The Baker's Boy (51 page)

"I did fine
in Rorn."

"Where I'm
headed is a lot more dangerous than Rorn."

"Let me
travel with you, then." The boy looked eagerly at Tawl.

"I'm
traveling on foot. You'd only slow me down."

"I've kept up
with you so far."

"I only have
food for one and little money to buy more."

"Getting
money has never been a problem for me." The boy smiled brightly.
"I've always been quite resourceful where coinage is concerned. Quite
resourceful indeed."

"Look,
Nabber." Tawl decided to stop trading words with the boy. "You can't
come with me. I've got a long, hard journey ahead. I won't have time to be
worrying about you. Now go back to the city and practice your resourcefulness
on the deserving people of Rorn." Tawl knew he was being hard on the boy,
but it was the only way to get the message across. "Go on now. If you
hurry, you'll be back in the city by dawn tomorrow." The boy flashed Tawl
a look filled with animosity. "Here," said Tawl, pulling some drymeat
from his bag. "Take this; you probably haven't eaten anything all
day." The boy refused the offered food and walked away. Tawl watched for a
while, satisfying himself that Nabber was indeed heading back to Rorn. After
some time Tawl turned north and set a fast pace; he wanted to cover a fair
distance before it grew dark.

Maybor was
checking his reflection in the mirror; he felt he might be getting a little
portly. Just this morning the queen's wisewoman had teased him about it,
insisting that she went on top, telling him she feared to be crushed if she
were beneath. Maybor did not like the idea of women being on top-that was a
man's place. The wisewoman was getting far too demanding. It was time he chose
a new filly. He would pick a young one next; he had lost his taste for old
flesh.

He was considering
Lady Helliarna's chambermaid as a possible dalliance when his thoughts were
interrupted by his son striding into the room.

"What is it,
Kedrac?" snapped Maybor, a little annoyed at being disturbed from his
contemplation of the chambermaid's ample backside.

"I have just
found out something most unsettling, Father." Kedrac poured himself a
glass of wine.

"What,
what?" Maybor was beginning to get worried. "Someone has sabotaged
our orchards."

"What!"
roared Maybor.

"Over five
score of trees have been viciously mutilated." Kedrac ran his hands
through his dark hair.

"Which
ones?"

"The trees in
the little valley, just off the hunting track."

"When was
this done?" Maybor paced furiously around the room.

"Two nights
ago. The overseer sent word by pigeon."

"Does he have
any idea of who did it? It must have been those damned Halcus. By Borc! How I
wish this cursed war had never happened."

"I'm not sure
that it was the Halcus. I was only up there last month, and their men had been
driven way back beyond the river."

"It must have
been them. Who else would do such a thing?"

"They have
never done anything like it before, Father. Don't forget, the Halcus have their
eyes on our orchards, too. I can't see why they would defile that which they
hope will one day be their own."

"Five score
trees! Our yield is already low. How badly are they damaged?" Maybor was
genuinely distressed. He was proud of his orchards-they were his prime source
of income. No cider fetched a higher price than that made from Nestor apples.

"I can't say,
Father. However, the overseer is not a man to send a pigeon without good
cause."

"The frost
will be here once the rains have gone; it could destroy them. The trees in the
small valley are amongst some of our oldest-they yield sweet, mellow
apples." Maybor searched for something to destroy. "I swear I will
kill the man responsible for this." He flung the jug of wine across the
room, where it broke against the wall with a satisfying smash, spilling red
wine over the priceless rug. "Is there any news of your foolhardy
sister?"

"I have not
sent a man to Duvitt to check out the rumors. I thought to go myself
today."

"I will go
too. I will ride to Duvitt and then on to my orchards. I would see the damage
that has been done firsthand."

"Are you sure
you are fit to go, Father? You are not fully recovered from your illness."

"I am fine,
boy," boomed Maybor, adding slyly, "do not count on getting your
inheritance just yet, my son. I am a long walk from death's door."

"I will make
preparation for your journey, Father."

