Master and Fool (30 page)

He had been
without one for so long, he'd almost forgotten what to do with one. Such severe
abstinence could kill a man! After tomorrow, when he joined the Highwall camp,
he probably wouldn't be able to enjoy a woman until after the siege ended, so
that was why he'd taken to the streets tonight: it was his last chance to bed
one.

Now, as fortune
would have, while he was out earlier, he dropped by a tavern and was given the
address of the most profitable brothel in the city One which boasted a girl of
such extraordinary beauty that men came from far and wide to bed her. Hearing
of the girl's charms, Maybor became determined that she would be the one he
would spend his last night in Bren with. His long days of selfrestraint would
be made up for in one glorious-and very probably expensive--coupling.

Eventually, after
many turnoffs and a little backtracking, Maybor found the place he was looking
for. The red shutters were flung open to the night, and smoke, noise, and
fragrances leaked out to lure customers in. Maybor checked the name scribed in
the alcove, put his hand on his purse for good measure, and rapped loudly on
the door.

A woman answered.
She looked him up and down, patted her heavily powdered hair, and said,
"Why, welcome, fine sir. Come in and brush the siege dust from your
shoes." She grabbed on to his arm with a pincerlike grip and dragged him
across the threshold.

Maybor's natural
reaction was to back away. The woman was neither young nor pretty, and she
smelled like dead rodents. Just as he was about to make his exit, the woman
called out:

"Moxie!
Franny! Come and see to this gentleman." Two young girls came rushing
forward and the woman relinquished her grip. The two girls arranged themselves,
one on either side of him, and the woman thrust a jug of ale into his hand.
"Special brew," she said.

Considering there
weren't many candles lit, there was an awful lot of smoke. The light was dim,
the fumes were heavy, and the place was crowded to the rafters. Maybor took a
sip of his ale. Strangely familiar, it tasted like the stuff they brewed in the
kingdoms.

"Never had so
much business since the war started," said the woman. "Nothing like
manning the battlements all day for making a man randy at night." She
smiled coquettishly, adjusting her curls to frame her face.

Maybor was feeling
a little bemused. The smoke and the strong ale were working their effects,
relaxing his mind and his senses. The rodent woman still looked ugly, though.
"Tell me," he said, "where is your beauty?"

The two girls to
either side of him moved closer.

The rodent woman's
smile widened. "Aah. Well, handsome sir, Cherry is busy at the moment.
She'll be free a little later, but in the meantime why don't you enjoy Franny
and Moxie, instead?"

Franny and Moxie
blew kisses at opposite sides of his neck. Both girls looked pleasant enough,
but he had a feeling they'd look a lot worse in daylight. "I'll sup with
them for awhile," said Maybor. "But send Cheery to me as soon as she
is free."

The woman
hesitated. "Very well, sir. But it'll cost you double for all three."

Maybor let himself
be led to a bench at the side of the room. Moxie and Franny began kissing and
petting him. "Don't worry about the cost, woman," he shouted above
the din of drink and chatter. "Just send me the best you have."

Mistress Greal's
bat ears could pick up talk of money a league away. She had just heard her two
favorite sentences in all the world:
"Don't worry about the cost,"
and
"Send me the best you have."
Her small heart thrilled
to their musical sound. There was obviously someone here tonight who could
afford the very best.

Not that she
needed the money, of course. Ever since she'd purchased her great beauty,
business had never been better. Men came from all over the city to see Cherry's
formidable charms. Pale blond hair, skin like silk, eyes as green as emeralds.
Not to mention a bottom the size of a beer barrel! The girl was quickly
becoming a phenomenon; songs were sung about her in taverns, her likeness had
been painted on several missiles destined for the enemy, and just last night
King Kylock himself had sent for her.

"Dearest
sister," came Madame Thornypurse's high and nasal voice from behind.
"I think we have a slight problem."

"What now,
sister dear? Someone else griping about the smoke?" Mistress Greal was
scathing. No one could fuss up a storm over a trivial complaint like her
sister. Last night it had been beetles in the special brew!

