The Baker's Boy (44 page)

"Don't do
that," Baralis cautioned. She stopped, frightened by the warning in his
voice. "One never knows with such growths, my lady, how deadly they might
turn out to be." Melli drew her hand back. Baralis turned and continued
walking.

After a while his
course veered off to the right and he stopped beside a heavy, wooden door.
Melli watched dispassionately as Baralis struggled to draw back the bolt with
his crooked hands. Something about the sight of his disfigurement stirred up a
wisp of memory-a memory from long ago in her childhood. She struggled for the
recollection, but it eluded her.

Baralis pushed the
door open, and he and Melli entered the chamber. It was brightly lit with many
candles and surprisingly warm. There were rugs on the floor and a scattering of
tables and chairs.

"I trust you
will find this to your liking. My servant Crope brought these things from the
castle. They are not much, I am afraid." Melli was aware that Baralis was
playing the room down; he had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to provide her
with comfort.

"I have also
taken the liberty of having some food prepared for you." He indicated a
low table where a tray of cold food was laid out. Melli's heart warmed at the
sight. There was roast fowl, veal sausage, plover eggs, hearty red cheese, a
round loaf, and a selection of hothouse fruits. She looked quickly away,
determined to hide her keen interest in the food from her captor.

"It will do
for now," she said icily, hoping he would leave her soon so that she could
eat.

"You will
probably wish for a bath and a change of clothes. I will arrange to have them
brought to you." Baralis moved to leave, but Melli halted him.

"Why have you
brought me here?" she demanded. Baralis paused for a moment, considering
whether or not to answer. He looked at her and took a thin breath.

"Let me say
this, my dear. We have a mutual interest." Something in his voice struck a
chord within Melli and his motives became clear to her. "You mean, Lord
Baralis, that you do not wish me to marry Prince Kylock either?"

"You are
indeed a bright girl, Melliandra." He smiled faintly. "So much
brighter than your father." He issued the slightest of bows and then
withdrew from the room. Melli heard the scrape of metal as the bolt was drawn
on the other side.

She rushed over to
the food, her mind racing. It was all falling into place. Baralis hated her
father; he would not want Lord Maybor to be father-in-law of the future king
and grandfather to a future heir. So he had captured her before her father
could. She wondered what Baralis' plans for her were-she could not believe that
he would harm her. He surely would not have provided her with such an agreeable
chamber if he intended to kill her. Melli decided she would think on the
subject no longer. The food looked too tempting and she did not care to ruin
her appetite with apprehension.

She settled down
upon a small footstool and poured herself a glass of light, red wine. Out of
habit she reached for the water jug to dilute the wine-then stopped herself,
deciding that she would take her wine whole. The customs of the fine ladies of
court seemed trivial to her now. She raised the wine to her lips and drank
deeply. It felt good to be flouting customs. Her eyes alighted on the delicate
silver paring knife that had been so thoughtfully provided for her. She
disregarded it and tore at the roast fowl with her bare hands, neatly twisting
a drumstick off with a pleasant snapping of bone.

Baralis rubbed his
hands together, massaging muscle and sinew. Since Winter's Eve he had been
unable to open them completely; his fingers curled in toward his palms.

Every day he
rubbed therapeutic oils into the red, shiny flesh, hoping that their condition
would improve and he would regain some flexibility. He was finding it more and
more difficult to perform simple tasks: the mixing of compounds, the writing of
letters, the drawing of a bolt.

Baralis turned
from the door and walked a few steps down the passageway. Facing the blank
stone, he brushed his thumb against a section of the wall. The wall slid
noiselessly back. Crope stood up guiltily as he entered, his face reddening.
Baralis looked to see the cause of his guilt. The dimwit had been petting a
small rodent.

"Crope, I
have told you before not to take my creatures from their cages; they are not
pets to be stroked and fondled." It was his servant's responsibility to
feed the animals that he kept for his various purposes. Crope, however, tended
to get attached to the unfortunate creatures.

"I'm sorry,
my lord," he muttered. "I'll take it back to the castle right away,
see that it's locked up tight."

