The Baker's Boy (28 page)

Baralis did have
some reasons to be pleased: the queen had finally acquiesced and had requested
an audience with him this night. She wanted more of the medicine. Winter's Eve
festival was the following night, and he hoped to have the queen's seal of
approval on his proposal by then.

As Baralis
thought, he mixed a batch of poison. A new formula-one that he had not tried
before. With hands made deft once more by his painkillers, he ground powders
and measured liquids, careful to attain the exact proportions. Too much of the
moss extract might overpower the other ingredients and the delicate balance
would be disturbed. Making poison required a meticulous eye and a steady hand.

This poison was
not meant to be consumed-this was more subtle. Baralis smiled grimly as he
considered his handiwork; this was undoubtedly the most amusing poison he had
ever made. It was designed to be poured onto the victim's robes. The poison was
strong and would only need a few drops, preferably around the collar and
shoulders. The victim would wear his cloak and be able to detect nothing amiss,
for the potion was clear and had little odor. The victim would then proceed
about his business unaware that he was breathing in the deadly fumes that the
poison gave off. It would be a slow death, for the fumes would be slight and
take many hours to work their deadly commission.

Baralis now
reached the point in the manufacture where he was forced to don a mask-he did
not want to take any chances himself. The death that the poison brought would
not only be slow but also painful. The victim would find himself short of
breath as the noxious substance burnt into the delicate flesh of throat and
lung. The victim would assume he had indigestion or heartburn and would think
nothing of it. Gradually the poison would eat away at the victim's lungs to
such an extent that he would suffocate, desperately struggling for breath that
could not come.

Baralis, having
finished making the poison, cautiously tipped it into a glass jar upon which he
placed a firm stopper. Tomorrow, when the attention of the castle was diverted
by last-minute preparations for the festival, he would slip into Maybor's
chamber. Baralis would douse Maybor's best robes in the poison. As there was to
be a court dance that evening, the vain Lord Maybor would be sure to wear his
most extravagant and expensive robes. Little would he suspect that the clothes
he wore to impress the court would be the very instrument of his downfall.

Baralis was most
satisfied with his plan. This time no unsuspecting servant would step in and
save his master. Maybor had been lucky once; he would not be so again.

Maybor was waiting
downwind of the middens once more. Impatiently, he stamped his feet on the hard
ground The assassin finally came, his diminutive figure emerging over the
gentle rise. Maybor did not stand on ceremony. "Why have you not done what
was agreed?"

The assassin did
not appear to be concerned with Maybor's angry tone. "The time has not
been right so far. I would not endanger myself by moving too soon and without
due care."

Maybor was not
happy with this answer. "It has been many days since we met last. I would
have expected you to find a propitious moment before now."

"I have been
carefully monitoring Lord Baralis' movements. He goes nowhere without his fool
Crope."

"That is not
my problem. I want him dead, and I want it done soon."

"You will not
have to wait much longer, Lord Maybor. It is my intention to make my move
soon."

"How
soon?" pressured Maybor.

"Lord Maybor,
I will not tell you the details. It is better that you do not know when and
where. Let it come as a surprise-you will be better able to act your part that
way."

Maybor knew that
what the assassin said made sense. "Very well, so be it. I must have your
word that it will be done soon though."

"You have it,
Lord Maybor." The assassin was about to withdraw when a question occurred
to Maybor.

"What have
you found out about Baralis? Surely you must have seen some interesting things
by following him around."

The assassin
appeared to hesitate for a moment before speaking. "I have found out
little about the man's secrets, he barely leaves his rooms."

Maybor suspected
that the assassin was holding something back from him. He decided to press no
further until the job was done; he could not risk aggravating the assassin
before then. Once it was completed was another matter. In fact, once the deed
was done, he might even arrange for Scarl himself to have an accident. Maybor
dearly loved his apple orchards and was loathe to part with thirty acres of them.
These thoughts cheered his spirits considerably.

"Very well,
Scarl. I trust you will do as you say."

