The Baker's Boy (34 page)

"Let him be,
Carver, anyone would think you're afraid to sail to Larn."

"1 ain't
afraid," said Carver defensively. "I've sailed to worse places than
Larn in my day, I can tell you."

"Well, if you
don't get on securing those ropes, we won't be sailing anywhere." Carver
flashed the man a resentful look and moved on about his business. The man then
turned to Tawl. "Good day, to you, friend. My name's Fyler. Don't worry
none about Carver. He's got a harsh tongue, but nothing more."

"I wasn't
worried in the least, Fyler. I was about to tell him I did fancy a bit of
cake." Tawl grinned at the seaman, who promptly slapped him hard on the
back.

"You're gonna
do just fine aboard The Fishy Few, make no mistake about it. There are two
things a sailor needs around here. First, he needs a sense of humor, and
second, he needs to know how to swim." Fyler winked merrily at Tawl.
"How are you at cooking?"

"I'm not too
bad." Tawl wondered about the question. "Good. We had to lose our
cook to make way for you. You can do the honors. Course the good thing about
being cook is that you get to sleep in the galley. Have it all to yourself, you
can." Fyler smiled broadly, showing gaps among his large, yellow teeth.
Tawl got the distinct feeling he had been successfully snared. "Why don't
I show you to the galley. The men haven't eaten all day, and there's nothing
like setting sail for increasing a man's appetite."

Fyler led Tawl
belowdeck, down a narrow corridor and into a tiny room. "This is it,
friend," he said. "You'll find the supplies under the table and in
the larder. I'm off. Can't sail a ship without its navigator." Fyler left
Tawl to the tiny cramped room. It didn't look like any kitchen he had been in.
There was just a long, wooden table banded around the edges to keep the various
pots and pans in their place and a curious-looking brick stove.

Tawl had no idea
how to light the stove and could find no wood to fuel it. The crewmen, he
decided, would have to eat a cold breakfast. He looked under the table and
found sacks of vegetables in various stages of sprouting: old turnips, carrots
and parsnips. Tawl could think of no worse things to be eaten raw. He smiled
mischievously. He'd show the sailors of The Fishy Few a good breakfast!

Tavalisk was
soaking his plump, short-toed feet in a bowl of water. His hands were occupied
with cracking open the shell of a huge, live lobster. With a dainty silver
hammer he pounded viciously on the shell, eager to get at the tender,
translucent meat. He was most annoyed when a knock came at his door.

"Enter,"
cried the archbishop, venting his anger on the lobster by bashing its small
legs off. His aide entered. "Yes, Gamil, what is it?" he demanded
testily. The lobster apparently still had some life in it, as it snapped at
Tavalisk's fingers with its huge claws. Tavalisk countered this indignity by
smashing the lobster's head with all the might in his chubby body, sending
flesh and shell flying.

"I thought
you might wish to know what has become of the knight, Your Eminence."

"Say your
piece, Gamil." Tavalisk noted with pleasure that his last blow had taken
the fight out of the lobster: all it could do now was flail its one remaining
leg.

"Well, Your
Eminence, it appears that our knight has had an early start this morning."

"Yes, yes.
Get to the point, Gamil." Tavalisk was now looking around for the missing
lobster legs; he wasn't about to have their succulent meat wasted.

"Well, Your
Eminence, our knight has managed to commission a boat."

"A boat! What
sort of boat?" Tavalisk decided that one last bash would split the shell
open nicely and proceeded to hammer at the lobster once more.,

"A small
sailboat, two masts. Name of The Fishy Few."

"The Fishy
Few!" Tavalisk now put down his hammer and with skilled hands prized open
the lobster's shell, revealing the grayish, opalescent flesh.

"Yes, Your
Eminence. I looked into it. Captain's name is Quain. Ship usually cargoes fish
from Marls."

"Marls. How
interesting, that's where my little friend here is from." Tavalisk
motioned toward the ruined lobster, which was beginning to leak a greenish
fluid onto the platter.

"Well, I'm
not sure that the boat's heading to Marls this time, Your Eminence."

"You mean
it's set sail? With the knight aboard?" Tavalisk was now cutting himself a
sizable chunk of lobster flesh, careful to avoid its unpleasant discharges.

"Yes, Your
Eminence. It set sail just after first light."

