Master and Fool (77 page)

"My daughter
birthed it nine weeks ago now. She's sick so I'm looking after it for
her."

The woman was
lying to the wrong person. Tawl knew all about babies; he had raised a newborn
single-handedly after his mother died. The child before him wasn't big enough
to be nine weeks old Gently, he rolled the baby onto its stomach, checking for
any birthmarks. He had heard once, long ago, that babies bore into the house of
Bren had the mark of the hawk upon them. The baby's back was spotless.
"Take off its nappy and bedsocks."

Out of the corner
of his eye, Tawl saw the woman raise her knife. Suddenly, he'd had enough. The
baby wasn't hers or her daughter's. It had eyes and hair the color of Melli's
and it was tiny enough for a newborn. He bent down and scooped the baby up in
his injured arm. Pain clawed down his shoulder. He ignored it.

"Don't take
him," cried the woman. She hovered forward with her knife, but Tawl's
knife hand was free and he forced her back with warning circles.

"Get me a
blanket"

The woman grabbed
the blanket off the bed. "Please don't take him.
Please."

"Lady, he's
not your baby. We both know that." Tawl neither liked nor trusted the
woman, but he could tell she cared about the baby. "Why don't you tell me
the truth? I'm not going to harm you."

"But you'll
take the baby?"

"Yes. I'm
taking it now whatever you say." Tawl took the blanket from the woman. She
made no attempt to stab him. He tried his best to tuck the blanket around the
baby, but it was difficult with only one hand. To keep the baby calm, he rocked
his chest back and forward.

"You know
about babies?" she said.

"Yes. I
raised one. Long ago now." Tawl sensed the woman was relaxing and began to
relax a little himself. "Help me pull the blanket around him. He's getting
cold."

He watched as the
woman decided whether or not to put down her knife. "Who are you?"

Tawl was about to
ignore the question, as he had the first time, but for some reason, he decided
to take a risk. He needed to find out the truth. Looking straight into her
eyes, he said, "I'm Tawl, duke's champion. Before an entire city I swore
an oath to protect the duke and his heirs."

The woman's gaze
dropped to the baby. She tucked the blanket around his body, making sure his
little arms were well covered. "You think this baby is his son?"

"I believe
so, but only you can tell me for sure." Tawl's voice was gentle. "I
won't condemn you for taking him. How could I? You saved his life. I owe you a
debt that can never be repaid, and I will be forever grateful to you, but
please,
please,
tell me the truth."

A few moments of
silence followed. The woman stroked the baby's head. Abruptly, she looked up.
"If I tell you everything will you take me with you? The baby loves me,
you see. I'm all he knows. I'm like a mother to himhe might be frightened
without me."

Tawl dropped the
long-knife on the bed. Reaching up, he placed his hand over the woman's bony,
misshapen wrist. "I promise I'll take you with me. I know you love him--I
can see that. Now please, tell me what happened."

In a gesture of
trust, Tawl handed the baby back.

The woman was
shaking. Teardrops turned her eyelashes into spikes. "Come to Nanny
Greal," she cooed. "Mere's a good boy." Settling herself down on
the edge of the bed, she uncovered the baby's left foot and pulled off his
sock. A pink mark, small as a thumbnail, rested in the chubby fold of flesh
just above his ankle. The mark of the Hawk.

"Baralis
ordered me to take the baby away and kill it," said the woman quietly.
"I would have done it, too, if it hadn't been for Corsella."

"Corsella?
Thomypurse's daughter?"

The woman looked
up. "Yes, she's my niece. Did you know her?"

"She took me
in when I first arrived in Bren."

"Good girl.
Heart of gold. Beautiful, too."

Tawl didn't have
quite the same opinion of the girl, but now wasn't the time to dispute it.
"What did Baralis do to her?"

"He murdered
her. Crope had her necklace in a box, said his master let him have it."

Tawl sat on the
bed next to the woman. Together, they stroked the baby. "I'm sorry,"
he said, feeling guilty at how roughly he'd treated Madame Thornypurse. "I
didn't know."

"Nothing for
you to be sorry for. Baralis has done just as bad to you."

"What do you
mean?"

"He was the
one who plotted the duke's murder. I was listening in when he got that man
Traff to do it. Heard everything, I did."

Tawl's head was
reeling. "Where was this?"

