The Baker's Boy (29 page)

She appeared to be
most pleased. Her eyes checked the room, and seeing many of the men glance
appreciatively at Melli, she smiled widely. "I think you've had enough
excitement for one day, my dear. I can see you are tired. I will see if the
tavern keeper will bring some food to your room after all." Melli was
surprised at this sudden kindness.

"Why, thank
you. I do rather feel like a short nap." Mistress Greal smiled again.
"Yes, deary, you get all the beauty sleep you need. Tomorrow you will need
all your energies." Melli was instantly suspicious.

"What do you
mean by that?"

"Why nothing,
my dear," said Mistress Greal sweetly. "It's a local saying around
here, that's all." As Melli stood up and prepared to walk away, her
companion had one final thing to say: "Take the dress off before you
sleep, Melli. I wouldn't want it wrinkled."

Baralis was on his
way to his audience with the queen, a flutter of excitement in his stomach. He
knocked on the door to the meeting chamber, and the queen beckoned him to
enter.

Even to Baralis'
dispassionate eye the queen looked regal and beautiful. Her heavy pale hair was
piled high on her head, and her gown of burnished silk reflected a gentle,
golden light onto her fine features. For a brief moment before she spoke,
Baralis indulged himself in remembering a certain night, many years before,
when he had partaken of her delights. The memory gave him a feeling of power
and he suddenly felt more confident than he had been on entering the chamber.

"Lord
Baralis. I bid you welcome." He watched as the queen decided whether or
not to favor him with her hand. She decided against it.

"It is an
honor to be in your presence, Your Highness." He bowed low.

"Lord
Baralis, I trust you have heard that the king's health has improved
somewhat?"

Baralis nodded.
"I hope Your Highness is well satisfied with the medicine."

"I am indeed.
The king had been getting much worse of late. Now I see him improving for the
first time since his tragic accident."

"I am
grateful to be the cause of such good news," said Baralis, bowing slightly
as he reminded the queen of his role in the recovery. The queen did not miss
the reminder.

"Yes, Lord
Baralis, I am most thankful to you. You know there is to be a great feast
tomorrow evening to celebrate the king's health?"

"I will, of
course, be in attendance, Your Highness." Baralis was in no rush to get to
the point. He would let the queen be the first to speak of the deal.

"Lord
Baralis, I think you know why I have asked you here this day."

He would not make
it easier for her. "I would not so presume, Your Highness." With
pleasure, Baralis noted a flicker of anger pass over the queen's features.

"I will not
exchange small talk anymore, Lord Baralis. The point is this-I need more of
your medicine for the king. What do you require in return for supplying
it?"

Baralis concealed
his delight. "Your Highness is most forthright. I would indeed expect a
favor for a favor."

"Speak what
you would have: lands, gold, appointments." The queen made a negligent
gesture and turned away from Baralis.

"I would have
a say in who Prince Kylock marries." The queen spun around. "What
trickery is this? You will have no influence over who my son will marry."
The queen was now trembling with anger. In contrast, Baralis was very calm and
even beginning to enjoy himself.

"There is no
need for deception with me, Your Highness. I know of Lord Maybor's plans to
marry his daughter to the prince." The queen hid her surprise well.

"How have you
come to know this?" she demanded coldly.

"Lord Maybor
has a tongue that loosens when wet." The queen regarded him with barely
concealed malice. He knew, though, that she believed his excuse. Maybor was
famous throughout the court as being a heavy drinker.

"Well, Lord
Baralis, if you know of this planned betrothal, you must also know that it has
been firmly decided. I will not rescind the agreement."

"Unfortunately,
there are matters of which Your Highness knows little." Baralis spoke
almost condescendingly. "What matters?" hissed the queen.

"Matters
concerning Lord Maybor's delightful daughter, Melliandra."

"If you are
to tell me she is ill, I know that already, Lord Baralis, and Lord Maybor
assures me she does not have the pox."

"Regrettably,
Lord Maybor has been lying to Your Highness." Baralis met the queen's eye
and continued. "Lord Maybor's daughter has run away from the castle. She
has been gone over ten days now. Lord Maybor informed you she was sick to
prevent you from learning the truth." He could tell the queen was already
beginning to doubt Maybor's word.

