The Baker's Boy (13 page)

"You,"
he said, turning to Lynni, "had better hope she is found, for I will hold
you responsible if she is not. You were supposed to watch her." Lynni was
shaking from head to foot. "Do you know where she might be headed? Think
hard, girl."

"No, sir,
nowhere."

Maybor scrutinized
the girl. She was too stupid to be hiding anything from him. As an afterthought
he said: "Visit me in my chamber this night." He hurried from the
room, not bothering to wait for her assent.

His daughter had
run away! The willful, headstrong girl, more like himself than any of his sons,
his most cherished possession and his greatest asset, had fled the castle. He
would need to mount a search party. He would call his sons to him and they
could head the search. After all, he thought, it is in their interest to find
her. He stopped in his tracks. The queen! He could not let the queen find out
Melliandra had fled. She was a proud woman and liable to call off the match if
she thought his daughter wasn't willing. He would have to proceed carefully. He
wouldn't call out the guards after all; he would use only his own men.

As he dashed down
through the castle, he caught sight of Baralis' fool, Crope. Maybor bowed in
mock politeness. "Be sure to give my regards to your master." If
nothing else today, he would have the comfort of knowing his were not the only
plans that had gone awry.

"Here, have a
little mulled holk. It will make you feel better." Megan handed Tawl a cup
of pungent, steaming liquid. As he drank the holk, he seemed to remember being
given a drink in the past that promised to make him feel better. He tried to
remember the name, it was on the tip of his tongue. "Lacus," he said
out loud.

Megan gave him a
querying look, and then asked, "Is that where you are from?" Tawl
managed a smile and a weak laugh.

"No, the
lacus was a drink I was given years back by a wise old man. He said it cured
most ailments."

"It's a pity
you haven't got any of that here." She smiled brightly, her green eyes
twinkling. Tawl saw for the first time how pretty she was.

"Why did you
help me last night? It would have been easier for you to have left me to
die."

Megan shrugged.
"Who can say? I'm not sure myself. Maybe it was your golden hair. You
don't see much hair that color around here." The girl seemed a little
embarrassed and Tawl let the matter drop.

The holk was
easing the pain in his arms a little. With the pain letting up, he could begin
to try and remember what had happened to him. "What city am I in?"

"Why, Rorn,
of course. The greatest city in the east." Tawl smiled indulgently at her
pride. Rorn, he thought. What on earth am I doing in Rorn?

When Megan had
brought him to her meager room last night, she had bathed and hand-fed him with
the tenderest of care. She rubbed curative oils into his sore flesh and wrapped
him in warm blankets.

Tawl felt bare
skin under the covers and discovered he was naked beneath them. Megan caught
the action and smiled cheekily. "Come now, surely you are not
modest." Tawl was in fact very modest, and he was about to say so when
Megan continued, "Besides, in my line of work, you get to see that kind of
thing all the time." She looked directly at him, challenging him to say
something. When he was silent, she continued, "I can see you are
shocked."

Tawl shook his
head. "I'm more concerned than shocked."

"Well, I
don't need your concern, thank you!" Megan's pretty lips tightened and she
spoke with the bite of irony. "I'd be more concerned if I'd been left for
dead down a dark alleyway." Her face softened into contrition. "I'm
sorry, Tawl. I know you meant no offense." With that she pulled on her
cloak. "I'm off out for a bit to pick up some food, and you'll need some
new clothes. I threw your old ones out in the street. I'll be back before too
long. Good day." One flick of her chestnut curls and she was gone.

Tawl sipped on his
drink. The holk soothed his aching body and helped clear his head. He began to
remember how he had come to be here. He was a knight of Valdis and had been
sent to the wiseman Bevlin, who in turn had sent him to look for a boy.
Memories flooded back. Five years spent searching for someone with no name and
no face. All the cities he'd visited, all the people he'd talked to, all the
years he'd spent pursuing the dream of an old man in a small cottage.

