The Baker's Boy (79 page)

He had thrown them
out and would heal himself. His latest cook from the far south had ways with
herbs and had sprinkled some atop his gruel. It would not be long before he was
feeling better. The archbishop had of course suspected poison, a man in his
position could expect such things, but Tavalisk made a point of making his
various aides eat whatever he was having and they were all fine. Maybe it was
all the spicy food he had been eating lately-he would have to change his diet.

Tavalisk heard a
loud knock. Ever since he had reprimanded his aide, Gamil had taken to knocking
with ostentatious vigor. "Come."

"Your
Eminence is feeling a little better, I trust?"

"Just a
little, Gamil, no thanks to the physicians." Tavalisk finished his gruel.
"I would have you spread a little rumor, Gamil."

"What rumor,
Your Eminence?"

"The truth,
really. I would have the people of Rorn know I am ill."

"But Your
Eminence is recovering?"

"Yes, but I
would have them worry over my condition for a little longer. People value
things more when they think they are about to lose them." The archbishop
noticed Gamil's expression. "There is nothing like a serious illness to
increase one's popularity."

"But Your
Eminence is already well loved by the people."

"Exactly, and
I intend to keep it that way. Be sure to let the people know I refused the help
of physicians-the common people can't afford their services and therefore
resent them. Personally I think that's why the common people live longer than
the wealthy; they are allowed to die in their own time and not prematurely
physicianed into the grave."

"I will do as
Your Eminence wishes."

"See that you
do. Now, have you any news for me? What about our knight?"

"It will be
some time before our spies are able to report back, Your Eminence. I did hear
that while he was in Ness he spent some time with a cloth merchant's
daughter."

"Really,
Gamil, I thought you were above such tittle tattle. Who the knight beds is of
little interest to me."

"The girl and
her father were originally from the Four Kingdoms, Your Eminence. I believe he
questioned the girl about her former country."

"It seems as
if a lot of people are interested in the Four Kingdoms at the moment."
Tavalisk poured himself a little sheep's milk and honey. "By the way,
Gamil, did you arrange a meeting with the lord from Bren ... what is his
name?"

"Lord
Cravin." Gamil seemed reluctant to continue. "Go on, man," urged
the archbishop.

"Well, Your
Eminence, I myself approached the illustrious lord on your behalf. I told him
who I represented and informed him that Your Eminence requested the pleasure of
a meeting with him."

"And?"

Gamil fingered the
material of his robe. "Well, Lord Cravin saw fit to decline the offer. He
said he was far too busy to waste time meeting with churchfolk and told me not
to bother him again."

"Churchfolk!"
exclaimed Tavalisk. "Churchfolk! Does the man know who he is dealing
with?"

"He was a
most arrogant man, Your Eminence."

"He is also a
foolish one to decline a meeting with me. I have never been so insulted.
Churchfolk!" The archbishop rubbed his chubby hands together in agitation.
"I can see that the people of Bren are lacking in both intelligence and
good manners."

"It is a
well-known fact that all the people in the north are barbarians, Your
Eminence," said Gamil soothingly. "And that the people of Bren are
the most barbaric of all."

"That I can
well believe." Tavalisk sipped his milk and honey and regained his
composure, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "If they are so
barbaric, it will be interesting to see how successfully Baralis can pull off
his plans with them. By attempting to wed Kylock to Catherine of Bren he just
might have bitten off more than he can chew." Tavalisk was now smiling
broadly, showing his little, sharp teeth. The course of Marod's prophecy might
not run that smoothly after all. And, if he were right about its meaning, it
could be his responsibility to prevent it from coming to pass. "All this
talk of chewing has made me hungry, Gamil. Go and fetch me some real food,
something with a bite to it. I am sick of gruel."

Kylock was washing
his hands. Using a boar's bristle brush, he cleaned beneath his fingernails.
After a while, he held his hands up to the light. They were still not clean
enough. He poured more boiling water into the basin and scrubbed them once
more.

It was the smell
that he could never remove. No matter what he did he could never quite rid
himself of the stench of the womb. It was on him even now, nearly eighteen
years later. Many skins had he shed, every particle renewed a hundred times,
but it still remained. The smell of his mother clung to him like a vine to an
oak, and it would destroy him if it could.