"The creature
is of little importance to me now, you lumbering simpleton. I want you to heat
up some water and bring it to our guest. Take those to her also." Baralis
indicated a small heap of clothes and linens.

"Very well,
master." Crope moved to leave, gathering up the delicate fabrics in his
huge arms.

"One more
thing, Crope."

"Yes, my
lord."

"I do not
wish to be disturbed for the rest of the day. Go back to my chambers and make
yourself useful there once you have finished your task." Crope nodded.
"And take that wretched rodent with you. I have no mind to sit here in the
company of a large rat!" Baralis watched with growing impatience as Crope
struggled to catch the creature while holding on to the linens. Finally his
servant pocketed the sickly looking rodent. Baralis made a quick mental note of
the state of the creature-the particular poison he'd been trying out on it
obviously worked more slowly than he thought. He'd expected the animal to be
already dead.

Once Crope had
left, Baralis' attentions quickly turned to other matters. He was due to have
an audience with the queen in the morning to deliver the new batch of the
medicine for the king. He hoped that during the meeting he would be able to
find out what progress the Royal Guard had made tracking the girl. It was
important that they did not follow her trail back to him.

Baralis' thoughts
lingered over the girl: such a tempting young morsel. True, she was a little
worse for wear than when she had first run away, but he only found that more
appealing. Perfection held little interest for Baralis. He had not decided what
to do with her yet. There was no rush; her presence here could not be detected.
The haven, as he liked to call it, was known to no one, although there was a
tunnel running from it to the castle. Baralis surmised it had been built
hundreds of years back as an escape route in times of siege and, like so many
other things, had long been forgotten.

Baralis allowed
himself to feel a little smug. Events were moving in his favor once more. Not
only had his mercenaries found Maybor's daughter, they had also found the boy.
Of course, the treacherous ingrates had insisted on a bonus for finding him. He
decided he would let Jack sweat for a few days before he questioned him
concerning the incident with the loaves. Two or three days left alone in a dark
cell with only crust and water would serve to make the boy more compliant.

Baralis moved
toward a faded tapestry on the far wall. He pushed the moth-eaten fabric aside.
His gnarled hand resting upon the cool stone, he found what he was looking
for-a small gap the size of a thumbnail chiseled out of the stone. Baralis
leaned forward and pressed his face to the wall.

He could see every
detail of Melli's chamber. He smiled to see the girl was heartily gulping down
her food, biting lustily on a large sausage and swilling wine down her slender
throat. The girl obviously had a piece of food stuck between her teeth, as she
picked at it unashamedly with a thin pheasant bone. Having loosened the
persistent morsel, she spat it out with gusto and then downed more wine.

Baralis could
clearly hear the knock that drew her attention. He heard her bid enter, and
watched as Crope lumbered into the room carrying a huge pail of boiling water.
It amused Baralis to see the fear and revulsion in Melli's face as his servant
crossed the room. With delight, he noticed her eyes alight on the open door,
assessing her chance of escape as Crope filled the wooden tub with hot water.
The girl casually stood up and inched toward the door. Crope turned around, his
hands grasping the pail of hot water.

"I wouldn't
do that, miss," he said so softly that Baralis had to strain to hear the
words. Maybor's daughter was clearly surprised at his servant's gentle voice.
She sat down again. Crope finished filling the tub. "Be careful,
miss," he warned. "Be sure to put plenty of cold in before you take
your bath. This water could scald the skin off your back." He left the
room and returned seconds later with the clothes and linens. He placed them
with great care on the bed. The servant then took his leave of the girl, bowing
awkwardly.

Baralis watched as
the girl looked over the clothes that had been brought; he could see her
pleasure in what had been selected. Judging by the tatty red dress she was
currently wearing, she had not known the pleasure of fine clothes for some
time.

The girl crossed
the room and tested the bath water, then quickly withdrew her finger. Satisfied
that Crope had spoken the truth, she poured the contents of the cold pail into
the bath. Baralis wetted his lips as the girl began to unlace her dress. He had
seen many women disrobe in his time, but it was always more interesting when
the person in question did not know she was being observed. A woman with a
lover will preen and strut, holding in her stomach and thrusting out her chest.
A woman alone has no need of such show; she will slouch and scratch and fart.

