The Baker's Boy (71 page)

"I think it's
time for some straight talking, my friend. I want to see Baralis put
permanently out of the way and to do this I need some help. You can help me and
help yourself at the same time."

"Seems as
you're being direct, then so will I," said Traff. "I'll be willing to
help you, but only if you agree to my conditions."

"Go ahead,
speak them." This was what Maybor had been waiting for.

"First, I
want two hundred gold pieces, up front in cash." Traff looked to Maybor,
who nodded.

"I will agree
to that."

"Secondly, I
will not act as your assassin. I am willing to aid you in other ways: give you
details of his plans, his secret hideouts, his special skills, and so on; but I
am not fool enough to make an attempt on his life."

"Agreed."
Maybor had expected such a condition. "Anything else?" Traff paused a
minute, a calculating expression on his face. "Say it, man," urged
Maybor, who was growing tired of the wait.

"I have a
fancy for a wife." Traff paused again, and Maybor wondered where this was
leading to.

"I will dower
any girl you choose." Maybor assumed Traff was after more money in the
guise of a dowry.

"You are
bound to dower the girl I have in mind," said Traff.

Maybor grew very
still. He could hardly believe what the man was saying-the only girl he was
bound to dower was his daughter. Surely this mercenary was not suggesting that
he marry Melliandra. His daughter! Why, the girl would have been queen had she
not run away. How dare this man propose such an outrageous union. Melliandra
was his and he would never give her up to such a contemptible swine. "Do
you know what you are saying?" he demanded, dangerously close to losing
his temper.

"I need a
wife and your daughter fits the bill. She is a comely girl, but I doubt she
will find many lords willing to wed her now." Traff smirked a little.
Maybor could not restrain himself; he slapped him hard across the face.

"How dare you
speak of my daughter that way?"

"Come, come
now, Lord Maybor." Traff was cool, even a little amused. "You must be
aware that a girl who runs away from home and ends up being flogged in Duvitt
as a whore is hardly a great prize. You should be glad to get her off your
hands. She can never come back to court again, if she did she would only bring
you shame."

Furious as he was,
Maybor recognized there was a certain truth to the man's words. The whole court
now knew Melliandra had run away from the castle. Traff was right, no lord
interested in his prestige and position would marry her. There would be some
who were willing, lesser lords and gentry, those who were interested in his
money-the very men Maybor most despised. Melliandra had ruined her life by
running away. She could have been the most elevated woman in the Kingdom, but
now she had come so low that a common mercenary asked for her hand.

Maybor glanced at
Traff, he was waiting upon an answer. One thing was certain, he would never let
that man marry his daughter. Melliandra may have shamed and disobeyed him, but
he still loved her, and the thought of Traff laying a hand upon her shocked him
to his very soul. He would gladly murder him rather than let that happen. He
felt like murdering him now, just for suggesting it. But where would that get
him? If he were to find Melliandra, he would need Traff's help. He had no
choice but to agree to his proposal. He took a deep breath, and as he did so he
vowed solemnly that the man would never live to see his wedding day.

"So my
daughter is still alive. When did you see her last?" Maybor found he
couldn't bring himself to actually say: you can marry my daughter; the words
burnt in his throat.

"You agree to
my proposal?" Traff was suspicious. Maybor realized he would have to make
a convincing effort. He took a deep breath. "You are right, my friend,
when you say no one will marry her. She is no good to me now, a millstone
around my neck. You can have her if you find her. She is still my daughter, so
you may rest assured that she will be adequately dowered." Maybor added
one final flourish: "If when you are married I find you do not treat her
well, I will make sure you wish you had never set eyes upon her. The girl may
have shamed me, but she is ever my daughter and I will let no man abuse
her." That appeared to do the job; the skepticism drained from Traff's
face.