"I want
nothing fancy, Kedrac. I will not be slowed down by ceremony. If we ride
quickly, we can be in Duvitt within five days."

Melli awoke with a
start. She was in darkness; the lamp must have gone out while she slept. She
had no idea what time it was nor how long she had been in the room. Her limbs
felt stiff, and as she raised herself off the floor she realized her dress and
underskirts were wet. She knew she should not have slept on the damp floor, but
she'd had little choice.

Melli moved over
to where she thought the lamp was and felt for its presence-the lamp was cold.
It must have been dead for some time. She thought that Baralis would have
returned before now with some food and water. She hoped she would not have to
wait much longer. A terrible thought flashed through her mind: what if Baralis
intended her to die here, holed up in this tiny room until she starved to
death? She shuddered violently, suddenly afraid of what her fate might be.

She forced herself
not to dwell on thoughts of doom; she had other matters to worry about. She
badly needed to relieve herself. The room was bare, with not so much as a pot
or bucket. She made her way to the corner of the room and lifted her skirts up;
a little more dampness would do no harm.

Once finished, she
moved near the door to see if she could hear anyone in the next room. There was
either no one there, or the door was too thick to let sound through. Melli
tried hard not to fall into despair. She hated being in the dark, being in a
small space, being thirsty. She began to sing to keep her spirits up, but her
voice sounded thin and frightened and she soon stopped.

A short time
later, she heard the jangle of keys and the turn of lock. The door swung open.
Melli found herself blinded by the light. She held her hand up to shield her
eyes.

"I bid you
good day, miss." It was Crope. Relief flooded over Melli; she greatly
preferred the servant to the master. Her eyes grew accustomed to the light and
she could make out Crope's substantial form in the doorway. "Why, miss,
you are cold and wet," he said gently. His kindness was too much and large
tears started to roll down her cheeks. "There, there, lady, no need to
cry." He came over to her and patted her hair gently. "Come now, time
for you to stretch your legs a bit." He led her out of the storeroom and
into the adjoining chamber. "See, I made it nice for you."

Some of the things
from her room had been transferred: a rug and her clothes. There was a tray of
food and jugs of water and wine. There was even a basin full of water for her
to bathe her face.

"Thank you,
Crope. You have laid everything out beautifully." The huge servant
blushed.

"All the
food's fresh this day, miss. Eat up, you must be hungry."

Melli smiled
weakly. "I think I should first change out of my damp clothes."

"Maybe you
should do that later." Crope looked uncomfortable. "When you're back
in your room."

"I am being
allowed back to my former room?"

"No,
lady." Crope didn't meet her eye. "Lord Baralis says that once you've
finished eating and such, you must go back into the storeroom."

Melli's spirits
dropped; she would have to endure another day locked up like a caged animal.
Crope appeared to sense her disappointment. "I'll make it mote
comfortable."

He thought for a
moment. "I'll bring you a lamp and a chair and some blankets." Melli
could only manage a half-hearted nod. This was enough for Crope, however, who
busied himself carrying various items into the storeroom.

Melli splashed
some water on her face and poured herself a glass of wine. She looked over the
tray of food. Her appetite was gone, but she forced herself to take some bread,
washing it down with a large quantity of wine. Soon, the alcohol began to have
an effect on Melli, warming her skin and improving her spirits; the food began
to look more tempting.

Crope finished
what he was doing and hovered nervously around her. "You'll have to be
going back soon, lady," he finally said. "Lord Baralis says that
you're not to be out for long."

"Tell me,
Crope," said Melli, cutting a slice of cured ham, "what caused Lord
Baralis to lock me in the storeroom?"

"I can't tell
you, miss."

"Nonsense!"
Melli put on her most imperious voice. "Why, Lord Baralis himself was
about to tell me yesterday, only he had to rush off." She watched as Crope
took in this information.

"Well, miss,
seems as he was about to tell you himself, there can't be any harm in me
telling you, now can there?" Crope smiled showing an interesting selection
of gaps and yellowing teeth.

"I think that
Lord Baralis would be pleased that you finished off what he had started."