He recalled the
night he was picked up. He had been drinking in a darkened tavern. Four men set
upon him. They had dragged him outside and beaten him, and then, even before
his blood was dry, they chained him up. He'd hated being chained at first, but
once they began to torture him, he found himself longing to be strung up once
more. Tawl shuddered. He had no desire to remember the torture. Through it all
he'd been asked a question, one that was not within his power to answer:
"Who is the boy you seek?" Countless times he'd been asked, countless
times he had no answer.

He wondered how
long he had been kept chained. He had no memory of the time leading up to his
release. Why had they released him? He had not told them what they wanted to
know; indeed, he could not. So why set him free now?

Tawl remembered a
fleshy, overweight figure, a man who often lurked in the shadows while he was
being tortured. The fat man had reeked of exotic fragrances and his voice was
rich with privilege. He was the one who was in charge. It would have been his
decision to let him go. How long had he been kept there? How much time had he
lost?

There was
something else to remember, something hidden deeper. He strained for the
memory. It came to him with sickening clarity, bringing in its wake the
familiar wave of despair. With its remembrance, Tawl felt complete. It was his
burden, and he was so used to its weight that without it he felt insubstantial.
It defined who he was and what he must be.

It had been a hot
summer the year he'd turned thirteen. Mosquitoes rose from the marshes like
smoke from a fire. The world hummed to their tune. The only time of day worth
leaving the shade for was early morning. Tawl would make his way along the
marsh tracks and down to the ever-shrinking fishing hole. Fixing his line in
place by jamming the rod between two stones, he'd settle down for a couple of
hours to give the fish chance to bite. Only today he couldn't rest. His
thoughts, which normally dwelt on dreams of combat and glory, were taken up
with pictures of the sickroom.

The birth wasn't
going well. The midwife had halved the candles before lighting them, and Tawl,
like everyone who came from the Great Marshes, knew what that meant. Not that
he needed a ritual to tell him what his eyes could see: his mother was dying.
The labor was too long. The house was too hot. Half the night he'd been awake,
tossing and turning in sheets damp with sweat. His mother's breath drew the
mosquitoes. The smell of urine drew the flies.

He was ashamed to
feel relief when morning finally came, for it provided an excuse to be out of
the house. The midwife had to be paid whatever the birthing might bring, and
fish were the only currency they had to offer. Tawl shook off his sisters; they
were too young to keep up with him, and he needed to be alone. The fish were
slow to bite and it was mid-afternoon before he'd caught what was needed: three
for the midwife, two for his mother, one for each of his sisters and himself,
and one extra in case the baby had arrived. His father could see to his own.

The midwife met
him at the door. "She's too weak to birth. Should I cut her open and at
least save the child?"

Tawl beat his fist
against the wall. The pain brought him back to the present. How could she do
that! How could she put the decision to end his mother's life into his hands?

He, a boy just
past his twelfth year. No one of any age should have such a responsibility
placed upon them. Tawl's pain crystallized into anger. Where had his father
been? His useless, drunken father. With anger came release. Anger made
everything bearable; it was how he coped. And, as long as he didn't think about
what had happened latermuch later-coping was enough.

Megan burst into
the room, her brightness was a useful distraction. "Here we are. I wasn't
too long, was I? I've got all sorts of goodies." Her arms were filled with
packages. "Look, I've got some hot eel pie, and some jellied goose livers,
and even some fresh figs!" She duly unpacked these items, holding them up
for Tawl to admire. Tawl smiled, approving the purchases. He was glad of her
presence. It kept his demons at bay.

"I think I'll
have a few figs. I haven't the courage for eels." As soon as he spoke, he regretted
it, for the look on Megan's face turned from joy to disappointment. He was
quick to mend his error. "Maybe I could manage a few of the jellied
livers, though."

Megan smiled
brightly, "Oh, I am pleased. Tawl, I bought them specially for you. I'll have
the eel pie myself. I nearly forgot! I bought you some clothes, as well."
She unwrapped the largest of her bundles. "I'm sorry they're not new, but
they're not bad. Look." She held up a canary yellow tunic and a pair of
striped breeches. "Oh, and I bought you a cloak, too-real goat's wool.
Here, feel it." She held it out. Tawl admired the quality to gratify her,
the twinkle in her green eyes being more than worth the effort.