"At my
sister's place, of course. Traff was staying there and Baralis paid him a
visit. Told him about the secret passageways and the like. Promised him
Melliandra all for himself."

"And you
heard all this?"

The woman nodded.
"Word for word."

"What else do
you know about Baralis?"

"Plenty. I
keep a notebook of all the nobles he and Kylock have had killed. Kylock maims
the bodies so they can't be recognized, and then throws them into the lake. The
official word is that they all go missing."

"Do you have
that book with you now?"

The woman patted
her side. "Never without it. Some of the richest and most respected
noblemen in Bren are listed in it."

Tawl was beginning
to realize how valuable Nanny Greal could be. The things she knew about Baralis
and Kylock could turn the city upside down. "I think we'd better get
going," he said. "I'll watch the baby while you get your belongings
together. Only take things you can carry on your back. You'll need both hands
free for the baby."

As she rummaged
around in her wardrobe, Tawl took the baby in his arms. Melli's baby. It was
perfect: a tiny, tough-looking thing with eyes as large as pancakes. Tawl
hugged it to him, enjoying the feel of its warm little body pressed against
his. "What were you going to do with him?" he asked the woman.

"Take him far
away. Make sure no one ever knew who he was." She smiled at Tawl-an
unpleasant sight, for she had lost both her front teeth. "You're good with
him, I see."

"He's
beautiful." Tawl looked up at the woman. "You did the right thing,
you know. Baralis would have found out sooner or later. He would have tracked
you down and killed you both."

"Aye. You're
probably right. " The woman fastened her cloak and came over for the baby.
"So where will you take us?"

"Outside of
the city, until it's safe to come back." Tawl handed over the baby. His
sword arm had stopped bleeding, but a sharp spasm coursed down his shoulder as
he held the baby out.

"I can't see
that it will ever be safe to come back."

"Oh, it
will," said Tawl. "It will."

Mistress Greal, or
Nanny Greal as she now preferred to call herself, showed Tawl a back way down
to the servants' chapel. The palace guards were out in full force now, but they
were concentrating their efforts in the nobles' quarters, and apart from one
lone guard Tawl dispatched with his long-knife, and a young scullery maid who looked
so terrified at the sight of Nanny Greal that Tawl simply let her go, they met
no one along the way.

Nanny Greal hugged
little Herbert tight as she followed Tawl down through the palace. She liked
the golden-haired knight a lot: he was handsome, honorable, gentle, and most of
all she believed him when he said he'd protect little Herbert with his life.
She hadn't meant to go with him, not at all, but seeing him handle the baby-big
hands gently cupping Herbert's soft, vulnerable head-she knew she could trust
him. He had a good heart, and that was something Nanny Greal hadn't seen in
anyone in a long time.

He was right about
Baralis, too. The man would find out that the baby was alive-there was nothing
he couldn't do. And nothing he wouldn't stop at to get what he wanted.

Yes, she thought,
it's for
the best. Keeping little Herbert safe is all that matters now.

They entered the
servants' chapel, and Tawl set about pulling the center panel off the wall. It
had been nailed down, and Tawl had to use the blade of his sword to pry it
open.

Soon they were in
a pitch-black passageway, wading through ankle-deep water, then knee-deep
water, then water that came up to Nanny Greal's chest. Tawl took the baby then,
holding it high atop his shoulder, pausing whenever they came to a tricky bit
to lend Nanny Greal a hand. The farther they went, the colder it got, but the
warmer it felt in Nanny Greal's heart. Little Herbert was in safe hands, kind
hands, hands that would never harm him. Nanny Greal smiled a satisfied toothless
smile. For the first time in her fifty-year lifespan, she didn't care a jot
about herself.

"Here, my
lady, drink this; it well help you relax." Melli took the bowl of holk
from Borlin, even sipped it, but she knew she wouldn't relax. How could she
rest until she knew Tawl was safe?

Pulling the
blanket close around her body, Melli closed her eyes for a few minutes. She
couldn't believe that she was free. Baralis' threats had no power to harm her,
Mistress Greal could no longer terrorize her, and Kylock could never use her to
wash away his sins. Safe at last. Luck had waited until the last minute-as luck
always does-and whisked her away from the palace in the company of six gallant
knights.

Why then didn't
she feel happy? Why did she just feel hollow and ready to cry?