"What reason
had the girl to run away?"

"I cannot say
for certain, for with young girls who can tell what is in their hearts."
Baralis managed an almost wistful sigh. "However, I have heard it said
that Melliandra ran away because she could not bear the thought of marrying
your son."

The queen's face
paled with rage. "You say, you heard this foul rumor. Who else knows of
it?"

"Half the
court, Your Highness," lied Baralis.

"This is
intolerable!" The queen fingered the embroidery on her dress in agitation.

"I sympathize
with Your Highness' predicament," said Baralis humbly. His tone only
served to annoy the queen further.

"I would
discover for myself if these accusations are true. Before I have done so, I
will not speak any further on this matter."

"As Your
Highness wishes. However, I feel it my duty to point out that if we do not
resolve the situation to both our satisfactions, I fear the king may lose what
little ground he has gained. The medicine must be given regularly or its
effects may be reversed."

The queen was
obviously displeased with his sly pronouncement. "Lord Baralis, I do not
take kindly to blackmail. Go now. I will summon you again at my leisure."

Baralis bowed and
left. The queen would undoubtedly call him back soon. He smiled with
satisfaction at the thought of Maybor's imminent downfall; too bad the man
would be dead and unable to feel its sting.

Tawl was sitting
quietly in Megan's room when a loud knock startled him from his reverie.
Cautiously, he went over to the door and asked who was there.

"It's me,
Moth. Friend of the Old Man's." Tawl opened the door and let him in.
"How are you, my friend?" said Moth, looking speculatively around the
room. "I trust you're no worse for those knocks on the head? You know
Clem, though. Takes a real pride in his work. Old Man says bring him in, quiet
like, and Clem takes him on his word. Two knocks from Clem are enough to make
anyone quiet for a while. Three knocks from Clem and you'll never talk again.
Anyway, enough of this chatter. Let's get down to business."

Tawl was rather
bemused by this outpouring, but managed to beckon Moth to sit down. "I
take it you're here about the ship?"

"That's
right, friend. Old Man says find a ship. I find a ship. A fast one, too, I'll have
you know. Very nice. Wouldn't mind a life on the high seas myself if I had the
time. Captain. That's what I'd be. Clem could be my first mate. Anyway, back to
your particulars. The ship's called The Fishy Few. Kind of strange name, ain't
it? So, I had a word with the good captain, and needless to say a few coins
exchanged hands, but that's not for you to worry about, friend."

"When the Old
Man says he'll take care of something, he takes care of it. Now where was
I?"

"You had a
word with the good captain," prompted Tawl, amused by Moth's digressions.

"And so I
did. I spoke to the good captain, told him that a friend of the Old Man's wants
to head to Larn. Let me tell you, he didn't look too pleased. But I reminded
him that the Old Man has great pull with the merchants of Rorn, could lead to a
lot of business, I told him. Course, a few more coins exchanged hands. Larn
ain't a cheap place to go, I can tell you that."

"What about a
rowboat, so I can land on the island?" interrupted Tawl.

"No problem.
The good captain said that a man who goes to Larn needs two things: first his
head felt for malformations, and secondly a rowboat. So, the captain's got a
boat you can use. He'll even provide a man to row you."

"The good
captain does insist that you don't keep him waiting too long, though.
Apparently, the seas around there are real rough. He says he can't wait for you
longer than a full day. That'd better be enough time, friend, 'cos the good
captain will be pulling up anchor and sailing off into the sunset before you
know it. And from what I've heard of Larn, it ain't a place a man would care to
be stuck on."

"When does
the boat set sail?" Tawl was hoping he would have time to say good-bye to
Megan.

"First light
tomorrow. You'll have to be up with the lark. I wrote a song about a lark
once-one of these days I'll get Clem to sing it for you, he's got a fine voice
has Clem. Where was I?"

"The
ship."

"Aye, the
ship. The Fishy Few sets sail from the north harbor. It's a two-master, you'll
find it all right. Captain's name is Quain. Captain Quain, he'll be expecting
you."

