Who's afraid now, Baralis?" Baralis curbed his desire to
strike the boy. "And what if I refuse and send for the guard anyway? I
could have your secrets out of you on your very first scream." As he
spoke, Baralis noticed that Nabber was edging, none too discreetly, toward the
door.

"Ah well, my
friend," said Nabber, hand upon the latch, "you'd have to catch me
first."

The boy was young
and therefore could be excused his stupidity. "Do you really think I would
let you out the door?" The latch was up, but Baralis' hand was faster.
"Nay, boy. Leave it be! I will agree to come with you." Baralis found
himself breathless. There had been a brief instant when he had considered
drawing power against the boy, but curiosity overcame caution. He wanted to see
Maybor. He wanted to hear what the great lord had to say. Maybor had taken
quite a risk sending a boy who could disclose his own whereabouts, and
presumably his daughter's, straight into the heart of the palace. There must be
a good reason behind it. Oh, Baralis knew he could seize the boy and scrape the
truth right off his plump, youthful tongue, but his love of intrigue had been
sparked. There was a game to be played here, and after all, what good was power
without the thrill of power games? "Take me to him," he said.

Maybor ordered a
second mug of ale, then settled back in his chair. He was not exactly drunk,
but he was definitely pleasantly potted. It was good to be out. A fine tavern,
a blazing fire, and a buxom serving girl to flirt with; why, he hadn't enjoyed
himself so much in a long time. For the past nine weeks he'd been holed up like
a squirrel in ajar, and now, having managed to escape for a short while, he was
determined to enjoy himself.

Still, enjoyment
took many forms and the best was yet to come.

The ale arrived,
its fine head frothing over the brim. The girl who brought it took great pains
to place it carefully on the table. Her bodice was cut modestly enough, but
additional cleavage was revealed during the process of the slow bend. Maybor
liked women who played coy.

"So, my
beauty," he said to the girl. "Does the tavernkeeper here have
strong-arms in the crowd?" He had intended to ask this question of the
tavern-keeper himself, but he rather liked appearing mysterious to the young
and comely girl.

The girl giggled
foolishly. "Oh aye, he does that, sir. You can never be too careful when
it comes to the riffraff." Maybor ran his fingers down the plump arm of
the girl. When he reached her hand, he pressed a single gold coin into the
waiting palm. "A man in black will soon be coming here to visit me. Ask the
tavern-keeper to set a watch on the door, and if he is escorted by anyone other
than a young boy, I would appreciate it if they were held there, until I make
my escape." Maybor allowed his leather pouch to gape open. It was loaded
to the drawstring with the duke's own gold. "I trust this place has
another way out?"

Greed improved the
girl's looks, brightening her eyes and bringing a flush to her cheeks. "Oh
yes, sir. There's more than one way to leave the Brimming Bucket."

Well pleased,
Maybor nodded. "I trust I can count 'on you to let my wishes be
known?"

The girl hesitated
a moment. "Well, sir, naturally I'd be glad to help such a fine gentleman
as yourself, but--"

"You'll need
some extra coinage to ensure the word is well spread."

"Well, I hate
to ask, sir, but you know what men are like. They hate to do anything on just
the
promise
of gold." Maybor handed her a fistful of coinage. He
knew exactly what men were like. "And when you've done that," he
said, "bring me a footstool for my feet. The floor is running with ale,
and I want to give my shoes chance to dry."

As the girl cut
across the tavern to its keeper, Maybor's eyes flicked toward the candle on the
sill. Down a notch since he'd last looked. Damn! Where was the boy? What was
keeping him? Had Baralis decided to hold him in the palace and torture the
truth out of him? Maybor brought the second mug of ale to his lips. Somehow he
doubted that. He knew his enemy well, and Baralis would come, not just because
he was curious, but also because he was compelled to do so.

Maybor downed a
throatful of the golden brew. He wasn't a superstitious man, indeed, hated any
mention of mystics and magic, but he and Baralis were connected in some way:
their fates were intertwined. They fed off each other. And it had been a long time
for both of them since their last meal.

Nabber wasn't at
all sure that he liked being Baralis' escort. The man's presence had a distinct
effect on those around him: people scattered like rats in torchlight whenever
he walked by. Nabber shook his head grimly-the man would never make a pocket.
He had the
feet
for it, though. He and Baralis had been walking for
quarter of an hour now, and not once had Nabber heard a single footfall from
his black-robed companion. Swift would die for feet like that. The rain had
stopped the moment Baralis passed under the palace gate. The streets were damp,
steaming, fragrant with a variety of rainy smells. As they walked south the
district changed: fine stone buildings gave way to precarious wooden structures
that leant against each other for support. The fair offered by the street
hawkers changed accordingly. Near the palace they had sold fresh lampreys,
artichokes, and saffron. Here they sold meat pies, pease pudding, and bread. As
they turned onto the street that boasted the Brimming Bucket, Nabber risked a
quick glance sideways. Baralis did not look happy. In fact, he looked rather
venomous, his features no more than a pale insignificance when compared to the
darkness of his eyes. Nabber sniffed solemnly. He hoped Maybor knew what he was
doing.

The Brimming
Bucket was lit up in anticipation of the night. Smoke and candlelight escaped
from the shutters and the boldly painted sign creaked brightly in the wind.
Nabber noticed a man standing by the door; his right hand was resting inside
his tunic and, after one quick scope of the two of them, he directed his gaze
toward the floor. A lookout, no doubt set to watch by Maybor. Well, he
certainly could have been more discreet about it. Nabber doubted very much that
the man's purpose had gone unnoticed by Baralis.

"Here we
are," said Nabber, hoping to distract Baralis' thoughts away from the
lookout. "Maybor is waiting for you inside."

Baralis nodded
once. "I know."

Inside he went.
Poorly rendered tallow gave off smoke that stung his eyes. He was all senses, a
being purely of perception: if there was danger he would search it out. Even
before his eyes grew accustomed to the smoke he had eliminated sorcery as a
threat.
He
was the only one in the room with power beyond flesh. The knowledge
brought confidence in its wake. No matter what happened now, he would be able
to deal with it.

Baralis looked
around the room. Thirty pairs of eyes were gazing upon him. The floor was awash
with slowly souring ale: the tavern reeked of it. Maybor was sitting at a lower
level in front of the fire, and Baralis didn't spot him at first. Silhouetted
against the light, Maybor stood up and beckoned him forth. Baralis crossed the
room and stepped down into the enclosed space of the fire-well. Two other men
sat there: old men who drew in their chairs when Baralis entered their domain.
Unlike the rest of the tavern floor, which was raised off the ground and paved,
the floor in the fire-well consisted purely of packed-down earth. It was even
wetter than above, and the old men sat crosslegged, one foot apiece resting in
the pool of ale.

"Aah,
Baralis," said Maybor, with an expansive sweep of his arm. "I'm so
pleased you could come."

"Cut to the
meat, Maybor," hissed Baralis.