"Well,
dearest sister," said Madame Thornypurse, dropping her voice to a whisper.
"A right fine gentleman has come in asking to see Cherry. From the way
he's dressed he can afford to pay her double."

Mistress Greal saw
the problem. "Have you given him Franny, instead?" After Cherry,
Franny was the second best girl in the establishment. If it wasn't for her long
nose and buck teeth she would have been a true beauty.

"Yes, dearest
sister, but he's still asking after Cherry."

"Well, he
can't see her," snapped Mistress Greal. "No one can until she's
better."

Only this morning
Cherry had returned from the duke's palace. As well as a broken arm, she had
three small burn marks on her right shoulder. The girl swore she fell down the
stairs and went crashing into a table bearing lit candles. Mistress Greal
thought otherwise. She knew from experience that some men had a liking for
inflicting pain upon women, and she had a feeling that King Kylock was just
such a man.

Normally Mistress
Greal would turn a blind eye to such practices, particularly for someone who
paid as well as the king did, but her greatest business asset was now out of
commission for at least a week. Cherry could work with a broken arm-might even
add to her mystique--but the bruises and burns would have to be healed before
she could appear in public once more. It really was most inconvenient
Especially when there was a rich man willing to pay double for her favors.

"Point the
fine gentleman out to me, sister dear."

Up came Madame
Thornypurse's finger like a divining rod pointing for gold. "He's over
there," she said. "The one in the scarlet with his back to us."

Mistress Greal's
eyes had already outpaced her sister's finger. She had seen the scarlet,
recognized it as the forest silk, and was about to step toward the man when he
turned his head to the light.

Mistress Greal
stopped dead in her tracks. The air turned to dust in her lungs. All the smoke
in the world was not enough to conceal the identity of the man in scarlet she
saw his face every night in her dreams. Mistress Greal brought her thumb up to
her lips and pressed gently against the yielding softness. Softness where once
there had been teeth.

"What's the
matter, dearest sister? You look like you've seen a ghost."

With great effort
Mistress Greal took control of herself. She smiled her own peculiar smile,
pressing her lips together and forcing them into a thin line. "No, sister
dear," she said. "I've just seen something much more profitable than
a ghost." Madame Thornypurse trembled like a blushing maiden. "What,
dearest sister? What?"

"The second
most wanted man in all of Bren," whispered Mistress Greal, more to herself
than her sister. Who would have guessed that Lord Maybor would end up here of
all places? Her smile widened. There was vengeance and profit to be extracted here:
the two most satisfying things in the Greal universe.

It would be a good
way to ingratiate herself with Lord Baralis, too. Oh, she knew she had
something on the great lord-she alone in all of Bren knew he had conspired to
assassinate the duke-but the truth was she was a little afraid to use her
knowledge. People who messed with Lord Baralis had a nasty habit of ending up
dead. If he could murder a duke, and very possibly a duchess as well, then he
certainly wouldn't think twice about murdering someone who was trying to
blackmail him. It was far better to get to know Lord Baralis first and see just
how generous he could be. Blackmail could come later. In her experience secrets
like the one she held always grew more potent over time. With the money she was
going to make by turning Maybor and his tart of a daughter in, she could well
afford to wait.

"You,"
she said to her sister, "must keep that man occupied until I return."

"But---"

Mistress Greal's
hand was already up. "I don't care what you do. Have the girls dance
naked, for all I care. Just make sure that old bastard doesn't leave."

Madame Thornypurse
looked shocked. The habit of obeying her elder sister's every word was so well
entrenched by now, however, that she duty nodded her head. "You won't be
too long, dearest sister?"

Mistress Greal had
already pulled on her cloak. "No, sister dear. I'll be back before you
know it."

Baralis had just
finished his first sending to Skaythe. The man had left the city five days back
and was currently heading south, hoping at some point to run into Tawl.
Although Baralis had suspected for some time that the knight was no longer in
the area, up until this morning he hadn't known for sure. Now, thanks to those
busy little seers at Larn, he not only knew
where
Tawl was heading, but
he also knew the route he would take. Down along the peninsula past Ness,
Toolay, and Rorn.

