The Baker's Boy (12 page)

"Jack, Jack,
wake up. What do you think you're doing falling asleep when there's loaves in
the oven?" admonished Tilly. "It's a wonder they didn't bum, else
you'd been in deep trouble with Frallit."

Jack sat up,
startled. "But they did burn, Tilly, I-"

"Oh, hush,
you big dimwit. You must have been dreaming. They're just browning off nicely
now. Look."

Jack looked
through the gap in the oven designed for monitoring the baking and was startled
to find that Tilly was right-the loaves were not burnt. Someone must have
replaced the burnt loaves with a new batch while he was unconscious. He stood
up and felt a wave of nausea flood over his body.

He checked the
trays of waiting dough. There was the same number as earlier-if a new batch
were in the oven, they would be empty. He smelled the air. There was the
faintest whiff of burning-he had not been dreaming. He rushed over to the waste
bins, but no charred loaves had been thrown out.

Tilly was looking
at him as if he was mad. He was sure he hadn't dreamed the incident: the loaves
had been bumt. What had he done? He recalled the instant before he passed out
there had been a sick feeling in his stomach and great pressure in his head.

Jack felt the turn
of fate. Something had happened here, something that went against the laws of
nature, something terrible-and he was responsible for it. He was trembling and
his legs were threatening to give way beneath him. He needed to lie down, to sleep,
to forget.

"Tilly, I
don't feel too good. I need to have a rest." Tilly, seeing something
strange in the young boy's face, softened. "Very well, I'll cover for you
with Frallit. Be off now."

Baralis perceived
that the unleashing of power had come from below, and he became a hound on the
scent. Quickly, he dressed and called for Crope. When the huge simpleton
arrived, they both headed out of his chambers and down to the lower depths of
the castle.

Baralis knew fear
for the first time in many years. He hated the unknown. He was a great believer
in careful planning and attention to detail. Nothing disturbed him more than
the unexpected. Users of sorcery were few and far between-particularly in the
north-indeed, that was why he had settled here in the first place. To be the
only one at the court of the Four Kingdoms with the advantages of deviltry at
his disposal.

For that is what
the fools thought sorcery was: a gift from the devil. Let them think what they
would; the ignorance of others had long proved to be one of his greatest
allies. The people in the castle were afraid of him. They whispered that he was
a demon, a sorcerer, a madman. It suited him nicely to let the whisperings
persist: people were afraid of him, and he liked it that way.

The thought that
someone in the castle had access to the same elusive source as he gave great
haste to his step.

He drew nearer to
where the power had been drawn, Crope lumbering behind him. The kitchens! The
power had been drawn in the kitchens, he was sure of it. Baralis was oblivious
to the servants and guards, who quickly stepped out of his way to let him pass.

Once he found
himself in the huge castle kitchens, he could feel the aftermath prickling upon
his skin. Without a word to the startled staff, he crossed from the cook's
section to the baker's kitchen. This was it, every hair on his body confirmed
it. He drew close to the huge oven, vestiges of the drawing lapping over his
body in waves. It had happened here. Wildly he looked around, ignoring the
master baker and Tilly. Next to the oven was a large wooden table on which
scores of loaves were cooling. It was the loaves! The power had been drawn on
the loaves.

It seemed like
madness. Who would draw the power to eight score of loaves? Baralis rubbed his
chin as he considered the situation. He looked to the master baker and to
Tilly: it was certainly neither of those terrified wretches. He surprised Tilly
by grabbing her arm and twisting it painfully behind her back.

"Now, my
pretty little wench," he said, the gentleness of his voice belying his
actions. "I see you,are frightened by the sight of my man Crope."
Another twist of the arm. "You do well to fear him, for Crope is a
dangerous man, aren't you, Crope?" He turned to Crope, who nodded enthusiastically.
"Now, answer my question. What happened here this morning?"

Tilly looked
bewildered. "Nothing, sir." Tears welled in her eyes.

"Who was in
the kitchen this morning?" Another twist of the arm.

"Why, no one,
sir. Just me and Master Frallit and Jack."

"Are you sure
there was no one else?"

