The Baker's Boy (57 page)

The queen gave him
a meaningful glance and turned her back on him.

Baralis took his
leave and made his way back to his chambers. He could not help but admire the
queen's intelligence: she had deduced that because his men were in the woods
they were in all likelihood looking for Maybor's daughter, which in turn meant
that they knew something of her whereabouts. He would have to move fast; the
queen would waste no time ordering the Royal Guard to step up their search in
the forest.

As soon as he
reached his chambers he ordered Crope to tell the mercenaries to halt their
search.

Once he was alone,
he let himself into his study and mixed the drug he needed. He ground lichen in
a mortar and extracted juices from a moss that grew in the darkness underneath
the castle. Other ingredients were. added: powders and extractions. Swiftly he
sliced open the skin on the tip of his finger. His blood was a bright bead upon
the flesh. He squeezed the wound, allowing three drops only to fall into the
cup.

Baralis drew power
into the cup-a mere trace, a catalyst. The liquid swirled within, moved by an
unseen hand. Baralis daubed a streak of the drug on his forehead. Immediately
the skin around the smear erupted into tiny blisters. His whole body broke into
a cold sweat. Baralis drew the cup to his face and breathed in the fumes; his
body recoiled from the noxious vapors, but he forced himself to breathe deeply.

He could feel the
burning of nostril and lung. He swayed as the drug worked its effect, stealing
through tissue and sinew into his mind.

Since they had
escaped things had not gone smoothly. The weather had been so bad that they had
been unable to travel far, and they were both soaked to the skin. They had run
out of food and had not eaten in two days. The nights had been the worst: they
had to sleep out in the open on the wet earth, pressed close against each other
to keep warm.

Jack was well
aware that the mercenaries were out looking for them-the whole forest seemed
riddled with men on horseback. They had managed to conceal themselves so
far-whenever they heard guards approaching they hid in ditches or undergrowth.
Jack knew, however, that it was only a matter of time before some sharp-eyed
mercenary spotted them cowering among the dead leaves.

They pushed
onward, the rain pelting against their faces and the wind robbing them of any
chance of warmth. The forest floor was thick with damp, decomposing leaves. Their
smell was not unpleasant-a rich, furtive scent that spoke of growth and
renewal. Jack found he had more appreciation of the forest since his stay with
Falk. He saw the grace of the bare trees and the modesty of the
undergrowth-brush and bracken, destined always to live in the shadow of their
more glorious relations.

After some time
Melli came to an abrupt halt. "Over there," she said. Jack looked
toward where she was indicating and could see nothing. "Behind that large
oak tree." She dashed off and he was obliged to follow. He soon realized
what she had seen: a wooden but. It was almost totally concealed by trees and
bushes, and ivy vines snaked against its walls.

They cautiously
approached the hut. There was no sign of a path leading to the doorway and the
ivy vines extended over the door itself. Jack looked to Melli, who nodded her
head enthusiastically and pushed at the door. It was very stiff; years of
rainfall had warped the wood and corroded the hinges. The door gave way a
little and then could be budged no further. They managed to squeeze through the
gap and into the hut.

The inside smelled
musky and damp. Once Jack's eyes became accustomed to the dimness, he realized
they had stumbled upon an old hunting lodge. Before King Lesketh became ill, he
and his men would often spend many days in the forest tracking game; huts were
built so the men would not have to return to the castle at nightfall. They
afforded some shelter and provided a place to keep their kills and equipment
until the hunt was over. Since the king's illness the huts had mostly lain
unused and forgotten.

Jack forced the
door closed, and he and Melli began to search the but for items they could use.
They found some old, dusty horseblankets and wrapped themselves up in them to
keep warm. There was a selection of hunting implements: chains, prodders,
spears and hoods, and even a rather battered brass horn. There were two wooden
benches and an old table on top of which sat an empty oil lamp and the
long-decayed carcass of a fox. In the corner was an old painted chest.

