Master and Fool (19 page)

"And why
haven't you given it to him, then?"

"Someone
tried to, but Tawl wouldn't take it. He just left it on the street for anyone
to pick up. Me, I just came along and pocketed it. Holding it, I am, for
Tawl."

Melli knew that
Tawl had left her because he wanted to make sure she was safe. She also knew
exactly how hard that must have been for him. He did not take his oath lightly,
but it was more than just an oath to him: he loved her. And Melli had known
Tawl long enough to realize that he was not a man to give his love lightly.
Indeed, Melli couldn't imagine Tawl taking anything lightly. He was not that
sort of man.

Melli never knew
who looked up first: herself or Nabber. But somehow their eyes met, and
Nabber's dark and twinkling brown eyes held the exact same thought as her own.

"Without you,
miss, Tawl has nothing to live for." Nabber's voice was soft. He dropped
her name out of respect.

Melli stood up and
crossed over to him. A ripple of nausea threatened, but she fought it with
fists clenched. When it passed, she laid her hand on Nabber's shoulder. She
could feel his bones through the fabric of his tunic: he was very small and
very young. It was easy to forget just how young he was. "You know Tawl
very well, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And this
letter," she said brushing her fingertips against the parchment.
"This letter only arrived after he'd sworn his oath to the duke." It
wasn't really a question, for Melli knew the answer already. Once Nabber
nodded, she continued. "And his oath to the duke prevented him from
opening it?"

"I think
that's about the long and short of it, miss." Without realizing it, Melli
had gradually shifted her weight so that she was leaning against Nabber for
support. She pulled away, drawing herself up to her full height.
"Nabber," she said, her voice ringing clear and strong, "you
must take it to him now. Find him wherever he is, and tell him-" Melli
thought for a moment. "And tell him that I command him to read it."

"But--"

"No, Nabber.
I will hear nothing more. I know he asked you to look after me, but right now
the one thing you can do to give me peace of mind is find Tawl and deliver the
letter. It has been unopened too long."

Nabber's face was
a study of barely concealed joy. Oh, he protested and objected, and tried very
hard to make a case for staying, but at the end of the day all he wanted to do
was go to Tawl. His heart was already there.

After a few
minutes he allowed himself to be talked into it-Melli didn't begrudge him the
show. "Well, seeing as you're insisting, miss," he said. "I best
be on my way."

Melli smiled as he
bowed and then dashed out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind him,
she fell back on the bed. Tears welled fast and heavy, but she wiped them away,
telling herself it was just another symptom of an overactive womb.

Jack couldn't get
the golden-haired stranger out of his mind. His dreams had been filled with
him. Just before dawn, he'd dreamt that instead of helping the man escape, he
had actually followed him under the wall and out of the city. When he woke,
Jack found himself strangely disappointed. He was still in Bren, and the
golden-haired stranger was long gone with the night.

It was midmorning
now; a day in high summer, warm and breezy, with thin streaks of clouds
whisking across the sky.

The city was full
of soldiers. Ever since he'd arrived six days back, Jack had noticed that more
and more troops were flooding into Bren. The taverns and the brothels were
crawling with them: mercenaries, the duke's guard, blackhelms recalled from the
field, and even some of Kylock's troops, wearing the blue and the gold of the
Royal Guard. Jack made a point of keeping his distance from all of them.
Soldiers waiting for action would pick a fight just for the sake of it.

Still, he didn't
want to stray too far from them-they, like him, had gravitated to the south of
the city, and Jack most definitely wanted to stay where he was. Melli was
somewhere on the south side: last night having proven what he'd already
guessed.

The guards had
referred to the golden-haired stranger as the duke's murderer. Jack had heard
the rumors about the man; he was said to have been the duke's champion, a
failed knight, Melli's protector, and ultimately Melli's lover. Which meant
that last night he had abandoned her: the man had left the city alone. Jack
couldn't begin to guess what was truth and what was fiction, but he had seen
the man's face for himself, and although it was very easy to believe that the
golden-haired stranger could take someone's life, it was hard to believe he
would do it without just cause. Jack had looked into his bright blue eyes and
seen the nature of the man.