Crope nodded
judiciously. "Well, miss, you know the boy, Jack."

"The baker's
boy," encouraged Melli.

"Yes, that's
him. Course he worked for Lord Baralis, too, just like me." Crope smiled
proudly. "Well, the boy has upped and escaped. The guards can't find him,
looked everywhere they have."

"And what has
this to do with me?" Melli already thought she knew the answer.

"Well, Lord
Baralis figures that Jack might come looking to rescue you. So he put you here,
where no one can find you."

After she had
eaten, Melli allowed herself to be led back into the storeroom. She was almost
grateful when the door closed behind her; she needed to think.

She could not help
but smile at Crope's handiwork. He had tried hard to transform the little room;
there were some fresh clothes, a chair and a small table. Discreetly placed on
a low shelf there was even a chamberpot. The rug that had been laid on the
floor served to soak up the damp, and Crope had provided her with several
blankets with which to keep warm.

Melli took off her
damp clothes. She wondered what Jack had been doing working for Baralis: he had
certainly not mentioned that to her. She was a little annoyed that he had not
told her the truth. She wondered if he would indeed come and rescue her-it was
a nice notion, like tales of knights of old-but she put herself in Jack's place
and thought that if she were to escape from Baralis' clutches she would run as
fast as she could and not look back.

"No, you're
wrong there, Bodger."

"But Master
Gullip told me that nobles were naturally more randy than us commoners."

"Well, he's
sorely mistaken, Bodger."

"Master
Gullip says he's got proof, Bodger."

"It wouldn't
surprise me if he had, Bodger. Master Gullip's well known for being a Peeping
TQm. He can't get no rollickin' of his own, so he sneaks around watching others
taking a tumble."

"So he could
be right then, Grift, about the nobles."

"That's where
Master Gullip makes his mistake, Bodger."

"What mistake
is that, Grift?"

"Well, he's
right that nobles do have more quantity of rollickin', but us commoners have
better quality."

"So nobles
ain't as good with the wenches then, Grift?"

"Take it from
me, Bodger, the commoner the man, the better he is at pleasuring the wenches.
No one pleasures the wenches better than a pig handler."

"A pig
handler?"

"Aye, the
lowest of the low, but always sought after by the wenches."

"I thought
the wenches sought after the pig handlers for the bacon, Grift."

"You've got
much to learn, Bodger."

The two men
reflected for a while, savoring their ale and stretching their legs out.

"Does the
same go for the ladies, Grift? The commoner, the more pleasing?"

"Aye, Bodger.
The lowest wenches in the castle are always attracting the eyes and codpieces
of the nobles. Even old King Lesketh himself was known to dally with
servants."

Jack looked
back-he thought he had heard a noise behind him. Probably a rat. He moved
quickly on; rats were one thing he didn't like to keep company with. He knew it
was foolish to be afraid of them, he a grown man of nearly eighteen, but
something about their heavy bodies and skinny legs made him shudder. Frallit
had once locked him up in the grain store all night in an attempt to cure him
of his fear. All it had done was make him more scared than ever. He'd spent the
night alone in the dark, crouched down by the door, praying to Borc to keep the
rats away.

Jack had spent
over a day exploring the labyrinth of tunnels and passageways that snaked
darkly beneath Castle Harvell. He was astonished that he could have lived his
whole life in the castle and yet have had no idea of what lay under its stone
floors.

On reaching the
castle the day before, he took a torch from the wall and had proceeded to
investigate the various passageways leading from the room. Jack felt the thrill
of the explorer as he traveled through the tunnels, taking turnoffs at whim. He
imagined the people who stepped before him: kings fleeing from assassins, thieves
stealing away with crown jewels. It was relaxing for a while to let his
imagination run its course. So many disturbing things had happened over the
past weeks that it was nice not to think about them for a couple of hours. He
let his feet go where they fancied, and his mind was soon to follow suit.

One little
niggling thing-well, two if he counted ratskept bringing him back to the
present: there was something to remember about his mother. Jack was almost
certain of it.