The Baker's Boy (67 page)

"Here."
He threw the leader a purse. "You start today."

"I will need
a description of the two people."

"They are
both young. The girl has long dark hair and pale skin; the boy is tall with
brown hair. They will be traveling on foot. I believe they will be heading
east. You can pick up their trail to the south of the castle near an unused
hunting lodge. If you do not find them in a week, report back to me."
Baralis began to walk away and then remembered something, "Do not approach
the boy in full view. He must be taken off guard or better still when he is
asleep."

"We will find
them and bring them back."

"No, I don't
want them brought back," murmured Baralis. "Kill them and then bury
their bodies."

The city of Ness
nestled between graciously sloping hills, its backdrop formed by pale mountain
peaks, their color a mere variance of the silvery gray sky. The hills
surrounding the city were a patchwork of ploughed fields, meadows, and
orchards. Ness was a farming town.

Tawl and Nabber
arrived just as a late dawn was rising upon the city. The mountains to the east
jealously guarded the sun's rays and daybreak always came later to Ness than
elsewhere.

The city was old
and weather-beaten, the buildings sturdy and unadorned, designed for
practicality not for show. As the two companions made their way into the town
they passed throngs of tradesmen: tanners, butchers, wheelwrights. Ness was a
town that survived on its sheep. Their fleeces were shorn every spring for
wool, they were milked for cheesemaking, they were slaughtered and butchered
for meat, their skins were tanned into parchment for writing upon, and their
droppings used as fertilizer for spring planting.

The city was
famous for its wool: the women of Ness had a light finger with the spinning
wheel, and the wool they spun was fine and soft. Dyemakers excelled at making
beautiful vivid colors, especially reds: bright hues of scarlet and crimson
were favored by the men of the town for their cloaks and jerkins. The women
were not allowed the privilege of wearing bright colors, and only wore dresses
of muted browns and blues. Tawl did notice one or two brightly dressed women,
however. They stuck out in the crowd, their gaudy colors proclaiming their
particular trade for all to see.

The air was cold
and sharp, and Tawl realized they would need to purchase extra clothing now
they were in the north. He smiled looking at the market stalls piled high with
sheepskins and bolts of wool-he had certainly come to the right place to buy
warm clothes.

He kept a close
eye on the boy; he had no intention of letting him go off prospecting in this
town. They wandered around the market and Tawl had to keep a firm grip on
Nabber's tunic on more than one occasion-the boy would catch sight of a portly
merchant or a richly dressed woman and would gravitate in that direction.

"It's only a
bit of pocketing, they'll never miss it." Nabber wiped his nose with his
sleeve. He was not used to the colder climes of the north and had caught a
cold.

"No, I won't
have you getting us both into trouble."

"We need to
make some purchases, don't we? There can't have been much coinage left after
you paid the horse dealer in Toolay." Tawl checked his pack and found one
gold and a handful of silvers.

"I thought we
had more than that." He looked at the boy suspiciously, but Nabber just
shrugged his shoulders. "Looks like I'll be doing some prospecting after
all, then." The boy linked the fingers of both his hands together and
cracked all his knuckles simultaneously.

"Don't you be
too long." Tawl watched as Nabber slipped away into the crowds. "And
be careful." Tawl wandered over to a market stall that had various lengths
of cloth for sale. He was looking for heavy wool; he could take the cold, but
he could see it had been hard on the boy.

"Good day to
you, sir." The cloth merchant had an unfamiliar accent; he looked at Tawl
with undisguised speculation. "Come from the south, have you?" He
didn't wait for Tawl's answer. "I can tell by the poor manner in which you
are dressed. If you don't mind me saying, you could do with a new cloak. I have
a beautiful length of wool here." He pulled out a bolt of scarlet fabric.
"Feel it." Tawl dutifully ran his fingers over the cloth. It was
certainly smoother than most wools he was used to.

"Do you have
anything in a less noticeable color? A gray or a brown?" The cloth
merchant looked at Tawl as if he were mad.