"Well, sir,
I've only been here a few minutes. You'd better ask Jack-he was here
earlier."

"Where is
Jack now?" Baralis' voice was as smooth and inviting as silk.

"He went to
lie down. He said he wasn't feeling well." Baralis let Tilly go, a notion
beginning to form in his mind. "What do you mean he felt unwell? What was
wrong with him?"

"Well, sir,
it was quite queer really. When I came down, he was fast asleep on the floor,
and he said something about the loaves being burnt, and of course they weren't
... and then he said he didn't feel well."

"Where is his
room?"

"On the south
side of the servants' quarters, right at the top."

Baralis paused a
moment, his eye on the oven. "All the loaves must be destroyed."

"But that's
half a morning's baking-"

"Do as I
say!" Baralis' gaze challenged the master baker to defy him. Satisfied he
would be obeyed, he spun round and marched out of the kitchen, Crope in his
wake.

Jack had decided
not to go to his room, but to get some air instead. His head felt thick and
heavy, like it did when he drank too much ale.

He sat down on the
grass, his legs giving way beneath him. When he looked up, he saw in the
distance the unmistakable figure of Baralis. He was followed by Crope, and they
were heading across the grounds in the direction of the servants' quarters.
They had come from the kitchens. There was something about the sight of
Baralis' dark cloak shifting in the breeze that filled Jack with apprehension.

Although he was
some distance away, Jack saw determination in the line of Baralis' brow and the
sight of it made him shudder. Jack knew without a doubt they were looking for
him.

He began to piece
his thoughts together. He had done something terrible this morning; he'd
transgressed some fundamental law. And now it seemed that Baralis, the one
person in the castle who was rumored to have knowledge of such things, had
discovered what he'd done. Baralis and Crope were looking for him, probably to
punish him or worse. He'd changed the course of events, performed an aberration
against nature ... and people were stoned for such things in these parts.

Everyone knew
there were forces in the world that couldn't be explained, but no one liked to
speak of them. To mention sorcery was to mention the devil. Grift had told him
so a hundred times, and everyone knew the dangers of naming the devil. What did
that make him, then? He didn't feel evil. Sometimes he was slow about his work
and didn't pay the respect he should to Master Frallit-but was he evil?

Clouds drifted
across the path of the sun, casting Jack in the shade. There was something
about him that was evil, one thought in his mind that was as good as a sin. He
harbored a terrible hatred-the man who had fathered and then abandoned him, he
would like to see dead. It was the first time that Jack had admitted the
strength of his feelings. For too long he had tried to fool himself into
believing he didn't care a jot about who his father was. Yet the events of this
morning had somehow allowed him the freedom to admit the depth of his feelings.
His mother was no saint, that was common knowledge, but she'd deserved better
than to be forsaken-they both did.

Somehow it seemed
that all things were connected: the loaves, his mother, his father. He tried to
grasp at the common thread, but it eluded him, and then, after a moment, it was
gone.

What did remain
was the reality of this morning. He had a decision to make: should he stay in
the castle and risk the wrath of Baralis and the condemnation of his friends,
or should he leave and make a new way in the world?

Perhaps because
the shade was akin to the night, Jack felt the urge to be off. If the sun had
still been shining, maybe his life would have taken a different path.

With the decision
made, Jack began to feel calm. Perhaps this morning was a blessing-it gave him
reason to do what he'd only dreamt of before. Swiftly, not turning to look
back, he made his way across the castle grounds and to the outer wall. With
each step came strength of purpose, and by the time he passed the castle gates,
he was sure he'd made the right choice.

Lord Maybor awoke
late and immediately felt a deep happiness. A man who has been saved from a
certain death has reason to be happy. Maybor had yet another reason: his
daughter would he queen.

Once he was
king-no, he corrected himself, when his son-in-law was king-things would be
very different around the court at Harvell. The Known Lands were in a state of
unease-those damned knights of Valdis, with their high ideals and low
tolerances, were busy making trouble. Having lost out on trade to Rorn in the
south, they were trying to gain a foothold in the north. He wasn't going to
have any of that. He heard the knights were ridiculously honest, and everyone
knew honesty was a dangerous habit in a trading partner. Bren was another place
that bore watching: he wouldn't be against the idea of forming a peaceful
alliance with some of the other northern powers just to keep ideas of conquest
out of the duke of Bren's ambitious head. Yes, there would be much for him to
do behind the throne.

