The Baker's Boy (53 page)

"Gamil!"
he called. His aide had been waiting outside and came hurrying in.

"Yes, Your
Eminence."

"I have
signed the edict banning knights from entering the city of Rorn." Tavalisk
indicated the document on his desk. He then turned his attention to the platter
of sweet breads at his side, scrutinizing them carefully and taking in their
subtle aroma. They were cooked just the way he liked them, fried in a little
oil, no spices or other embellishments to mask their delicate flavor.

"The edict
will surely upset the city of Valdis."

"That is my
intention, Gamil. I'm quite sick of them interfering with Rorn's trade. Only
last week they seized one of our ships. Kept it at sea for two days while they
searched it from top to bottom. The whole cargo of fish was ruined."
Tavalisk busied himself with choosing a sweetbread.

"On top of
that, the knights are making nuisances of themselves in the city, telling
people I'm corrupt and that I've no dealings with God. Tyren is playing a
dangerous game and it's high time he learnt the power of his opponents."
Tavalisk squeezed a sweetbread between his fingers, letting its pale secretions
dribble over his fingers. He shot Gamil an accusing glance when the juices
spilled onto his robe.

"What if they
retaliate, Your Eminence?"

"The Knights
of Valdis retaliate! I doubt it, Gamil, they will hold meetings and assemblies
and send us letters of condemnation. The Knights of Valdis are incapable of
fast action. Why, it took them one hundred years to decide where to build their
damn city in the first place." Tavalisk reached over and selected the
largest of the sweetbreads. "No, Gamil, they will do nothing."

"Then why has
Your Eminence signed the order?"

"I thought
that would be obvious." The archbishop popped the sweetbread into his
mouth. He first rolled it around on his tongue, enjoying its rubbery texture
and then pierced it with his sharp teeth, letting the delectable juices run off
his tongue and down his throat. "I am hoping to start a trend. Don't you
see, Gamil, the knights are welcome in fewer and fewer places, no one in the
south trusts them anymore. One minute they act like dangerous fanatics, the
next they're stealing trade by undercutting prices. Rorn will be the first city
with enough nerve to finally dispel those selfrighteous hypocrites. Once Rorn
has shown the lead, other cities will follow suit: Marls, Camlee, Toolay, they all
will do likewise. Before long the Knights of Valdis will find their movements
in the east severely restricted." Tavalisk threw the remaining sweetmeats
into the fire.

"May I
venture to ask Your Eminence why he is so opposed to the knighthood?"

Tavalisk dabbed
daintily at the stain on his robe. "Really Gamil, your short-sightedness
amazes me. Tyren wants to control the trade routes. The knights are no longer
content with controlling land and river trade. They're after the sea trade as
well."

"But I
thought the knights were there merely to ensure that goods got through
safely."

"Yes, yes.
They used to provide armed escorts for cargoes---still do, only the price for
protection has got so high, the goods end up going to market at a premium.
That's where they're winning; goods they ship themselves are half the price.
They've got people in the north believing that Rorn charges artificially high
prices, whilst Valdis struggles to keep its prices low."

Tavalisk took an
orange from the bowl of fruit by his side. "Tyren is up to no good. The
man is too ambitious. He makes friends with the duke of Bren to gain sway in
the north. He mustn't be allowed to find similar friends in the south."

"If the
knights are expelled from all the eastern cities, Your Eminence, it could lead
to war."

"That,
Gamil," said the archbishop with a heavy sigh, "is an occasion we
will have to deal with if and when it arises." Tavalisk tore the skin from
the orange.

"Since we
speak of the knighthood, Your Eminence, perhaps you would like to know the
progress of our particular knight."

"Go
ahead," urged the archbishop, teeth glinting as he bit on the orange.

"Well, the
knight left the city nearly a week back. He's currently heading north on
foot."

"Is he still
being followed by the boy?"

"Apparently
he is, Your Eminence."

Tavalisk studied
the bowl of fruit, deciding which piece he would eat next. "You may go
now, Gamil, but before you do could you perform one small favor."

"Certainly,
Your Eminence."