Scarl gave him a
brief guarded look and said, "I will do my job, have no fear, Lord
Maybor." With that, he withdrew leaving Maybor to the stench of the middens.

Maybor watched as
the assassin walked away. He did not trust him; after all, what was he but a
hired murderer? He would do his job, Maybor was sure of that. Once he had done
it, however, he might find himself a victim of an assassin's knife.

Maybor waited a
while and wondered how long it would be before his daughter was found. Twelve
days now had passed since she bolted. He knew she would be alive and well: the
girl had spirit and initiative-after all she was his daughter. Now he had his
men riding into all the towns and villages that bordered on the great forest in
case Melliandra turned up in one of them. He had even spread a discreet word
about rewards that could be received, if information leading to his daughter's
recovery was given. There was a risk with doing so, but he was running out of
time. He was forced to take broader measures: he had to find Melliandra. She
would be betrothed! He would be father to a queen.

Melli awoke and
immediately felt sick. She hurried to the washstand, where she threw up,
retching violently. She felt awful. She returned to sit on the bed, as she was
feeling a little faint, and tried to think what to do next. She did not trust
Mistress Greal. She would retrieve her horse and move on. Unfortunately, she
was feeling so weak that the last thing she felt like was walking all day.

There was the
briefest of knocks on her door and Mistress Greal sailed in. "My, my.
What's happened to you?" She saw the mess in the washstand. "Oh, I
see, not used to cider, eh? Well never mind, you'll live. A jug of cider's
never killed anyone, save old Ma Crutly-she got hit over the head with
one." The woman busied herself tidying the room.

"I thank you
for your hospitality, but I will be on my way today. I have left the pots we
agreed upon on top of the chest. I trust you will be happy with the
payment." Melli indicated the plate and pots.

Mistress Greal's
already small eyes narrowed further. "You don't look to be in any state to
be off, deary. You'd best stay another day. Relax and have a nice bath. I drew
one for you last night, but when I came to ready you, you were fast
asleep."

The sound of a hot
bath and a day relaxing was far too tempting, and Melli relented. "Very
well, Mistress Greal, I will stay another day. But I warn you, I have nothing
else to pay you."

"Don't worry
about that, deary, that's nothing to me. I just want to help a fellow woman on
her way. Now, I'll have a nice breakfast sent up and arrange to have another
bath drawn. I also took the liberty of seeing about a new dress. You can't go
having a nice bath and then put on those filthy clothes, can you?" The
woman regarded Melli's dirty and disheveled clothes with distaste, making Melli
feel ashamed. "You are too good to me, Mistress Greal. But if you could
just have my clothes cleaned, I would not trouble you for new ones."

"Nonsense,
that dress is badly tom. Besides, the clothes won't be new. They're very
pretty, though-show you off to your best advantage." Mistress Greal left
the room, and Melli had no chance to ask what she meant by showing her off to
her best advantage. Melli had no desire to be shown off.

Her attentions
were diverted by the arrival of a hot and delicious breakfast: crisp bacon,
poached egg, grilled mushrooms, and plenty of bread and butter. She tucked in
heartily.

Whatever Mistress
Greal's motives, Melli thanked her for providing such delicious food.

After she had
eaten, a sallow-faced girl appeared and led Melli to a small room that
contained a round, wooden bath. The water was steaming hot and Melli soaked for
a long time, soothing the aches of her body. After a while she permitted the
girl to scrub her back and wash her hair. She dried herself on a woolen towel:
it felt so good to be clean. She looked at the bathwater and was horrified to
see it was a murky brown color. She had obviously been a lot dirtier than she
had thought.

Once dry, the girl
handed Melli a deep, crimson-colored dress. It was not to Melli's taste, but as
her own dress had been taken away, she was forced to put it on. The bodice was
cut low and exposed much of Melli's breast. The girl then pulled the lacing so
tight that Melli could hardly breathe, and her breasts were pushed up high
toward her chin. There was no mirror so she could not see what she looked like,
but she suspected she must look rather improper, not at all like a lady of the
court. She asked the girl to loosen the lacings a little, but the girl refused.

