The Baker's Boy (42 page)

Maybor did not
bother to call for Crandle. He would dress himself this day. He strolled to his
wardrobe, deciding he would buy himself a new mirror; he missed looking upon
himself in full length.

He was feeling
decidedly pleased with himself. He had managed to turn his circumstances
round-he had gained the sympathy of the queen. Just this morning, she had sent
out the Royal Guard to look for his daughter. Everything could not have worked
out better. Now the only thing he needed to make his happiness complete was
news of Baralis' death. He decided he would meet with his assassin one last
time; the damned man was taking too long about his business. He would have
Crandle arrange an assignation.

Maybor opened the
door to his wardrobe and surveyed its contents, deciding which robe to wear. He
remembered with regret that the red silk he had worn on Winter's Eve had to be
discarded-the punch had not washed out. The grayeyed vixen had ruined his best
robe! Maybor's eye was caught by something in the corner-he looked closer and
found it was a dead rat. This was most strange. If he remembered rightly, on
the night of Winter's Eve, Crandle had come from his wardrobe carrying a dead
rat. Rats were a constant nuisance in the castle, but it was unusual to find a
dead one. Two dead rats were damned suspicious.

Maybor picked the
stiff creature up by its tail. He held it at arm's length-it was well known
they carried the plague. Maybor could see no obvious signs of the cause of the
rat's demise. He brought the creature nearer. Now he could see that its nose
was red and swollen. A thrill of revelation passed through Maybor. The rat had
died of the same thing that had caused his affliction. There was something in
the wardrobe that had killed the rat. Maybor thought back to Winter's Eve. He
had been perfectly well; the illness overcame him only after he had dressed for
the evening. His clothes had been poisoned!

Baralis had
somehow managed to put poison onto his clothes. The fumes given off by the
poison were what had caused his sickness. Everything fit into place: the reason
he was not dead was that he had been forced to take off the doctored robe
before it had finished its commission. The grayeyed snippit had unwittingly
saved his life.

Maybor stepped
away from his wardrobe. What if all his clothes had been doused in poison? They
would all have to be burned. Maybor was furious. He had spent years acquiring
the most exquisite robes in all the Four Kingdoms; he had spent a fortune on
them. Baralis would pay dearly for this, he vowed. It is one thing to poison a
man's wine, but quite another to poison his robes!

Tawl was led back
into the room containing the large stone table. The four. were waiting for him.

"You have
your answer," said the elder, more a statement than a question. Tawl
nodded. "The seers seldom fail. God is benevolent to them."

"It seems to
me that God is more benevolent to you." Tawl could not stop his anger. It
was a welcome release from the horror of the cavern. "You are the ones who
reap the benefits of the atrocities performed on those men. You use them for
your own gain. God has no hand in this!" Tawl was shaking. The four were
unmoved by his fury.

"You know
nothing of God. You know less of Larn." The elder was perfectly calm.
"We do not use the seers, we are here to serve them. They are blessed by
God and we are humbled by that blessing, we are their servants. Do not let the
sight of them mislead you. They exist in God's own ecstasy. We can only guess
at what joy is theirs."

"I am not
fooled by your fine words. Where I have just come from is no place of God's; no
heavenly ecstasy exists there. The seers are living closer to hell." The
four looked upon Tawl as if he were a foolish child.

"The sight
can be a little disturbing, but I can see you have no wish to understand. You
did, however, use their services, and so now you must pay your due." The
elder regarded Tawl with the slightest trace of contempt.

"What is my due?"
said Tawl looking directly into the elder's eye.

"We require a
service of you." The elder's voice became soft and seductive.
"Nothing really, a mere trifle." Tawl felt his eyelids grow heavy. He
struggled to keep his wits about him. The elder continued, his voice low and
inviting, "The smallest of favors, the easiest of tasks." Tawl's eyes
closed. "The tiniest of services, the most innocent of undertakings. .
."

Tawl awoke and
wondered where he was. As his head cleared he realized that he was still on
Larn. He puzzled over how he had fallen asleep. He was in a small room, lying
on a stone bench. As he rose, his aching back told him he had spent some time
lying on the hard surface.