The archbishop
unpinned his robe. "Could you try and remove this grease stain for me? If
you can't, be so good as to deduct the cost from your wages."

Tawl entered a
small town: a few traders, a stable, a smithy, and a tavern. He had set a brisk
pace over the last few days and was pleased with his progress. He was now quite
a distance from Rorn and the scenery had changed: the towns were fewer and
smaller, the road had deteriorated to a mere dirt track and there were fewer
people traveling it. Mountains lay ahead, their pale peaks hazy in the
distance.

He decided he
would pay a visit to the local tavern. It was drawing close to midday and he
was due for a brief respite. His throat was dry and the thought of ale instead
of water cheered him considerably.

He walked into the
small tavern and immediately regretted his whim: it was no warm and jovial
wayside inn. The place was deserted except for two men sitting in the corner
playing low hand. There was no fire burning in the gate, the straw matting was
stained and dirty, and the smell of rank meat hung in the air. Tawl was about
to leave when a woman emerged from behind the bar and blocked his exit.

Tawl felt obliged
to have a drink. The woman winked provocatively at him and headed off to fetch
his ale. She returned moments later with a foamy brew and placed it on the
table, her fingers lingering over the mug. "So tell me where you're
headed, golden boy?" Tawl could not deny the woman was attractive; she had
a pleasing plumpness and a pretty snub nose. Her eyes, however, were cold
despite her smile.

"Just heading
north."

"Toolay is
it? I've got a cousin in Toolay, says the only good thing about the city is the
eatin'. Crabs and lobsters, she says, as big as her head. And let me tell you
my cousin's got a big head." The woman laughed at her own wit, a shrill
laugh, lacking in warmth.

"I've no
plans to visit Toolay." Tawl had no intention of sharing his plans.

"Fancy a bite
to eat, a slice of pie or a bowl of stew?" The girl leaned forward,
exposing the deep cleft of her bosom.

"No."

"Coffers
running a bit low are they?" The girl moved back, withdrawing her favor.

"No, I've
already eaten."

"Travelin'
alone are you?"

"Yes."
Tawl noticed the woman's speculative look. "You don't seem to have much
stuff for a man who's travelin' past Toolay."

He knew the woman
was fishing for information. When he made no answer to her last remark she
walked back behind the bar. Tawl supped his ale and watched as a man came from
the back and spoke with the tavern maid. Their voices were hushed and the woman
looked Tawl's way a number of times. Tawl decided it was time he left. He
drained his ale and made his way to the door. As he walked across the room he
made a show of checking his longknife-it was wise to avoid trouble whenever
possible.

He was glad to be
outside; the sun shone mildly and the air was fresh. The dirt road led the way
out of town and he took it, heading north as always. He started whistling a
tune he'd learnt from Carver during his time on The Fishy Few. A jolly song
telling of the strength, bravery, handsomeness and sexual prowess of sailors.
Tawl was no singer and so contented himself with whistling the melody.

He had walked from
the town only a short distance when he was jumped. He was ready for it, his
knife was drawn in an instant. There were three attackers: the men from the
tavern. One of them tried to force him to the ground. Tawl swung round and
slashed at his belly. He missed and felt the sting of a blade on his arm. Anger
made Tawl lash out with his fist. He felt the soft flesh of the man's side and
his foe stumbled backward but did not fall. Tawl turned his attention to the
second man, urging him to try his luck with a strike. His attacker plunged his
knife forward, leaving his chest exposed. Tawl dodged the knife and stabbed at
the man's chest; he felt his blade slip between ribs and his foe fell back.

Tawl felt a
powerful blow to the back of his knees and stumbled forward, struggling to stay
upright. Turning around he saw the third man was wielding a huge club. The
first man was moving in with his knife, and Tawl was forced to deal with him as
he parried the man with the club. The third man brought his club down on Tawl's
shoulder blade with great force and he fell to the ground. The two attackers
closed in.

Suddenly, someone
jumped on the first man's back-it was all Tawl needed. The one with the club
was distracted for a mere second, but it was enough for Tawl to jump to his
feet and land his knife in the man's gut. Tawl finished him off and quickly
turned to the remaining assailant, who was attempting to strike the person who
had jumped him. Tawl whipped his blade down the man's flank and then dispatched
him with a clean strike to the heart.