Jack pried the
chest open with a spearpoint. Inside were various men's clothes: breeches,
waistcoats, and tunics. Right at the bottom, buried beneath the blankets and
oilskins, was an ancient-looking book. Jack drew it forth from the chest. Its
bindings were loose and mold grew on its pages. He opened it up, the paper thin
and brittle between his fingers.

"What's
that?" Melli came up behind him. "Here, give it to me." Jack
handed the book over to her and she turned to the title page, elaborately
decorated with depictions of the stars in the heavens. "The Book of Words
by Marod. Oh, how disappointing. I thought it might have been some juicy
revelations about the king's ancestors. Instead it's just boring old
Marod."

"Who is
Marod?" asked Jack, who had never heard of him.

"Oh, I
thought everyone knew about Marod. As a girl I had to learn the poems. Of
course, it's mostly for the priests and scholars-they read and study it. It's a
load of old non sense if you ask me." Melli flicked through the pages.
"This is a pretty bad copy ... the paper has been used twice. You can
still see writing from the first script." Melli carelessly dropped the
book back into the chest. "Let's see if we can find anything to eat."

She began to
search the planked floor. "I remember one year when I was very young, my
father took me out on a hunt-of course, it wasn't a real one, more a treat for
my brothers." Melli dropped to her hands and knees and started knocking on
the wooden boards. "Anyway, we came to a but like this. We were tired and
hungry and Father surprised us by lifting up some of the floorboards.
Underneath was a small store of food. Apparently food was kept underground
because it stayed fresher longer, and it kept any animals from stealing away with
it. Aha!" Melli excitedly pulled up a length of wood. "What have we
here?" She reached down with her arm and pulled out a stoppered flask; she
opened it. "Wine." Jack took it from her. It was indeed wine; he
poured a little into his palms and then tasted. It was a little sour but still
drinkable.

Melli meanwhile
had brought forth other items from the hold; bags of oats and grain and several
items wrapped in linen cloths. "It would appear that the hunters of old
cared little about their own refreshment and more about their horses. Oats and
wheat are of no use to us." Jack ignored her comments and checked around
the hut. There was a primitive brick stove. He smiled. All he needed now was
some firewood and a pot. He found an iron cauldron thrown in with the hunting
equipment. There was not, however, any firewood in sight.

"Why not burn
that old book?" quipped Melli as she busily opened the various packages.

"No."
Working as Baralis' scribe, Jack had grown to treasure books and didn't like
the thought of burning one, especially one that looked so old. "I'll break
up the chest, instead. That will burn well." He picked up the book and
flicked through its pages; as he did so a loose leaf fell onto the floor. He
crouched down and picked it up. It was a letter. Melli came over and snatched
it from him.

"It's signed
with a wreathed `L.' That's King Lesketh's signature." She read the short
note: "My sweetest love, I can see you at the lodge no more. The queen is
with child, and our meetings must end. Take the book, it is yours, I know how
much you loved reading it. Let it be a parting gift. L. " Melli looked at
him. He could tell from her face that she felt the same way he did: ashamed.
They had pried into someone else's life. Jack took the letter from Melli and carefully
replaced it in the book. Reading the letter wasn't right. Its secrets were not
meant to be shared. He put the book on a shelf and began breaking the chest
down for firewood.

It grew dark
quickly and Jack began to feel safer; the mercenaries would call off their
search until the morning. The fire burning in the stove warmed the little but
and the smell of cooking filling the air. He prepared porridge, enriching its
flavor by throwing in a length of dried meat. He was not entirely sure if the
drymeat was still edible, but decided to take the chance. Melli turned up her
nose at the porridge at first, but hunger changed her mind. Once she had tasted
it, she finished off the whole pot, eating far more than he did. She then
curled up close to the stove and fell asleep.

Jack sat for a
while, wondering what would be best to do tomorrow. The idea of spending
another day in the refuge of the but was very tempting. Outside the wind howled
and the rain fell. He decided he would wait and see what the morning would
bring.