He had no memory
of being brought to this place. He could recall nothing after leaving the
cavern. Tawl felt alarmed. He could remember the seeing clearly, but nothing
else. He realized he had to get back to the ship. Captain Quain had said he
would sail after one day. Tawl had no way of knowing what time or what day it
was. He had to leave immediately. As he made his way from the room, the
youngest of the four entered.

"Greetings,"
he said. "I hope you are well rested."

"How did I
come to be here?" demanded Tawl.

"It is a
natural side effect of the seeing. The one who seeks answers is usually drained
of all his strength.. It is nothing to worry about. Seeing takes its toll on
all of us. You became tired and we brought you here so you could sleep."

"How long
have I slept?" Tawl did not believe a word the younger had said. He
remembered feeling fine immediately after the seeing.

"You have
slept for many hours. There is a new dawn."

"I must go.
My ship is due to leave soon." Tawl remembered the earlier talk of price.
"Tell me what due I must pay."

"Oh,
that." The younger's tone was casual. "I think the price will not be
high. I believe you will be asked merely to deliver some letters on our behalf
in Rorn. You are sailing there, I take it?" There was something about the
man's voice that made Tawl suspicious. He had been given the impression earlier
that his due would be much greater than acting as a messenger.

"Is that
all?" he asked.

"Why, of
course. You should not believe all those fireside stories you hear about Larn.
All we ever ask in return for a seeing is some small service. We looked upon
you with benevolence and decided you should not pay too dearly. If you follow
me, I will give you the letters." The man turned and walked from the room
and Tawl followed.

He was given two
letters, both sealed with wax. He was told where and to whom they should be
delivered. He was then led by a hooded man down through the cliffside. As he
walked, Tawl found he could not shake off his uneasiness. Something was not
right. He could not believe the four were letting him off so easily-letters to
deliver in a city he would be in anyway? The most disquieting thing to Tawl,
though, was how he had managed to lose the greater part of a day and night.

Tawl was forced to
focus on other matters as he approached the beach. He must row fast if he was
to reach The Fishy Few before she set sail. The fresh air seemed to Tawl like a
blessing after the stale atmosphere of temple and cavern. With every breath he
took, he felt his mood growing lighter. Soon he would be free from this cursed
place. He decided that when he eventually returned to Valdis he would talk to
Tyren about the terrible plight of the Seers of Larn. He wanted to make sure
that no more young men would ever be forced into such a life.

Tawl launched his
rowboat into the surf, reveling in the cold water about his waist. He jumped
into the boat and took up the oars, glad that his feet were no longer on the
island.

He was soon making
good time. He put all his energy into pulling the oars. It helped him to put
Larn out of his thoughts.

It was difficult
for him to remember the location of The Fishy Few. Mists swirled at a
convenient distance from the shores of Larn, hiding its presence from passing
ships. Tawl tried to keep a heading southwest, hoping to eventually stumble
upon the boat. After a few hours of rowing, he became anxious: surely he would
have spotted the ship by now. He stopped rowing and started listening. He
thought he heard a faint call. It came again: the sound of a fog horn. The crew
of The Fishy Few were trying to help him by making their presence known. Tawl
immediately became heartened and started rowing with renewed effort in the
direction of the horn call.

Not much later,
Tawl caught sight of the ship's high masts above the mist. His heart filled
with joy at the sight. The Fishy Few had not abandoned him. He drew nearer and
the mists parted; he was greeted by the sound of a cry, "Boat, ahoy!"

Tawl looked on as
the crew of the ship gathered to watch his approach. He made out the form of
Captain Quain, who raised his hand in greeting. Tawl heard the crew join in a
loud cheer and then, as he drew alongside the ship, he heard the captain shout,
"Break open a barrel, shipmates, our good friend has returned."

"No, Bodger,
it ain't the miller's wife who'll tumble for a length of cloth and a spring
chicken."

"That's what
I heard, Grift."

"No, Bodger,
there's no one better off than a miller's wife. No, it's the tallow maker's
wife who'll tumble for goods. Everyone knows there's no profit to be made in
tallow."

"The tallow
maker's wife never looks short to me, Grift. She always wears the prettiest
dresses."