Melli quickly took
off her skirt followed by her bodice. Baralis admired her high, white breasts.
She turned to her bath and Baralis took a sharp intake of breath. On her back were
six deep, red welts. They were obviously only a few days old, for dried blood
was caked around two of them. What is this, he wondered? The mercenaries never
mentioned a beating. Baralis could not tear his eyes from the sight; such
perfection, such beautiful, creamy skin, such fine legs and buttocks, all
thrown into magnificent relief by the presence of the vicious, red scars.
Instead of detracting from her beauty they seemed, by their very hideousness,
to magnify it. Baralis felt a stirring in his loins.

Melli gathered the
soap, brush, and linen swab that she needed for her bath and gingerly lowered
herself into the water. She soaked for a while, her head barely above water.

Baralis looked on
as she began to lather up her brush, she scrubbed her feet and her legs with
the brush and then swapped to the cloth rag to clean her more tender areas. She
then began to rub her back with the soapy cloth; she winced as it touched the
welts. The girl put down the cloth and carefully felt the wounds on her back.
She looked afraid of what she felt there. She stood up from the bath, water
running in rivulets down her slender frame, and stepped out. She glanced
quickly around the room. Baralis could guess what she was searching for: a
looking glass. He was pleased that he had thought to provide her with one.

She rushed over to
the mirror, her body scattering droplets of water onto the fine rug. She placed
her back to the mirror and twisted her head and neck around so that she could
see the cause of her distress. Baralis watched the girl's frightened face
crumble into tears at the sight of her scarred back. She fell onto the floor,
sobbing quietly.

Baralis moved away
from the stone. He had seen enough for the time being. The sight of the girl
crying had left him unmoved. He carefully replaced the tapestry and sat down in
a comfortable chair, pouring himself a glass of wine.

He turned his
attention to other matters, calculating if his letter to Bringe would have been
delivered by now. He was anxious to go ahead with his plan to mutilate Maybor's
orchards. Bringe, Baralis mused, was just the sort of man he liked-a greedy
one.

Tvalisk was down
in the palace wine cellar testing the various vintages. "I will try a cup
of this one," he said to the young boy who was shadowing him.

"If Your
Eminence pleases, I am not allowed to touch the barrels. I will call for the
master cellarer."

"You will do
no such thing, boy, I cannot bear the sight of that sanctimonious toad. He
knows nothing about wine." Tavalisk smiled pleasantly. "Come boy, a
glass of the red."

The boy
reluctantly tapped the barrel, filled a cup, and handed it to the archbishop.
"See, boy," he said, "you have already pleased me more than the
cellarer ever did. He only pours me a mere quarter cup when I'm tasting."
Tavalisk held the liquor up to the lamplight, admiring its rich color. A
flicker of annoyance crossed his brow as he saw Gamil walking up to him.

"If Your
Eminence would be so good as to forgive this intrusion?"

"What now,
Gamil?" The archbishop swirled the wine around the glass.

"I have news
for Your Eminence." Gamil eyed the young boy.

"There is no
need for me to dismiss this young man, Gamil. I'm sure he can be trusted, and
besides, he is being most helpful to me." Tavalisk favored the boy with
another smile.

"I have
delicate matters to speak of," persisted Gamil. "Do not contradict
me!" The archbishop's voice was icy cold. He turned to the boy, who was
now red-faced, and said sweetly, "Fetch me a glass of the Marls
white." The boy rushed off to another barrel. "Now, Gamil, tell me
your news."

"Well, Your
Eminence, I have confirmed that there was a fire at Castle Harvell the night of
Winter's Eve-the same night you felt the drawing. I have heard reports of
strange things happening at the time the fire started."

"Let me
guess, Gamil. Metal objects warm to the touch? A wave of heat and force?"
The boy had returned with another cup of wine and Tavalisk took a mouthful.