"It is
agreed, then, when she is found I will wed her. How much dowry can I expect? I
will of course require sufficient funds to keep your daughter in the manner to
which she is accustomed." Maybor could hardly believe his ears. Was there
no end to this man's audacity? He gritted his teeth. "No daughter of mine
shall be found wanting." Maybor struggled to retain his composure.
"So, when did you see her last?"

"Lord Maybor,
I said earlier I needed the cash up front before I entered into this agreement.
I will be willing to tell you all I know, but I need the cash first ... as
security, you understand." Maybor could only nod. He was dumbstruck by the
man's insolence. That a mercenary would not take his word on matters of cash
was absurd.

"Bring the
money here tomorrow at the same time. Take care to be discreet. Baralis has
eyes everywhere." Traff walked off with an infuriating swagger to his
step.

Maybor was sorely
tempted to go to Baralis and tell him that one of his men had turned traitor.
He was sure that Baralis would devise a suitably horrific punishment for the
mercenary. And by Borc, the man deserved one!

As Maybor made his
way back to the castle, he realized he was experiencing an unfamiliar emotion.
There was something nestled beneath his anger and it took him a moment to
realize what it was: he was ashamed. What sort of father was he? Not only had
he conspired with his daughter's rapist, but he had promised her to him!

They were looking
for a place to spend the night. It was still daylight, but experience had
taught them that night came quickly to the forest in winter. Melli was in
charge of finding suitable ground to sleep on and Jack was appointed as water
finder.

For most of the
time since leaving the old woman's farm, they had followed the eastern road,
always careful to stay under cover of the trees. Sometimes it had proven
difficult as either streams or ditches had blocked their path, and much time
had been wasted as they circumvented these obstacles so they could remain with
the road.

The weather had
actually turned milder since their journey began, but Jack had been proven
right when he'd predicted snow. The snow had started to fall early that morning
and had persisted all day. It was in fact an advantage not to be traveling on
the road, for with no roots to hold the earth in place, the road had quickly
turned to mud. The few people they saw passing had great difficulty wheeling
their carts and steering their animals in the quagmire.

The earth of the
forest was kept firmly in place by the deep roots of trees, and although the
earth was slippery underfoot, it was not nearly as treacherous as the road. The
snow was not sticking; it was too light and the earth too warm. Water ran in
rivulets down ditches and into the countless streams and brooks which laced
through the forest.

Melli had actually
found the past week peaceful. She liked being in the woods once more, enjoyed
walking in the crisp air and watching the stark scenery that winter offered.
After the experience of being locked up in a tiny storeroom for days, she found
she truly appreciated the freedom of the forest, of setting her own pace and choosing
her own road. As long as she was traveling she had only simple decisions to
make: how much to eat, where to sleep, when to rest. It was only when her
journey was over that she would have to worry about the real world once more.

Both she and Jack
knew they were being followed, probably tracked by hounds and men. Only the day
before they had heard the familiar rumble of hooves that marked the approach of
a troop of riders. Jack had acted swiftly and pulled her down into a ditch,
covering them both with a layer of wet leaves. The guard had passed by.
Although neither of them had admitted it, they were both relieved that there
had been no confrontation. Melli shuddered to think what might have happened if
there had been.

Jack had not
spoken about the incident at the hunter's lodge and Melli respected his silence
and didn't mention it herself. She was certain he thought about it, though, for
sometimes his face would grow pale and a blank expression enter his eye. One or
two times he had cried out in his sleep, words of torment that Melli could not
understand. She wanted to go to Jack to comfort him, to tell him everything
would be all right, but he was changing, growing more distant by the day, and
if she admitted the truth to herself, she was not sure anything would be all
right ever again.

Yes, he had
changed, thought Melli, as she watched him cut the wet bark from the firewood.
He had become more mature, more self-assured. He no longer had the smooth brow
of youth, and he bore the marks of worry upon his temples. She came and knelt
beside him, spreading out her blanket on the damp earth. "It isn't a
pleasant night to spend outside." She took the salted pork from her pack
and began to slice it.