"Exactly,
Bodger! How can a woman whose husband barely makes one silver a month afford
fine linen? She sets a good table, too, plenty of roasted chicken."

"Still,
Grift, Master Gulch told. me that he managed to take a tumble with the miller's
wife by giving her one length of cloth and a spring chicken."

"Master Gulch
should have saved his money, Bodger. The miller's wife will take a tumble with
just about anybody in breeches, and for no reason other than she's just plain
randy."

"Do you think
I'd have a chance with the miller's wife, then, Grift?"

"I'm not sure
that you'd want to, Bodger."

"Why's that,
Grift?"

"Unfortunately,
Bodger, it appears that the miller's wife has been spreading her favors so far
and wide that she's caught the ghones. And unless you fancy the idea of
watching your balls slowly putrefying and then dropping off, I'd stay clear of
her."

"I'm glad you
warned me, Grift, you're a true friend."

"I consider
it my duty to keep you informed of such matters, Bodger."

"What about
Master Gulch, Grift? Did he catch the ghones?"

"Well,
Bodger, all I can say is that judging by the way he's been walking recently, it
won't be long before his plums hit the deck."

The two guards sat
back against the wall and relaxed for a while, supping their ale.

"Hey, Grift,
while I was up on the battlements this morning, I could have sworn I saw a
group of horsemen in the forest."

"Whose colors
were they wearing, Bodger?"

"Well, Grift,
they were quite a distance away, but they looked like mercenaries to me."

"They'll be
the ones in the pay of Lord Baralis, then. I wonder if they've found young
Jack?"

"I didn't
spot him, Grift."

"I hope he's
got well away by now, Bodger. The boy's better off gone from the castle. He
never fit in. Just like his mother, head in the clouds the pair of them."

"I heard say
his mother was a witch."

"Aye, Bodger,
the rumors abounded. Beautiful girl she was. Judging from her accent she came
from the south, but whether she was a witch or not, I couldn't tell you. Though
I did hear a few stories."

"What sort of
stories did you hear, Grift?"

"It was said
that she once turned an over-ardent suitor bald."

"Bald?"

"As a
coot."

"It wasn't
Master Frallit, was it, Grift? He's got a head as bald as your own."

"My lips are
sealed, Bodger." Grift took a long draught of ale and said no more.

Maybor was
beginning to wonder what had become of his assassin. He had sent Crandle to
find the man, but his servant had been unable to locate him. The assassin had
obviously not done his job, for Maybor had seen Lord Baralis with his own eyes
that morning.

Maybor had been
walking in the gardens, taking the air that the wisewoman had advised, when he
had seen Baralis slithering around the castle walls, trailed by his lumbering
idiot, Crope. It had suited Maybor that the man had not seen him; he had no
wish to confront Baralis, he would rather stay in the background until his
enemy was disposed of. Only now it seemed that the man commissioned to do that
very job had disappeared.

Maybor did not
even know if Scarf had been staying in the castle or the town; the assassin
liked to keep his movements to himself. Perhaps the assassin decided that
Baralis was so dangerous that he backed out. Maybor decided against that
theory. He had dealt with Scarl before and knew him well. He was not a man to
flee from danger.

Maybor was walking
the length of his chamber wearing his servants' clothes. He had insisted that
every robe in his wardrobe be burnt and now found himself in the humiliating
circumstance of having nothing to wear. His sons were too slim to lend him any
of their clothes, and so he had been forced to don the rather disgusting and
none too clean clothes of his servant, Crandle. Maybor had commissioned the castle
robemaker to fashion him some new robes, but they would not be ready for a
week.

He, the great Lord
Maybor, had been forced to walk in the castle gardens dressed like a common
servant. Baralis had a lot to answer for!

Maybor was
understandably beginning to develop a deep fear of being poisoned. What might
Baralis try to poison next? His bedclothes? His shoes? Maybor had tried to
force Crandle into testing his food and wine for him, but the thankless servant
had adamantly refused. If Baralis was not out of the way soon, he would be
forced to spend good money hiring a food taster and their services did not come
cheap. It was, Maybor grudgingly supposed, a risky profession to be in.