Maybor dressed
quickly, careful not to step on his dead servant. He felt like wearing one of
his more ostentatious robes on this fine morning, so chose a beautiful silk in
deep red. One never knew when one might be called upon to entertain foreign
dignitaries. On most days there was usually someone interesting or influential
applying for entry at the castle gates.

Maybor was
beginning to feel a little guilty for having slapped his daughter the other
evening. Now that he knew the future was certain, he would be kinder to her;
she would eventually come round. He would buy her a gift. That was it: buy her
a beautiful and hugely expensive gift. He had recently heard tell of a rare and
exquisite gemstone that came from beyond the Drylands-what was it called?
Isslt, that was it. It was supposed to flicker with an inner light. He had been
told it was a deep, sea blue-the color of Melliandra's eyes. Even better. He
would spare no expense. She would have the biggest one he could find, big as a
fist. He would make the arrangements for acquiring it this very day.

As he was admiring
his portly figure in the mirror, there was a knock on his door.

"Come."
He was surprised to see his daughter's maid Lynni enter the room. Then his
spirits picked up; perhaps the young chit fancied a tumble.

"What is it,
my pretty one?" The girl looked frightened. "Speak up, girl. There is
no need to be shy, many women take a fancy to an older man." Lynni turned
as red as Maybor's robe.

"Sir, it's
not that." She hesitated, her eyes narrowing. "But you are an
uncommonly handsome man, sir."

"Yes, the
mirror tells me that every day. But come along, girl. Spit out what you have
come to tell me, and maybe then we can take a quick tumble if you are
willing."

"Well, sir,
I'd be willing for a tumble myself, but I fear my news might wilt your
swell."

"What is it?
Hasn't Lady Melliandra got a clean dress to wear?" Maybor smiled
indulgently. Such were the nature of women's problems: a lost comb, a broken
locket, a shoe so tight it pinched.

The girl looked
down at the floor. "Lady Melliandra has gone."

A cold dread stole
over Maybor. "What do you mean, gone? Where has she gone?"

The girl could not
meet his eye. She played nervously with her fingers. "Well, sir, I came to
her room this morning, same as usual, and she was not there."

"Could she
have gone for a walk, or to see a friend?"

"She would
have told me, sir."

Maybor felt the
quick flare of anger. He took the girl's thin shoulders in his hands and shook
her. "Does she have a lover?" he demanded.

"No,
sir." The girl's voice trembled with fear.

"If you are
lying to me, I will have your tongue pulled out."

"No, sir, she
is a virgin. I'm positive."

Maybor changed his
line of questioning, "Has her bed been slept in?"

"Well, sir,
the covers were ruffled somewhat, but I have a feeling she had not slept
there."

"Come with
me." He grasped Lynni by the arm and marched her to Melli's bedchamber.
Baralis! If that demon had a hand in this, he would be dead before the day was
finished.

By the time they
arrived at his daughter's chambers, Maybor had worked himself into a fury.
There was no sign of his daughter. His eye alighted on the ivory box in which
she was allowed to keep her less valuable jewels. It was empty!

"Find out if
any of her clothes are missing ... now!" he boomed loudly when the girl
hesitated. As Maybor waited, he held the fragile box in his hands, shaking his
head.

The girl ran from
the dressing room. "One of her woollen dresses and her heavy riding cloak
are missing." Maybor was frantic-what had become of her? A thousand
dangers could befall a young girl outside the castle walls. Melliandra had no
idea of the real world, no idea at all. She was a lamb to the slaughter.
"Damn." Maybor flung the box across the room, where it shattered
against the wall. "She is only a child!" The rage left him as he
looked upon his handiwork. Fragments of ivory lay scattered upon the floor. He
spoke quietly, more to himself than the girl. "She has to be brought back.
She cannot have gone far."