"That's the
way Mistress Greal likes 'em," she said.

A few moments
later, as the girl was dressing her hair, Mistress Greal herself walked in. She
seemed pleased at what she saw. She walked around Melli, making approving,
clucking sounds. She finally spoke. "My, my. Who would have guessed you
would have turned out so well? Of course, I have got a good eye for beauty, but
I can see I've surpassed myself this time." She then spoke to the girl,
"Keddi, leave her hair down. Such fine hair, it's a waste to tie it
up." The girl obediently took the pins from Melli's hair. Mistress Greal
came toward Melli and smoothed her hand over Melli's face and bosom.

"My, my, you
are a pretty one." She noticed Melli's distaste at being touched. "No
need to be coy, girl. I would have thought such a pretty posy as you would be
well used to being admired."

"Please,
Mistress Greal, I find this all rather embarrassing. If you could ask your maid
to hurry washing my dress, I would be most gratified. I fear that this one is
not to my taste." Mistress Greal's expression turned cold as Melli spoke.

"Nonsense,
this dress suits you fine. You should be grateful! That dirty thing you wore is
not a patch on this one for quality." Melli had to bite her lip. Torn and
dirty though her dress was, it was made from the finest lambswool and was by
far the better quality of the two. However, Melli knew better than to speak of
such things. She did not want Mistress Greal to know of her former position as
a lady of the court.

Mistress Greal
seemed to regret her sharp words, and when she spoke again it was in a more
beguiling tone. "Perhaps you would care to join me for a sup of ale in the
tavern?" Melli most definitely did not wish to do so.

"I would
prefer to spend the day in my room. Of course, I would like to check on my
horse first."

"There's no
need to check on the horse," said the woman quickly. "It is well
looked after, my boy has seen to that." Melli began to feel decidedly
uneasy. She did not press the point further, but resolved to go and check on
her horse later anyway.

"Why don't
you join me for a sup? It would be a shame to waste such a pretty dress.
Besides, you must be hungry and the tavern keeper does not serve midday meal in
his private rooms." Mistress Greal shot a glance to the maid, warning her
not to contradict what she said. Melli knew she was being forced; she also knew
she couldn't now refuse.

"Very well, I
will join you for a short while."

Mistress Greal was
most pleased. "Very good, very good. We shall have a nice time."

She and Melli
walked through the tavern and found a table at which to sit. The table was too
public for Melli's liking, right in the center of the room. When Melli
protested and asked to be seated somewhere more discreet, Mistress Greal spoke
of the warmth from the fire and the fresh air from the door. To Melli the table
appeared to be close to neither.

Melli sat quietly
and drank little of the ale. Mistress Greal appeared to know everyone in the
tavern: she nodded and waved at all of the men. In fact, their little party
seemed to be the focus of attention in the room. Melli hoped that no one who
knew her from Castle Harvell was there. On a brief scan around the room, she
saw no one familiar.

After a little
while, a man came up to them. He spoke to Mistress Greal, but his eyes were on
Melli. "I wish you joy of the day, Mistress Greal," he said, his eyes
lingering over Melli's exposed bosom.

"Joy to you,
Edrad," replied Mistress Greal, noting with approval where the man's eyes
looked.

"May I have
the pleasure of being introduced to your lovely companion?"

"Why,
certainly, sir. This is Melli. Where did you say you were from my dear?"

Melli had not
said; she struggled to think of a suitable place. "I am from ...
Deepwood."

"Deepwood?
Never heard of it. Where might that be?" asked the man.

"It's far
south of here."

"It must be
very far south if I have never heard of it," remarked Mistress Greal
sharply.

Melli was thinking
of a polite way to excuse herself when the man spoke to her companion:
"Mistress Greal, I wonder if I might have a word with you in
private?" The woman agreed, and the two withdrew beyond Melli's hearing
distance. She watched as the man asked something and the woman shook her head.
The man then asked something else and this time Mistress Greal nodded. The man
departed, with one last look toward Melli, and Mistress Greal returned to the
table.