"That's why I
thought we'd have a fire." He hacked at the bark, revealing the raw wood
beneath. "This should burn now."

"Are you sure
it's safe to have a fire? What if Baralis' men see the smoke?"

"If they're
in the forest like us, they won't be able to see beyond the cover of the trees.
I know it's a risk, but we're quite a way from the road, and you look in need
of a little warmth." He smiled a little, his first that day.

"Please,
don't light a fire on my account. I'm really quite warm. The dress the old
woman gave me is thick and keeps out the cold."

"Melli, your
nose and hands are blue with cold. Here," he handed her his blanket,
"put this around you."

Melli accepted the
blanket and watched as he built the fire. Eventually the flames took hold and
the wood crackled pleasingly, giving off a pleasant aroma of smoke and forest.
They both drew close, warming their hands and feet, Melli put the blanket over
her head to keep off the falling snow. "What will you do once you get to
Bren?" she asked.

"You mean
what will I do if I get to Bren." Jack whittled away at a length of wood.
He sighed deeply and then spoke again. "I don't know. I could become an
apprentice baker I suppose, but I think I'm a little too old to be taken on as
a new apprentice now." He sounded bitter.

"Surely there
must be some other way you could make a living?" Melli thought quickly.
"Once we reach Annis I could get money from my relatives there and you
could use it to set yourself up as a farmer."

"I'm almost
certain your relatives will not be prepared to give you money so you can loan
it to a baker's boy." Jack threw the piece of wood on the fire.
"Melli, my future is not your responsibility." His voice grew soft.
"There is no need for you to worry about me. Better worry about
yourself."

"What do you
mean?"

"How long ago
did you hear from your relatives? How do you know they will take you in? They
might send you straight back to your father."

"These are
not my father's relatives. My mother had a younger sister, Eleanor, I think her
name was. She married a minor lord from Annis. I'm hoping she or some of her
family will still be alive. We never received letters from her. I don't even
know the name of the man she married, but I'm sure when I find her she'll take
me in-my mother told me they loved each other deeply as children."

"Your mother
is dead?" Jack spoke gently.

"She's been
dead for over ten years. My father drove her to the grave. He only married her
for her father's land. She had a miserable life; shut up in the castle, never
loved, my father dallying with any woman who took his fancy. She was never a
strong woman; the constant worrying just wore her out." Melli looked deep
into the flames of the fire. "I would rather be here, freezing in this
forest, penniless, than live the life that she did."

They were silent
for some time, both caught up in their own thoughts. The snow stopped falling
and the wind died down, leaving the smoke to tarry by the fire. "What
about your family, Jack? Where are your parents?" At first she thought he
hadn't heard her. Moments passed with no reply. Jack's face was turned to the
fire, and his profile gave nothing away. Just as she opened her mouth to repeat
the question, he spoke:

"My mother
has been dead for eight years. I have no father."

Melli waited,
surely there was more? The fire crackled and brightened, throwing a halo of
warmth into the cold of the night. She could hear Jack breathing, see the rise
and fall of his chest. She followed his gaze to the stars.

"Somewhere
under this sky lie the answers."

"The answers
to what?"

Jack shook his
head. "I don't know, Melli. There's so much I don't understand. It's as if
I'm not allowed to know the things that everyone else takes for granted."

"What
things?"

"Simple
things," he said. "Like knowing where your mother was from." He
stood up, suddenly agitated. "You'll never know what it's like not to have
a father, to grow up with no background, to have no idea who you are. It's easy
for you, Melli. You're so confident, so sure of yourself. When you meet people,
you don't dread them asking about your family." Jack turned and faced her
full on. "I do."

"I'm sorry
... "

"What for?
It's not your fault, you only asked the same thing as everyone else." He
came over to her, crouching down by her side. She felt his hand searching for
hers. "And now this with the mercenaries. What's inside of me, Melli? Why
am I different?"