He soared high
above the clouds, the firmament twinkled with the cold brilliance of the
millennium. Never had he seen it so beautiful, so terrible: it taunted him with
its nearness. He was without body, without soul, a wisp of smoke, a scattering
of particles, borne upward by the strength of his own will.

It was time to
descend; madness came to those who looked too long upon the heavens. He raced
downward, leaving the stars and the blackness of space behind him. He moved
through the clouds and was untouched by their wetness. Down he went, the earth
a vague darkness below.

He began to
discern shapes and forms: the gray quadrangle that formed the walls of the
castle, the sprawl of the town. He turned his gaze southward and spied his
hunting ground, the shadowy blackness of the forest.

Lower and lower.
The canopy of the forest, which at first had seemed without feature, began to
take shape. He perceived the patterns of the tree and bush and sapling. He saw
the glow of life moving within; from the largest stag, standing magnificent on
a grassy rise, to the smallest earthworm burrowing its way through the hard
earth. The abundance of nature was laid out beneath him, teeming and striving.

He moved inward,
searching. Through the trees he raced, bare branches caressing the air as he
passed. He spied the flicker of possibility and changed his course. He drew
close and recognized the work of man. It was a building of some sort, almost
hidden by a dense growth of trees. He floated downward and then slipped his tenuous
form between the cracks in the wood.

His suspicions had
been proven right. The boy and the girl lay sleeping by a low-burning stove. He
passed over them, each in turn stirring but not waking.

Content that he
had accomplished his task, he withdrew, willing his shadowy insubstance back to
meet his body. Once more he sped across the skies, not pausing to admire their
spectacle. His time was limited and he would not risk being stranded, bodiless,
for all eternity.

He began his
descent into the castle. Down he came through the many layers of stone, anxious
to be reunited with flesh and blood once more. He floated above his body. How
shallow his breaths were, how pale his skin. Down he came, joining himself,
penetrating deep into the soft grayness. He knew such weakness, such fatigue,
and then no more.

Melli shifted her
position; the wooden floor was hard and she was seeking to make herself
comfortable. Through closed eyes, she was aware of the onset of dawn. She was
reluctant to get up. She had been having such a pleasant dream and did not want
to break the spell. She knew that getting up would mean another day of running
and hiding, being chased by Baralis' mercenaries and her father's men. She
would be cold, hungry, scared, and exhausted. It was pleasant just to lie here
in the dying warmth of the stove and pretend that none of it cxisted.

Melli found that
she could not pretend; images intruded into her peace, confusing and
distressing her. Images of being flogged, images of being locked in a small,
dark room and, most disturbing of all, the image of Baralis running his fingers
down her spine. She shuddered, repulsed at the memory, but she knew she was not
being honest with herself: for a brief instant she had wanted, even willed him
to caress her. She had stood and let him touch her, and part of her had
thrilled at that touch. Baralis was widely held to be a powerful and seductive
man, but she had never thought she would succumb to his allure. It was better,
Melli considered, to get far away from Castle Harvell and to put all pain and
bewilderment behind her.

She gradually
became aware of a vague murmuring.

She listened and
it grew louder-the noise of horses at the gallop. She felt a bitter churning in
her belly; they had come for her. She looked to Jack, who had been awakened by
the noise. He sprang up and began to gather some food into a cloth bag.

"We haven't
got time," cried Melli. "They are almost upon us." She rushed
over to the door and began pulling on it. It would not budge. "Jack,
hurry, help me with this!" Together they dragged the door open and forced
their way through the narrow gap.

Outside, trees
were lashing frantically in the wind, fallen leaves were whipped into a frenzy,
and rain beat against their faces. The sound of horsemen was now an insistent
rumbling and Melli could tell there were many. She grabbed Jack's hand and they
plunged deep into the forest. The wind was against them, seeming almost to
force them back. The riders were gaining, and the sound of them, charging
through the undergrowth, struck fear into Melli's heart. There would be no
hiding this time. Jack dragged at her arm, pulling her to him with all his
strength. The wind would not let them go. It held them in its thrall, lashing
against them whenever they managed a step forward.