"Which way
was it headed?" The lobster flesh was warm and salty. Tavalisk loved
nothing better than freshly killed lobster. This one, however, was still alive:
its leg continued to move slightly. The archbishop smiled and took up his
hammer once more. It was most distracting to see one's meal hanging on grimly
for its life.

"Well, Your
Eminence, it's hard to tell which way it sailed, but I asked around, and the
harbor workers said it was sailing to Larn."

"My, my, how
interesting. Our knight has been most enterprising. How do you think he could
afford to pay for such a charter?" Tavalisk saw with satisfaction that his
last blow had finished the pathetic creature off. He could now settle down and
enjoy its flesh.

"A captain
would demand a high price to sail to Larn, Your Eminence."

"I'm sure
you're right, Gamil." The archbishop now expertly gutted the lobster.

"I have a
suspicion, Your Eminence, that the Old Man might have something to do with
it."

"I think that
would be a fair assumption, Gamil. But why would the Old Man want to help our
knight?" Tavalisk cut into the succulent tail, mouth watering in
anticipation. "It's probably that damned nuisance Bevlin again. He has no
taste when it comes to friends. Probably asked the Old Man to keep an eye on
his young knight."

Tavalisk felt
something sharp bite into his tongue, followed by the distinct-but not
unpleasant-taste of blood. It was a piece of shell. The cunning crustacean had got
revenge from the grave! "Gamil, do we have any spies on Larn?"
Tavalisk was now stuffing his mouth with lobster tail. His blood acted as a
fair seasoning.

"No one has
spies on Larn, Your Eminence."

"Oh, how
disappointing," commented Tavalisk between mouthfuls of tail meat.

The archbishop
drained a cup of light wine. "Tell me, Gamil, did you feel anything
unusual last night?"

"What do you
mean, Your Eminence?"

"I felt
something. It woke me." Tavalisk now pulled the remaining leg off the
lobster and sucked the flesh from it. "What did you feel, Your
Eminence?"

"I think it
was the aftermath of a drawing. Must have been a damned powerful one. Only a
few weeks back I felt something similar-may have come from the same man."
Tavalisk was now using his teeth to pry out the remaining meat from the leg.
"I'd like to find out who was responsible for it. The man capable of such
forces would be a useful person to know. See to it, would you, Gamil?"
Tavalisk surveyed the lobster for the presence of any meat he might have
missed. Finding nothing left, he turned his attention to a bowl of cherries at
his side.

"If you'll
excuse me, Your Eminence, I will be off. I have much to attend to."

Tavalisk's eyes
narrowed sharply. "Ah, before you go, Gamil, I wonder if I might trouble
you to clear up this little mess I've made with the lobster. I know how you
like to keep things clean and tidy."

Melli was shaken
violently awake. Hands picked her off the ground and stood her up. The sound of
Mistress Greal's voice rang through the air:

"Yes, Master
Hulbit, that's the little thief." Mistress Greal then stepped forward and
slapped Melli sharply on her cheek. Melli was prevented from retaliating by the
firm hold of Master Hulbit, the tavern keeper. She realized that she was freezing:
she had fallen asleep in the middle of a field wearing nothing but a flimsy
dress. Master Hulbit twisted Melli's arm cruelly and guided her in the
direction of the road. She was brought level with Mistress Greal, who gave her
a venomous look. Melli ignored her and asked Master Hulbit where her horse was.

Before Master
Hulbit could answer, Mistress Greal jumped in. "You haven't got no horse
now, young lady. That horse has been confiscated by Master Hulbit to pay for
the debts you incurred by staying in his tavern."

"I incurred
no debts!" said Melli angrily. "I stayed at the tavern as your guest,
Mistress Greal." Mistress Greal slapped her again.

"You little
trollop!" she cried, and then, appealing to Master Hulbit. "Have you
ever met such a bare-faced liar? My guest, indeed! You're in real trouble now,
my girl, I can tell you that. Running away without paying your bill, blatantly
taking one of my dresses and stealing a leather saddle. And to top it all off,
you assaulted one of Master Hulbit's good customers."

Melli couldn't
believe what she was hearing, all the lies that Mistress Greal was making up.
Melli appealed to Master Hulbit: "It is Mistress Greal who is lying. She
took my dress away and tore it up. She forced me to wear this. And as for that
man last night, he assaulted me! I was only trying to stop him putting his
hands all over me. Please, Master Hulbit, you must believe me." The tavern
keeper seemed impervious to Melli's plea.

