The Baker's Boy (60 page)

Melli took a deep
breath. "Please, I need help."

"Be off with
you or I'll get my son." The woman made a shooing gesture with her hands.

"Please, I'm
injured and-"

"Your
troubles are not mine," interrupted the woman. "I'll get my son if
you're not off my land in three seconds."

"If you could
just-"

"If you don't
remove yourself from my doorstep this instant, I'll have my son come after you
with a carving knife."

"Get your
son, then," cried Melli, angry at the woman's attitude and close to tears.
"See if I care. He can't do any more harm than has already been
done." The woman hesitated. Melli became slightly hysterical. "Go on,
bring him out, make sure he's got his sharpest knife!" The old woman was
looking afraid.

"You'd better
come in," she said wearily.

"I have a
friend who is wounded; he's in the bushes over there." Melli couldn't
understand the woman's complete turn of face, but she was not about to question
her luck.

"If you wait
a moment, I will bring him over." The woman nodded and Melli dashed off to
get Jack.

She was relieved
to find the door still open when she returned.

"He's in a
bad way," commented the old woman looking at Jack. She led them into a
warm and cozy kitchen: a fire burned brightly and there was stew on the boil.
"Sit down. I will bring you something to dry yourselves off with."

Melli made Jack
sit and then looked around the kitchen-something caught her eye. The table was
set for one: one plate, one mug of ale, one knife. The woman came back with an
armful of woolen blankets. "I thought we might have seen your son,"
said Melli, feigning casualness as she took the blankets from her and began to
dry off Jack.

"He's gone to
Harvell for the day." The woman turned her back on Melli and proceeded to
stir the stew.

"I thought he
was in the house." Melli winced as she dried her wounded arm.

"Well, he's
not," said the woman flatly. "And I don't see that it's any of your
business."

"You have no
son, do you? You live alone here. Don't worry-I'm not about to tell
anyone." Melli knew there were strict laws against women holding farms in
the Four Kingdoms. A woman who was widowed had her farm confiscated by the
authorities unless she had a son to pass it down to. Any woman who was caught
in defiance of the laws faced severe beating and even hanging. The laws were
not limited to farms-no woman could hold either land or property in the Four
Kingdoms. Melli herself had not even owned the dresses and jewels that she had
worn at court; they had all been the property of her father.

"I have
worked this farm on my own for the past twenty years. No man could have done a
better job." There was pride in the old woman's voice.

"What about
going to market? How can you sell your pork?"

"I have an
arrangement." The old woman ladled the rich, brown stew into bowls.
"I pay dearly for it." She sighed heavily. "But I have little
choice. He could go crying to the authorities at any time and then I'd have
nothing. So he sucks me dry, little by little, leaving me just enough to get by
on." The woman dropped a spoonful of pig lard into each bowl to enrich the
stew. "Everyone in Harvell thinks the reason they don't see my son is
because he's lame."

"I'm
sorry."

"Don't be
sorry for me, girl. I've got a better life than most widows. I have my own
place, I have good food on my table, and no son-in-law to make my life
miserable by constantly reminding me I live off his generosity." The woman
shook her head. "No, girl, save your pity for one who deserves it. Come on
now, eat up your stew before the fat melts."

Melli took a bowl
to Jack, placing the spoon in his hand. To her surprise he took it up and began
to eat.

"We'll have
to see to your friend's wound. If it's left too long it will fester."

"So can we
stay the night?"

"It would
seem, girl, that we both have things to hide." She looked pointedly at
Melli's arm and then to Jack. "I can see no harm in us hiding them
together for one night."

Once they had
finished eating, the woman boiled a kettle of hot water and then chose a
thin-bladed knife from a high shelf. "This should do the job. It skins the
pigs nice enough." She dipped it into the hot water for an instant and
then wiped it clean. "Strip the lad's shirt off."

Melli was a little
alarmed at the sight of the woman wielding the knife, but she had little
choice. She herself knew nothing of surgery or doctoring; she would have to
trust the woman. She was more than a little relieved, though, that the woman
had chosen to attend to Jack first: she would watch her performance on him
before committing her own arm into the old woman's care.