No. Even if the
duke's champion
had
run from Melli, Jack still didn't regret helping
him. Sometimes things went deeper than right or wrong; sometimes they were just
meant to be.

Jack picked a busy
street and headed for the largest density of people. There was a market up
ahead, and it was as good a place as any to find food to eat and people to
watch.

Walking through
the crowds, Jack searched the faces of everyone who crossed his path. He didn't
really know what he was looking for. Some sort of clue, certainly, perhaps
someone who was acting suspiciously, or someone he recognized. The
golden-haired stranger had run down a street less than a quarter of a league
away from here, and Jack had the distinct feeling that Melli would not be far
away.

Jack spent the
last of the morning milling around the market, helping a butcher with his
carcasses in return for a roasted chicken, gossiping with two old women about
the duke's murder-he now knew the golden-haired stranger's name: Tawl-and
finding out about the area from a man who sat on the road carving toy boats
from chunks of firewood.

Apparently, even
though the area was notorious for crime and prostitution, only two streets down
from the market was a small square where some high and mighty lords at court
had discreet townhouses. "For keeping their easy wenches," said the
wood-carver with a wink.

With nothing
better to do, Jack decided he would take a walk over to the square. The roast
chicken lay heavy in his stomach and the scope of his search lay heavy on his
mind. His steps dragged; he wasn't expecting anything to come of the walk, it
was merely something to pass the time.

When he finally
arrived at the square, he was disappointed to find that it looked like
countless other squares he'd seen: dirty, strewn with filth, the buildings
unremarkable and badly in need of repair. There was even the usual fountain
gurgling unpleasantly in the middle, surrounded by several old flower-sellers
who were busy watering their stock.

Jack was about to
turn from the square when he decided that since he was here, he might as well
take a drink of water. The chicken was a heavy load that needed lightening.

As he approached
the fountain the flower-sellers scuttled away like beetles. Jack couldn't help
but smilewomen being afraid of him was something he hadn't quite gotten used
to. He had always been tall, but only after his training with Rovas had the
rest of his body begun to match his height. He was broad now, with muscles that
tested the stitching on his tunic, and with arms and legs that gave him the
look of a professional fighter. Even his hair, which fell in a chestnut
ponytail down in his back, must make him seem like a wild man. Jack quite liked
the way he looked and, until last night when he saw the stranger running down
the street, he fancied himself as looking quite tough. Compared to the
golden-haired man, though, he was nothing more than a spring sapling.

Jack smiled and
bent forward to take a drink from the fountain. The water was cool and tasted
of lead. He edged a little nearer and thrust his whole face under the stream,
enjoying the wetness on his face.

Just as he was
going to pull away, he noticed a man leaving the house in the far corner of the
square. Even through the filter of running water, there seemed something
familiar about him. The man turned to the side and Jack got a glimpse of his
profile: huge nose, large potbelly. Stepping back from the fountain, Jack
rubbed the water from his eyes. The man was turning down the far street. Not
pausing to think, Jack ran after him.

He knew this man.
He had listened to his bad but kindly offered advice, watched in amazement as
he downed cup after cup of ale, and been ordered around the palace by him as a
boy. It was Grift. Castle guard and expert extraordinaire. Jack raced toward
him, calling out his name.

The man turned
around. He looked at Jack, and then began to run away.

Jack called out,
"Grift! It's me, Jack. From Castle Harvell!"

Grift slowed his
pace. After a moment he spun round. He watched as Jack drew level with him, his
eyes squinting with strain. A minute of silent scrutiny followed, and then he
said, "By Borc's own balls! It is indeed you." He moved forward and
caught Jack up in a huge bear hug. He smelled wonderful just like a brewery. An
instant later he pulled away. "No offense, lad," he said.
"Doesn't look good, us men hugging too much in public. It's bad for a
man's reputation."

Jack's heart was
filled with joy. "Count yourself lucky I didn't kiss you, Grift. You're
the best sight I've seen in months."