It worked his
mother's purpose, reeking of her adultery, seeking to corrupt. He would not
succumb. Catherine would help him. He would bathe in her purity and emerge
forever cleansed of the taint of his mother's corruption.

Kylock dried his
hands on a soft cloth. The portrait was where his mother had left it. He took
it up. Hundreds of leagues it had traveled and it was still fragrant with the
smell of innocence. Opening his fist to the light from the candle, he looked
upon the likeness of Catherine of Bren. She took his breath away. Perfection.
An angel, pure and virginal, untouched by the hand of man or time. Catherine
was his, and she alone would save him.

Baralis poured
himself a glass of deep red wine. He held it against the firelight better to
admire its color and clarity. He was normally a fastidious person not given to
excesses of food or drink, and in fact despised people who were, but today he
had cause for celebration and would finish off a glass or two. Yesterday the
queen had announced to the whole court her plans to betroth her son to the duke
of Bren's daughter. There was no going back for her now. She was fully
committed to the marriage and his plans were therefore secure. The world turned
in his favor and his dreams were one step nearer realization.

He liked not the
thought of the long trip to Bren, but it was something that would have to be
endured, a mere inconvenience. He wondered with idle curiosity which fool the
queen would pick out for Crown's Envoy. Probably some lily-livered nobody who
was well under Her Highness' finely manicured thumb. It was of little consequence.
Bren was his affair and he would brook no interference from any vacuous
nobleman.

There were a few
loose ends he would prefer tied up before he departed from Bren, but it did not
appear he would be able to do so in the time left. His latest mercenaries had
proved useless. They had returned today saying they had seen no sign of the
girl and boy. It was true that Melliandra was no longer in the running as
Kylock's bride, but it would cause an uncomfortable scandal if she returned to
court telling the story of how she had been held captive by the king's
chancellor. He could not afford to risk such accusations and the girl must be
permanently prevented from making them.

As for the boy, he
too must be found and killed. The incident at the hunting lodge had proven just
how dangerous he could be. He wanted him out of the way. Jack represented
uncertainty ... he was a dark horse, a spoiler. Whenever Baralis thought of him
he was filled with apprehension. The baker's boy was trouble.

He sipped on his
wine, considering what he would need to take with him to Bren. He heard heavy
footsteps and then Crope loomed above him. As always the fool was carrying his
painted box. "I told you I was not to be disturbed."

"Lord Maybor
is asking to see you."

"Maybor, what
does he want?" Baralis had no desire to see him. He had too vivid a
recollection of what happened last time; the maniac had drawn a sword.

"He says he
wants to talk to you, says he's unarmed."

"What is his
demeanor?" What could Maybor want? Baralis wondered. Had he come to vent
his rage over losing out on the betrothal?

"He seems
happy, smiling he is."

"Let him come
in." The man was probably drunk. If he tried to draw a sword this time, he
would find things turned out a little differently than when they'd last met.
Crope went off and a minute later Maybor stepped into the room.

"Ah, Lord
Baralis. I'm so pleased you agreed to see me at this late hour, but then, as
I'm sure you'll appreciate, we have much to plan." Maybor smiled broadly.

"We have
nothing to plan that I am aware of, Maybor."

"Oh, but we
have, Baralis. We have our trip to Bren to plan." Maybor helped himself to
a glass of wine. "I trust this won't be poisoned?" he said
pleasantly.

"You are not
going to Bren." Baralis' voice was scathing. "You are obviously
drunk."

"Well, I do
admit to having a few mugs of ale, but I can assure you, Baralis, I am far from
drunk." He gulped down the wine with little finesse. "I will, of
course, be taking some of my own men to Bren. I don't feel five score is
enough, do you? The queen agrees with me."

"The
queen?" Baralis was beginning to feel nervous. "Yes, Her Highness
said I could bring a further score of my own. While I was with her she showed
me the portrait of Catherine. A lovely girl, I can't wait to meet her in person.
Of course, as Crown's Envoy I suppose I will have the honor of meeting her
before you do. After all, Crown takes precedence over Prince, does it
not?"

"The queen
has appointed you Crown's Envoy?"

"Yes, didn't
you know?" said Maybor slyly. "Here, let me fill your cup." He
refilled both glasses. "May I propose a toast?" He didn't wait for an
answer. "To Bren, a city that holds great promise for the future." He
drained his glass and stood up. "You look a little pale, Baralis. We'll
plan our journey another day."