"I've known
Mistress Greal for many years, girl. She's a friend of mine, helps considerable
with my business, she does. If she tells me you're a liar and a thief, I
believe her."

Melli watched as
Mistress Greal threw the tavern keeper an approving look.

Melli was led to
the roadside, where to her relief she spotted her horse. Mistress Greal's sharp
eyes did not miss Melli's expression.

"I've told
you, young lady, that horse is now the property of Master Hulbit. And what's
more, not only do you owe me for that dress you've ruined, but you're going to
have to answer to Edrad; it was his saddle you stole." Mistress Greal
walked off, heading toward the village and leaving Melli to Master Hulbit.

Melli was
shivering violently, chilled through. She wondered what could have possessed
her to fall asleep in a field in winter. She was also feeling rather sick, and
this time she recognized the symptoms of too much to drink the night before.
Seeing her shivering in a thin dress, Master Hulbit gave her his horse blanket
with which to cover herself. The kind gesture had the effect of making Melli
want to cry-it seemed she had met with nothing but cruelty since leaving Castle
Harvell.

Master Hulbit
noticed the tears well up in her eyes and patted her shoulder lightly.
"There, there, young'un. It's not that bad. I've taken your horse in
payment, and if I do say so myself, I've got a bad deal. That's one sorry
looking animal." Melli didn't know whether to be indignant or to laugh. It
was true: her horse was old and worn out. "See, there's always something
to smile about. I'll make sure Mistress Greal doesn't eat you up for dinner.
You only took her for one dress. I'll let you work in the tavern to help pay it
off. Of course, the saddle's another matter. It's a serious crime to steal a
man's saddle, but I'm sure Edrad will deal kindly with you."

Melli thought it
was most unlikely that Edrad would deal kindly with her. She had hurt him badly
last night, she remembered. So badly that he couldn't even stand up. Not to
mention the obvious blow to his pride at his advances being rejected. Melli
dreaded having to face him again. She did not appear to have any choice in the
matter; kind though Master Hulbit was, he obviously had no intention of letting
her go. Master Hulbit still had a tight hold of Melli's arm. He took the reins
of her horse and they walked the short distance back to the town of Duvitt.
Melli was surprised at how near they were; she was sure she had ridden longer
last night. She supposed the drink had clouded her senses. She counted the days
since she'd left the castle, then wished she hadn't: thirteen wasn't a good
sign.

Once they arrived
at the town, Mistress Greal appeared and took over once more, guiding Melli
into the tavern, where, to Melli's horror, she came face-to-face with Edrad.

"So you
managed to find the little tart, Mistress Greal," he said, giving Melli
the full benefit of his menacing stare. "Farmer Trill spotted her horse
this morning, Edrad," replied Mistress Greal. Melli noted there was
someone else present, someone whom she had never seen before. The man spoke:

"Please if
you would, Edrad, recount to me the events of the previous evening." Melli
concluded from his rather pompous air that he must be Duvitt's magistrate.

"Certainly,
sir. This young woman asked me to go with her for a walk. It was a fine evening
so I foolishly agreed. She then lured me into the stables by promising me a
kiss; the next thing I know she'd drawn out a knife. She threatened to stab me
if I moved. I wasn't about to let a mere wisp of a girl get the better of me.
But before I could make my escape, the little viper kicked me hard in the
privates. Then she stole my saddle." Melli had to admit, Edrad sounded
convincing.

"Are there
any witnesses?" asked the magistrate, sweeping the room with his eyes.

"I was there
when the little hussy asked Edrad for a walk. I also heard her promise him a
kiss." Mistress Greal gave Edrad a conspiratorial glance.

"Well, as the
young girl was found in possession of the saddle and did indeed leave without
paying her bill, I can only presume her guilt." The magistrate was
obviously pleased with the outcome. Melli could bear it no more.

"They are
lying!" she cried. "It was Edrad who lured me to the stables. He
kissed me against my will, that's why I kicked him."

"See!"
shouted Mistress Greal. "The little hussy admits it; she has no shame. If
you don't mind me saying, sir, I think you should deal most harshly with the
girl. Although young, she is obviously a practiced liar and a hardened
thief."