The time after
Tawl had left her had passed in a series of flashes: freezing water, tense
faces, strung arrows, and galloping horses. The escape had gone smoothly. They
emerged into a dark alleyway and were met by a man who was holding horses ready.
He introduced himself as Borlin, whisked her onto the back of his horse, and
together they rode across the city in the rain. They met up with the others
later at the hideout.

Nabber was there.
He greeted her with a great big smile and then looked over her shoulder for
Tawl. The smile slid off his face when Borlin said, "Tawl went off on his
own for a bit, lad. He'll be back later-wait and see."

And that's what
everyone did: wait. They sat around, one candle lighting the space between
them, and listened for the sound of Tawl's approach.

The knights'
kindness brought a lump to Melli's throat. In hushed voices they asked her how
she felt, gently touching her brow, rubbing salve into the bums, tracing
concerned fingers along the line of her arm. Borlin wanted to reset the bone
then and there, but Melli was reluctant to take a painkilling drug in case it
dulled her wits or sent her to sleep, so she put the operation off until
morning. She wanted to be alert when Tawl returned.

Neither Nabber nor
the knights asked her about what had happened in the palace. Melli was grateful
for that. She didn't want to think about her last sight of Jack. He had saved
both her and Tawl-that much was clear-but how he had done it she didn't really
know. Everything had happened so fast. There was a bolt of blinding light, a
wave of scorching air, and then ...

Melli brought her
hand to her face. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Jack was dead. He had died
saving
her.
She remembered the moment they first met, when she was
attacked on Harvell's east road-he came to her rescue then. There were so many
times after that as well: the dungeons, the forest, Cravin's townhouse in Bren.
He was always saving her. Now he couldn't save her anymore.

"There, my
lady." Borlin was beside her, stroking her hair, his gruff voice as soft
as he could make it. "Don't take on. Tawl will be back soon."

But Jack won't,
Melli wanted to say.
And neither will your two brethren. Baralis has
taken them all.
Instead she said nothing, and let herself be comforted by
Borlin until the tears went away.

A sharp noise
awakened her. Surprised that she had fallen asleep, even more surprised that
she had been sleeping against Borlin's chest, Melli sprang to her feet. Two of
the knights had gone to investigate the noise; the others were looking in the
direction of the stairs. Nabber was standing by the bottom step, swaying
impatiently from side to side. Melli came and stood by him, bringing her good
arm up around his shoulders.

The two knights
came back first. Melli let out a sigh of disappointment, then, just as she
sucked in another breath, Tawl appeared at the top of the stairs, covered in
blood, soaked to the bone, a makeshift bandage around his upper arm. She rushed
forward, pushing past the knights to get to him. But then, suddenly, she
stopped in her tracks.

Mistress Greal was
walking in Tawl's shadow. In her arms she was carrying some sort of bundle.

Melli's stomach
quickly turned. She looked at Tawl; he was smiling. She looked at the two
knights; they were smiling. Didn't they know who this woman was? Didn't they
know it was a trap?

Tawl whispered
something to Mistress Greal, and the woman stepped forward. Melli readied
herself to attack her. These men here might not know who the woman was, but
she
did, and with bare hands she was going to kill her. Mistress Greal held out
her bundle-she obviously meant to throw it. Melli was poised for the block.

Mistress Greal
looked confused. "Don't you want to take him?" she said.

Melli glanced at
Tawl. He made an encouraging gesture with his hands. Melli felt like she was
going mad. The woman had bewitched him.

And then a sound
came from the bundle. A tiny gurgling noise.

Melli's heart
stopped beating. The hairs on her arms prickled. Her entire body swayed
forward. She didn't dare hope, didn't dare think.

Everyone was
looking at her now. "Take him, Melli," murmured Tawl.

The room began to
blank out. Sides and edges faded into shadow and all that remained was the
bundle in Mistress Greal's arms. Melli took a step toward it. The blanket
moved. The corner of the fabric fell away and a fierce little fist came into
view. A quick breath escaped from Melli's lips. Her heart pumped wildly in her
chest. She leapt toward the bundle, arms outstretched, hands cupped ready,
tears streaming down her face. Mistress Greal handed the warm and shifting
bundle to her. Slowly, carefully, Melli took it into her arms. It was lighter
than she had expected-so light it made her heart ache. She hugged it against
her chest and peered down into the calm blue eyes of her baby.
Her
baby.