"Sir, those
colors are for the women. A fine figure of a man such as yourself would look
most pulchritudinous in a red robe." Tawl had no idea what pulchritudinous
meant, and he was quite sure he did not want to look it.

"I insist on
gray. How soon can you have two cloaks and tunics made ready?"

"Let me
see." The cloth merchant scrutinized Tawl, obviously deciding how much he
was good for. "I can have them made up by dawn tomorrow for the right
price."

"And what is
the right price?"

"Four
golds." The man looked squarely at Tawl, defying him to challenge the
price.

"Two,"
said Tawl with a slight raise of his brow.

"Sir, the
cost of a seamstress alone will set me back two golds, not to mention the high
quality of my cloth." The man waved his arms to illustrate his point.
"I can do it for no less than three."

"Three it is,
then." The price was still far too high, but Tawl had no love of
bargaining. He told the cloth merchant what style he required and the
approximate size of the boy, made the expected deposit and then left.

He decided to buy
a bite to eat while he waited for Nabber to return. He was just choosing
between a stuffed sheep's heart and blood pudding when he heard a female voice
whisper in his ear, "If you follow me, I can show you where they serve the
best food in Ness."

Tawl looked round
to see an auburn-haired girl. She was wearing a brown dress and was therefore
not a prostitute. There was something familiar about her. The girl saw his
puzzled look. "You have just dealt with my father, the cloth
merchant." She smiled and said flippantly, "You struck a bad deal, by
the way." She had a light, pleasant voice with a trace of the same lilting
accent as her father.

"What does it
matter to you? Surely you will benefit from your father's skill at
bargaining."

"He is quite
rich enough as it is." The girl beckoned him away from the food stand.

"He was
dressed poorly-or is that part of his ploy?" He followed the girl away
from the crowds.

"Father has
so many ploys I lose count of them. For one thing he will be paying no
seamstress two golds. I will be making your cloaks."

Tawl could not
help but smile. "Well, hadn't you better get started? I will need them by tomorrow."

"You are
leaving Ness tomorrow?" The girl looked disappointed.

"What's it to
you?" Tawl was always suspicious of people who asked about his movements.
Unfortunately the question appeared to offend the girl.

"It's nothing
to me," she said proudly. "I must be on my way. You wouldn't want
your cloaks to be finished late." The girl began to walk off.

"Wait,"
cried Tawl. The girl spun around. "I am sorry if I offended you. I would
be pleased if you would show me the best eating house."

"I never said
it was an eating house," she said, returning to his side. "The best
food in Ness is made in my own kitchen with my own hands."

He followed the
girl through the market, down an alleyway and then into a wide, pleasant
street. Tawl looked around to see if he could catch a glimpse of Nabber; there
was no sign of the boy. He was not concerned. Nabber was most enterprising; he
would find him somehow.

"Here we
are," proclaimed the girl at the door of an old but well-kept townhouse.
"Oh, don't worry. No one lives here but Father and me. He is far too
thrifty to keep servants." She guided him in through the door and down the
stairs into a warm and smoky kitchen.

"You do me a
great honor by inviting me into your home." Tawl was familiar with the
customs of the north and knew the appropriate words to say.

"You are not
from around here, are you?" The girl busied herself around the kitchen.

"No. But if I
am not mistaken neither are you. Your voice has a lilt to it that comes not
from Ness." Tawl accepted the cup of ale he was handed.

"You have
sharp ears. My father was originally from a place far to the west of here.
After my mother died when I was but a child, we traveled east and eventually
ended up here." The girl cut slices of warm, crusty bread and buttered
them generously.

"What was the
name of the place you came from?"

"The town of
Harvell, in the heart of the Four Kingdoms."

"How long has
it been since you left?" Tawl had never met anyone from the Four Kingdoms
before, and now saw a chance of gathering some information before he got there.

"Ten years
now. Of course my father goes back there every year or two to impress our
relatives with his newly found wealth." The girl drew one of several pots
from the fire. She took off the lid and a delicious aroma filled the kitchen.
"Why are you so interested anyway?"

"I am heading
west looking for work. I may head that way."