"Send my
thanks to the Old Man, Moth."

"It's as good
as done, friend."

"I thank you,
too, Moth." Tawl thought for a moment and then added, "And send my
regards to Clem."

"Clem will be
most gratified. And as for me, it was my pleasure. I got a nice walk down to
the harbor out of it."

"Oh, one more
thing, Moth. The Old Man mentioned helping my friend Megan."

"The Old Man
does what he says. I'm glad you reminded me." Moth rooted into the depths
of his cloak and handed Tawl a heavy purse. "The Old Man wouldn't have
been pleased if I'd forgotten to give you that. He'd have me strung up ... and
Clem, too. We're a pair: I mess up, he pays for it. Clem wouldn't have it any
other way, though."

"Oh, one more
thing. The Old Man says you should take some gold for yourself. He hates to see
a knight without a decent sword. No offense intended, but that knife you got
ain't up to much. Course, I saw you put that thief away-real fast you were, but
you could have done better with the right equipment. Pity you ain't here much
longer. I could have got you something real nice in the way of weaponry. Never
mind, there's always another time. I must be off, Clem's expecting me to help
him with a little business. I bid you well, friend." With that Moth was
off, letting himself out.

When he had gone,
Tawl couldn't help but wonder what business Moth and Clem had to do. He decided
he was best not knowing. He emptied the purse and found twenty gold pieces.
Tawl replaced all save one of them.

A little while
later, Megan let herself in. She had, as always, brought him some tasty morsels
to eat and drink. She was about to lay a meal out when he stopped her,
beckoning her to sit with him for a while. "Megan, I must leave you
tomorrow."

Her pretty face
grew grave. "I had not expected you to go so soon." Megan pulled away
from him, stood up and, bowing her head, began to slice oranges.

Hair fell over her
face, such a glorious mix of chestnut and gold. She was so young-Anna, the
youngest of his sisters, would have been about the same age. There was
something in the plane of her cheeks and the gold in her hair that reminded
Tawl of his sisters. Such gentle girls, like Megan. Yet unlike her, they were
so dependent upon him. His mind traveled back to the little cottage on the
marshes. He was all they had, and he'd let them down so badly.

The midwife nodded
her approval. Tawl remembered the blood on her apron: his mother's blood.
"You made a wise decision," she said. "I'll open her now, while
the cord still holds." As she turned to enter the cottage, he put a hand
upon her arm.

"Let me see
her first."

The midwife huffed
her disapproval, but let him go ahead. His sisters greeted him, taking the
fishes from his pack. Anna had just learned her numbers and slowly counted the
fish on her chubby fingers. Sara, the eldest, had no patience with her and
counted them loudly with a superior air. "There's one extra," she
said, superiority giving way to excitement. "Is it for the baby?"

Tawl nodded and
turned away. Tears prickled in his eyes and he swept them away before they
could fall. He could hear his sisters behind him, busily picking out the
biggest fish for the baby.

"Can he have
this one?" cried Anna, a large fish in her lap.

"Yes,"
said Tawl, kneeling down and putting his arms around her shoulders. "The
baby must have the biggest one of all." He kissed her cheek and put his
arm out for Sara. She came to him as she always did, resting her head upon his
shoulder. Tawl hugged her close and stroked Anna's golden hair. Such baby-fine
texture, but then, what was she but a baby? Barely five years old. Too soon
they would know the truth. He crushed his sisters to his chest, using his
strength to express what he could never say with words.

The moment passed,
leaving him calmer. Standing up, he left his sisters sitting on the floor
amidst the fish, and opened the door to his mother's room. He would be the one
to tell her, the news would come from her son, not the mouth of a stranger.

The smell was
sickly. Flies buzzed around the bed and finding no hindrance landed on the
drying blood. "Tawl, is that you?" His mother's voice was gentle. He
could tell she was afraid.

"Yes, Mama,
it's me." He came and sat on the stool by her bedside, keeping his eyes
low, so as not to look at the swell of her belly.

"How many
fishes today?" It was strange how in this time of distress his mother
chose to speak of everyday events. He played along, too young to see where she
led.