"Aye, lad.
Less of that." Gift beamed back at him. "Why, if you hadn't said who
you were I would never have recognized you. You've got as big as a barn and as
mean-looking as Widow Harpit on the rampage."

Jack laughed. Some
things never changed. "You look about the same as ever, Grift. Your beer
belly is still one of the nine wonders of the world."

Grift patted his
belly smugly. "Aye, lad. Ain't nothing catches a wench's eye better than a
gut the size of a battleship."

Before the
laughter had died down, Grift pulled him into the shadows. He looked both ways
to check that no one was watching and then whispered, "You here for the
war?"

"No, Grift.
I'm here to find Melliandra. I've got to make sure she's safe."

Grift looked him
straight in the eye. "Why would you care about her? It's Kylock who
everyone from the kingdoms is backing."

"I don't care
a damn about Kylock. It's Melli I've come here for."

Grift nodded
slowly, as if he'd received the answer he needed. "You look like you can
handle yourself now, lad." He motioned toward the knife in Jack's belt.
"Know how to use that, do you?"

Jack shrugged.
"You could say that."

"All right,
lad. You wanna find the Lady Melliandra. Well, it so happens that she's a lot
closer than you think."

"She's in the
house you just came from?" Jack could barely contain his excitement.

"Aye. Come
on, lad. Lets get back there so you can meet her. She's been right down since
last night, and perhaps the sight of you might cheer her up a bit." As he
spoke, Grift started retracing his steps toward the house.

Jack had to
physically stop himself from dashing ahead. At last he'd found what he had come
here for. The walk seemed over before it started. The door was knocked upon,
greetings were exchanged, and bolts were drawn back from their casings. And
then Bodger appeared on the other side, speaking words of welcome that Jack
could barely hear.

Without being
told, Jack made for the stairs. He felt hands upon his back, patting or
restraining, he didn't know which. Grift spoke a caution. Jack had no mind to
acknowledge it. He passed a window with a windowseat and then came upon a
closed door.

Less than a
heartbeat later it opened. Melli stood upon the threshold. Her lips moved, yet
she made no sound. Her arms opened, and before he knew it, he was there, close
against her chest, kissing the sweet flesh of her neck, and thanking Borc with
every breath for showing him the way.

"The combined
armies of Annis and Highwall will reach the city sometime in the next four
days." Baralis was standing, but he would have preferred to sit. He was
still weak from the drawing to correct Catherine's spine, but he didn't like
showing that weakness to Kylock. So he stood in the king's presence and leant
against the mantel when he needed to.

"You merely
confirm my own reconnaissance," Kylock said with detachment. "By tomorrow
I will know their numbers."

"I think we
can safely say that their numbers will be more than enough to mount a
full-scale siege." Baralis was annoyed at Kylock's aloofness. Less than a
week ago he had come close to ruining everything; now he stood calmly
pretending that there was nothing to worry about. Although they were in
Baralis' chamber, Kylock was treating it as his own. He lounged indolently upon
a cushioned bench and had already poured himself a glass of Baralis' wine.
"I have my plan in place," he said.

Baralis' thoughts
had already moved on. "I have recalled all of Bren's forces from the
field, but the ones in the east will take several weeks to return. If I were
you, I'd talk to Lord Gresif-he knows Bren's defenses like the back of his hand.
Get him on our side. Promise him whatever it takes."

Surprisingly,
Kylock nodded. "You are right. I'm sick of the sight of charts. I need
someone to talk me through them. Send him to me tonight."

"Very
well." Baralis ill-liked being ordered around. But for now, with Bren
under the immediate danger of a siege, he judged it best to hold his tongue.
"And the gates-all but one should be closed tonight. No foreigners must be
allowed to enter the city from now on. In two days time the final gate should be
barred. Notices must be posted to that effect today." Baralis thought for
a few seconds. "As far as supplies go, we should be all right: the last of
the grain and cattle arrived this morning. If we need any more, we'll have to
bring them in on the lake."