The powers that be
at Larn had contacted Baralis in his sleep. It was telling that they waited
until early morning to contact him---they had hoped to glean his secrets from
his dreams. Baralis smiled to himself It would take more than the seers of Larn
to fathom the dark maze of his unconscious mind.

They were
obviously becoming very worried on their faraway isle. They tried to be their
usual aloof selves, but there was an undertone of urgency in their desire to
tell all they knew.. Larn wanted the knight and the boy killed, and they would
go to great lengths to help him do so. Besides telling him what route the two
fugitives would be taking, they also bribed him with more intelligence about
the war. Apparently Highwall was waiting on the arrival of two thousand
mercenaries. The men were fully equipped and paid for, courtesy of the
venerable archbishop of Rorn.

Baralis had wasted
no time passing the information along to Kylock. After all, war was the king's
specialty. Politics and loose ends were his.

Smiling, Baralis
poured himself a glass of red wine. Skaythe was turning out to be a useful
find. He could have hired any number of men to do the tracking, but Skaythe,
with his amateur knowledge of sorcery, could be contacted en route. To send a
message was difficult, but to
receive
one was easy. All Skaythe had to
do was concentrate and listen without using his ears. Any fool could do that.

Skaythe had
received the sending and was now adjusting his route accordingly. Baralis had
great faith in the man. He might not be as skilled as Blayze in armed combat,
but he was infinitely more cunning.

A sharp rap on the
door broke Baralis' line of thought. Crope was usually away at this time of
night, tending to the animals. Baralis stood up. Before he'd crossed the room,
the rap came again. Whoever was on the other side was most impatient.

He flung the door
open. "Who dares disturb me at this hour?"

A woman stood in
the corridor. Her expression was severe and her body had all the charm of a
knotted rope. "Someone who can lead you to the biggest whore in all of
Bren."

"And who
might that be?" Baralis glanced along the corridor. Who had let this
madwoman in the palace? "Why, Maybor's daughter, of course."

"You know
where Melliandra is?" Perhaps she wasn't so mad after all. She had the
narrow-eyed look of the greedy, not the insane. "Step inside a
moment." Baralis waved her into his chambers. "Would you care for a
glass of wine?"

"Just a
little drop to wet my throat." The woman patted the dry bit.

Baralis poured her
a brimming glass. "And who might I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"Mistress
G." The woman spoke with a minimum of lip movement.

"Well then,
Mistress
G,
perhaps you'd like to tell me where the young murderess is."
Baralis turned his voice into a honeyed trap to catch his fly. "And once
you've done that we can talk of rewards."

"I'd rather
speak of rewards first, if you don't mind. In my line of business you soon
learn that it's best to take your payment up front-"

"Go on.
"

"Well."
The woman looked around the chamber for inspiration. "There's cash, of
course."

Baralis nodded.
"Of course."

"Say five
hundred golds."

"Arid?"

The woman smiled
with all the satisfaction of a hangman measuring the drop. "Well, we both
know how important finding the Lady Melliandra is. If she makes it to the
enemy, then it could lead to civil war." Mistress G shook her head sadly.
"There's more than a few in Bren who would rather see her child in the
palace than Kylock-though the way the king's cracking down on her supporters,
no one dare come out and say it."

"Speak what
you would have."

The change in
Baralis' voice did not go unnoticed by the woman. She betrayed her first sign
of nervousness by taking a deep draught of her wine. For the first time,
Baralis noticed that her two front teeth were missing.

Having gained a
little courage from the drink, the woman looked him straight in the eye.
"I would have a position here in the palace. Housekeeper, recordkeeper,
cellarer . . . " As Mistress G waved her arms in illustration, a look of
unmistakable malice sharpened her tight, little face. "I could even look
after the whore herself."

Try as he might,
Baralis could not keep the smile from pushing against his lips. The woman would
make a formidable jailer. "You may have whatever position you wish,"
he said. "Now tell me-"