"Now don't be
anxious, boy." The old woman washed the dried blood away with a clean rag.
"This will hurt, I won't lie to you, but it's necessary." She turned
to Melli.

"Girl, bring
the jug of spirits from the dresser." She peered closely at Jack's wound.
"At least the point is not barbed." Melli handed the woman the jug.
"Here, take a swig of this, lad, it will help to relax you." The old
woman then took a mouthful of the liquor herself.

She cut deep into
Jack's shoulder, ignoring the circular entrance wound, and slicing directly
above where the arrowhead lay. Melli was horrified. "Couldn't you take it
out the way it came in?"

"Hush, girl,
you will ruin my concentration." The woman pulled back the skin and began
to cut into the muscle. She ignored Jack's heavy bleeding, concentrating on
freeing the arrowhead. She scraped the last of the muscle and sinew from around
the point and then pulled it out with her fingers. "There. Got the little
devil." She dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. "Hand me the
twine and needle, girl. He'll bleed to death if we don't stitch him up."

The woman pinched
Jack's skin together with one hand and drew the thread with another, making
large irregular stitches. "Course I can't guarantee he'll look too pretty
afterward. I'll be more careful with yours. Can't have such a pretty girl with
a nasty scar on her arm. With men it doesn't matter; a few scars only serve to
make a man more appealing to the ladies."

"How did you
learn to do this?" Melli did not care for the subject of scars.

"The sows, of
course. You can't be a pig farmer and not know how to tend creatures." The
woman did not look up; she was intent on finishing her work. She cut the thread
with her teeth and then turned her attention to the entrance wound. The woman
drew the knife twice over the wound, forming a cross.

"What are you
doing?" Melli was distraught. "You've made it worse." Fresh
blood gushed forth.

"Girl, do you
not know anything of surgery? The wound was round-a round wound will take
forever to heal. Better to make it bigger and change the shape." The old
woman took up needle and thread once more. "You mark my words, the cross
will heal in half the time, and it will be a nice, clean scar. Round wounds
heal messy."

"I'm sorry, I
didn't know." Melli did not doubt the woman's words.

"No matter,
girl." The woman finished stitching the wound. "Now help me get your
silent friend to the pallet over there; he needs some rest. Then I'll see to
your injuries." Melli did as she was asked, but dragged her feet as she
did so. She little relished the idea of being cut and stitched.

Tawl was finding
himself enjoying his journey-it was good to be on horseback again. He even
liked the company of the boy, and it never failed to make him smile to look
upon the way Nabber clung miserably to his pony. The boy was obviously not a
born horseman. Tawl had tried to give him some advice on how to ride, but
Nabber had ignored his pointers and continued to ride as though he were afraid
he would fall off any second.

The mountains
loomed nearer, but Tawl was sure that if they made their way to the western
coast of the peninsula they could avoid most of them. The western coast missed
the worst of the mountains, although the terrain was still rocky and hilly.

He calculated that
their next main stopping point would be Ness. It occurred to Tawl for the first
time that Bevlin was not far from that city-three days hard ride. He wondered
if he should pay the wiseman a visit and tell him of his progress. There was,
however, little to tell. What could he say-there is a remote chance that the
boy might be somewhere in the Four Kingdoms? No, he thought, better not to see
the wiseman at all.

He tried to put
Bevlin from his mind, but something nagged at him, something in the back of his
mind. He felt as if he did have something to tell to the wiseman, only he could
not remember what it was. He racked his memory-he had not discovered anything
that Bevlin might be interested in, and the Old Man had given him no message.
Maybe he should inform him that the knights had been expelled from Rorn. Tawl
shook his head; Bevlin would probably already have heard about the knights.
Wisemen had their own ways of acquiring information. The more he thought about
Bevlin, the more certain he was that he should visit him-it felt right to do
so. It would add but a few days to his journey.