After they had
eaten, Megan poured them both glasses of honey-colored cider. "Ever since
the war in the northwest, this nestor cider is mighty difficult to come across.
The price of it has tripled these past years." Tawl drank the golden
liquid, appreciating its subtle, fruity flavor. He was beginning to feel a
little light-headed.

"I think you
should go out tomorrow and take a little fresh air." Megan smiled
prettily. "Besides, tomorrow is the parade, and there will be great sights
to see. There will be singing and dancing and jugglers from Isro." Tawl
nodded, but he wasn't sure if he would feel up to it.

Megan looked at
him thoughtfully and then moved across the room muttering something about
getting changed. She undressed in a gloomy comer and Tawl tried to do what was
expected of any knight: look away. Megan's skin glowed like summer peaches and
he could not help but look. "It's perfectly all right for you to look. I
don't mind." Tawl blushed deeply.

"I am sorry,
my lady." Megan's face grew grave as she came toward him: she was naked
and her body was beautiful in the soft light.

She said gently,
"I am no lady, Tawl, but I thank you for your courtesy." She knelt
and kissed him on the lips.

"I don't
think I'm in any condition to pleasure a lady this day."

"But you are
in a condition to be pleasured by a lady." She smiled sweetly, pulling the
blanket from his body and moving her head lower. Desire, long lost to Tawl,
came to him with its welcome blankness. To love was to forget, and coupling
with a stranger by a dimming fire was enough to ease the pain for a while.

Melli was
beginning to wish she had never left the castle. The first few hours had been
like an exciting adventure, stealing out in the dark of night with her hood
drawn over her face, evading the guards. But it had been cold outside and she
had begun to suspect that she was woefully unprepared. She had spent the night
sleeping against the castle's outer wall. She had decided not to take a room at
a tavern in the town, for she couldn't risk being recognized, and besides, she
had no money.

She felt utterly
miserable. She was hungry and cold, and although it had not rained, she had
still somehow managed to get wet. She wanted nothing better than a hot meal and
some mulled holk to soothe her aching bones. Sleeping outside on the hard
ground, she discovered, was a most unpleasant experience. Hunger won over
caution and she headed into Harvell.

Harvell was more a
large town than a city. Most of the people made a living serving the needs of
the hundreds of courtiers and thousands of servants and soldiers who lived in
the castle or on its grounds. The town was just half a league to the west of
the castle, a pleasant place with neatly timbered buildings.

Melli had visited
it many times to buy ribbons or posies. Buy! she thought, she had never been
allowed to buy anything. She would say to the storekeepers, "Lord Maybor
will honor this," and they had let her take anything she wanted. Melli
suddenly drew her hand to her face. That was it! Of course, why hadn't she
thought of it sooner? She could go to the market, purchase anything she might
need, and leave her father with the bill! It was perfect: her father would be
financing her escape. She could not help but smile. Maybor would be furious
when he received the charges.

Her step grew
lighter as she made a mental list of things she would buy: she would need food,
there was that little bake shop that served hot pastries and rolls, and she
could buy a cup of cider and maybe even a custard tart.

Melli slowed down
her pace. She was not on a pleasureouting. This was no idle trip to market. She
was running away from the only life she had ever known, heading to a city that
lay far beyond the battlefields of the Halcus.

She breathed in
the cold air of early morning, feeling alone and afraid. A shadow crossed her
path and she looked up to see a gray swan in the sky. The noble bird was
heading south for the winter. It was a sign. A gray swan formed part of her
family's coat of arms. Determination hardened on her smooth brow: was she not
Lord Maybor's daughter? Bravery and Resolution was her family motto; she would
be the first woman to prove the maxim true. She walked into the village
deciding that she would have a custard tart after all.

An hour later,
Melli was well fed and in the process of buying some travel supplies. She
carefully considered the wares. "My brother Kedrac assured me that you
would be able to supply me with what he needs for his hunting expedition. He
specifically said to ask for ..." Melli found she could not remember the
name over the door.