The boy cheered,
jumping with excitement.

Tawl had to
struggle for breath before he could speak. "What in Borc's name are you
doing here?" Tawl rubbed his shoulder blade. It was sore to the touch, but
it didn't feel broken.

"That's easy.
Saving your life, of course." Nabber grinned triumphantly. Tawl walked a
short distance from the fight scene, still gasping for air.

"The first
one got away, you know. I saw him crawling into the bushes." The boy
looked to Tawl to reply. When no response was forthcoming, he continued,
"Ain't you gonna finish him off ?"

Tawl shook his
head. He was badly out of breath and hunkered down on the roadside.
"You're supposed to be back in Rorn."

"It's just as
well for you I'm not." Tawl could not deny that Nabber's intervention may
have saved his life.

"What did you
think you were doing jumping on an armed man's back? You could have been
killed." Tawl began to clean his knife, wiping the blood away with a
handful of grass.

"Didn't give
it a thought. I saw you were in trouble and made my move. I'm no coward. I've
been in worse scraps in Rorn."

Tawl checked the
length of the road. There was no one about and it was time to be off; he didn't
want to risk being discovered with two dead bodies. He glanced toward the boy,
deciding what he should do about him. He made his decision and headed off down
the road.

"Come on,
boy," he called. "We'd better be going."

"You go
ahead," shouted Nabber. "I'll catch you up in a few minutes."

Some time later,
the boy drew alongside Tawl. He was short of breath and had obviously been
running.

"What kept
you?"

"A little job
to do, that's all."

"What little
job?"

"A bit of
prospecting." The boy shrugged.

"What exactly
do you mean by prospecting?" Tawl spoke sharply, losing his patience.

"I did a
quick search of the bodies, see if they had anything worth having on
them." Seeing Tawl's disapproving look, the boy explained further. "Well,
I know you're a knight and all; you're probably too honorable to do any
frisking. Thought I'd take the initiative myself."

"Hand it
over."

"I found
it," protested Nabber. "Hand it over!"

The boy brought a
coin purse from his vest and gave it to Tawl. "Six silvers and one
gold," he said proudly. "Anything else?"

The boy's reply
was guarded. "Nothing to speak of."

"No robbing
dead men in future, boy, especially ones you didn't kill yourself."

"What are you
going to do with the money?"

"I'm going to
be keeping hold of it. I'll have need of more money with you tagging
along." Tawl watched as the boy momentarily beamed with pleasure and then
resumed his nonchalant manner.

"I told you
before, Tawl, coinage is no problem while I'm around."

"Look,
Nabber," Tawl became grave, "this is no grand adventure. There's hard
journeying ahead, bad roads and bad weather, and then no roads at all. You saw
today what can happen to innocent travelers. I can't guarantee my own safety,
let alone that of a headstrong boy. It's true that I owe you a debt, and in
part that's why I'm letting you come along, but I think you may live to regret
my particular form of repayment."

The day was
growing late. The sun grew red in the western sky and the first chill of
evening could be felt on the breeze. Tawl decided they would travel late into
the night.

Not only did he
have time to make up for, he also wanted to test the mettle of the boy.

Mistress Greal was
preparing to go down to dinner. She coated her face heavily with powdered lead
and then squashed cranberries between her fingers, rubbing the juices onto her
cheeks. She might not be as young as she once was, she thought, but she was
still a fine figure of a woman. She looked through her wardrobe, deciding which
of her dresses to wear. She picked the plainest-the blue, thinking to herself
that the night promised little opportunity. Her sister, who now lived in Bren,
had scolded her many times for wasting good dresses on unprofitable evenings.

"Mistress
Greal, Mistress Greal!" Her maid came rushing into the room.

"What is it,
you wretched girl?"

"Oh, Mistress
Greal, such news!" Keddi was flushed with excitement.

"If you do
not tell me this minute, girl, I will have you flogged. Now calm down and
speak."