They approached a
small settlement, barely a village: a few run-down shacks and no inn.

"Why don't we
stop and buy some fresh food?" Nabber had little taste for dried meat and
hard biscuits. Tawl looked around the village. There was a woman on the road
with three children; they were poorly dressed and thin.

"I don't
think we'll find fresh food here." He could not remember passing any farms
or herds recently, and he wondered how the people lived. "I think we will
head on and try to reach the coast by nightfall." Tawl looked around and
found to his annoyance that the boy had already dismounted his pony. He watched
as Nabber spoke with the woman and then returned.

"Tawl, she
says there is a small town just over the hill there. She said it would be worth
a visit."

"Let's just
be on our way." Tawl had a vague feeling of unease.

"It won't
take long for us to reach the town, and if we did, we'd be sleeping on feather
pillows tonight and eating hot food." The boy looked so eager that Tawl
could not refuse him. He nodded and they headed off.

After about an
hour's ride they finally crested the hill, and there was a fair-sized town
nestled in the valley below. As they rode closer it was obvious something was
wrong: there were no people on the streets. There were no signs of life; no
smoke, no hens or goats, no cultivation. Tawl's hand rested upon the hilt of
his knife as they rode into the town.

The deserted town
had obviously once been prosperous. There were several inns-which were usually
a sign of good trade-two blacksmiths, a wheelwright's shop-all deserted.

In the center of
the town was a square which boasted a fine marble statue.

Taw] read the sign
hanging above one of the inns: "The Water's Edge." He could not
remember seeing any water and they were still some distance from the sea.

He heard footsteps
approaching and turned to see an old man in rags. "Got any food to spare?"
The man looked as if he would collapse at any moment.

"Here take
these, friend." Nabber brought the sea biscuits from his pack and gave
them to the man. Tawl suspected the boy's motives were less than
charitable-Nabber hated the hard and tasteless sea biscuits. The man grabbed
them from him and sniffed them apprehensively, then he proceeded to cram them
into his mouth.

"Where is the
water? Is there a lake or river nearby?" Tawl was thinking he could at
least fill his water flasks. He waited as the man gobbled down the last of the
biscuits.

"Ain't no
water here anymore." The man smiled, showing blackened teeth.

"What
happened to it? Did it run dry?"

"It's dry
now, that's for sure." The man laughed as if he had made a joke. He then
moved next to Nabber and tried to grab his pack from him. Nabber snatched it
away, but gave him a length of drymeat.

"Was there a
drought?" Taw] had heard of towns ruined by the cruel hand of drought.

"No, this was
not nature's work. Come, follow me." The man scurried off with surprising
speed. Tawl was reluctant to follow, but Nabber had already dashed after the
man, leaving him little choice.

The man led them
through the town and onto a sandy plain. "This was the lake, you're
standing on it." Tawl and Nabber both stared at their feet: the ground was
level. The man chuckled at their surprise. "Aye, it was the most beautiful
lake on the peninsula. Not large by any man's reckoning, but breathtaking to
behold. Famous it was for its therapeutic properties. People came from great distances
to bathe in the clear waters. They were said to heal the sick and soothe the
old."

The old man sighed
wistfully. "You should have seen the lake then. Just to look upon it
filled a man with joy. Fishes, such fishes, the color of rainbows, so eager to
be caught they'd leap straight into your net." He kicked the sand beneath
his feet.

"It was a
mighty wealthy town back then. All gone to dust now. Nothing to live off now
the lake is dry. Everyone told me I was mad to stay. I think they were right, I
am mad."

"What
happened?"

"A man came
to town to bathe in the waters. A rich and powerful man from a big city.
Dressed like a king he was, bedecked in the finest silks. He went out on the
lake trailing his fingers in the water. When he gets back to shore he finds his
ring has slipped off his finger. He started to get angry, saying it was some
official ring or something, and orders the lake to be searched. That's when we
made our mistake. We told him he didn't have a chance of finding his ring. We
told him to go and get another made, said it was his own fault for losing
it."