"I wouldn't
go as far as the Four Kingdoms if I were you. They have warred with the Halcus
for many years now and crops and livestock have suffered. There will be little
work for an outsider."

"It is a war
that does not seem to make much sense. Both sides deplete their strength and
for little gain." Tawl tried to keep his tone casual; he didn't want to
betray the full extent of his interest to the girl.

"Father says
that there is something fishy about the whole thing. Each side appears to know
the other's moves before it makes them." The girl ladled a large helping
of stew into a bowl. It was thick with carrots, turnips, onions, and lamb.

"Such
goings-on are usually a sign that someone in high places has an interest in
keeping the war going."

"That's
exactly what my father says. He says the king's chancellor-what's his name
now?-Lord Baralis is behind it all."

"So this Lord
Baralis is the power in the Four Kingdoms, then?"

"Ever since
the king was shot by an arrow five years back, there have been a few men who
would manipulate events in the kingdoms. The queen is supposedly strong,
though-a better leader by all accounts than the sick king was in health. The
best thing the king could do is die and let his son rule in his place. Maybe he
can bring peace to the land."

The girl came and
sat beside him and chewed on a slice of bread. Tawl watched her as she ate. She
was a pretty girl with a sprinkling of tawny freckles across her nose and
cheeks. He wondered why she had invited him to her house. As if reading his
mind she said, "I'm not in the habit of asking men to dine at my table. I
saw you at my father's stall and you looked . . ." She hesitated, a little
embarrassed. "You looked in need of some home cooking." Tawl had the
distinct feeling that she had been about to say something else but stopped
herself.

"Surely there
must be a lot of people who pass through the city?" He was not about to
let her off the hook.

"Yes, but
most of them are just smelly old fieldhands or pickpockets or worse." The
girl stared into her bowl of stew. "You looked different, like you might
be an adventurer or a prince in disguise or something."

"I am no
prince." Tawl reached out and touched the girl's chin, tilting it upward
so she was forced to meet his eye.

"I don't even
know your name." The girl became suddenly nervous and started clearing
away the bowls.

"I am
Tawl." As always his name sounded short without the title Knight of Valdis
behind it.

"I am Kendra,
daughter of Filstus the cloth merchant."

"Well,
Kendra, I must take my leave now. I have someone who will be waiting for
me." Tawl had no wish to take advantage of a young and inexperienced girl.
He bowed low in the courtly fashion. "Thank you for your
hospitality." As he left the kitchen he saw the wish to call him back upon
the girl's face, but he did not give her chance. He turned quickly and made his
way up the stairs and out of the house.

Once back at the
market, he attempted to find Nabber. After searching unsuccessfully for some
time he decided the best thing he could do was wait in a noticeable place and
let the ever resourceful boy find him.

Tavalisk was
contemplating his archbishop's ring. When he had first been made archbishop,
he'd been given the official ring bearing the seal of the City of Rorn. The
ring was supposedly over a thousand years old, precious beyond telling. He
admired its form in the sunlight. It really was quite good for a fake. Not that
there was anything to compare it with, the real one being irretrievably lost at
the bottom of a lake of sand.

Tavalisk had
learned a valuable lesson from the fake ring-people believed what they saw. Of
course it helped that he was an archbishop and therefore above repute, but he
suspected the premise would also work at less auspicious levels than his.

Once he realized
that the ring was accepted, he began to replace other items with fakes. He had
started carefully to begin with: a priceless Tyro vase was replaced with an identical
but worthless piece, sculpted by a brilliant, if not original, artisan of Rorn.
Before long he expanded his enterprises, and now he could say with pride there
was little left in the Archbishop's Palace that was real.

He had been
careful, very careful, even to the point of having his copyists' throats cut
and, when he deemed necessary, their families', too. As a result of his
endeavors he now had a substantial stash of treasures concealed in a private
residence not a stone's throw away from the palace. It was his nest egg. If the
ungrateful and notoriously fickle people of Rorn ever decided to get rid of
him, he could be assured of living well indefinitely. And Tavalisk was a man
who valued living well almost as much as he did mischief-making.