Master and Fool (20 page)

"What about
the grain in the field?"

"Harvest is a
few weeks off yet."

"Anything
that cannot be harvested within the next three days must be burnt."

Baralis took a
deep breath. "Do that and you'll have a riot on your hands."

Kylock took a
single sip of wine. "Then we'll have to burn the rioters, as well."
He shifted his position on the bench, swinging his feet down to the floor and
sitting upright. "You know we cannot afford to have crops in the field
when the Highwall army arrives. We'd be as good as feeding them if we did. I
will not tolerate the Wall stripping our fields and using our grain as their
own." By the end of the sentence, Kylock's voice was metal-cold.

Baralis looked at
him a moment. What he said made sense, but the way he spoke caused Baralis to
feel wary. What toll had the wedding night taken upon him? To look at him, one
would never guess the horror of the deed he had done. He was dressed
beautifully and with care, his dark hair newly trimmed, his chin shaved smooth,
his clothes all the subtle shades of black. Confident to the point of
nonchalance, there was no sign of any strain or inner torment.

Yet if one watched
closely, which Baralis did, one glimpsed strange little habits from time to
time: the way Kylock drank from his glass, always pausing to clean the rim; his
peculiar distaste for touching anything that a servant had handled first; and
then there were his fingertipsalways red and marked with sores. Yes, thought
Baralis, Kylock might look normal on the surface, but he was a locked chest of secrets
beneath. Doubtless
ivysh
was the key to them all. Madness, paranoia,
delusions: they could all be traced back to the sparkling white drug.

Baralis couldn't
guess what had caused Kylock to break Catherine's neck, but he had a strong
feeling that Kylock's rage had been
ivysh
induced. The drug had summoned
his demons, and the king had been brought down by their weight on his back.

Why Kylock
murdered Catherine wasn't important--the deed was done and then suitably disguised-but
what was important was the fact that Kylock had somehow managed to draw
sorcery. With huge amounts of
ivysh
running in his blood, coating the
very vessels that it flowed through, Kylock had successfully performed a
drawing. It shouldn't be possible. Nothing was stronger than
ivysh.
Yet
Kylock had done it anyway, overriding the drug's considerable powers of
suppression, blasting through its bone-white restraints.

Still, it could
have been one of those freak happenings, brought on by strong emotion, the
likes of which are seldom felt. Perhaps, because it was his wedding night,

Kylock had decided
to take less of the drug-even Baralis did not know what effects
ivysh
had
on sexual prowess.

Anyway, whatever
the cause, it couldn't be allowed to happen again: Kylock's doses must be
increased. Already Baralis had seen to it that everything Kylock ate was salted
with the drug. After a couple of weeks of this, when the "salt" was
withdrawn, Kylock would find himself with a greater need and be forced take
more accordingly.

"Today I will
send a contingent of the Royal Guard out into the city," said Kylock,
interrupting his thoughts. "I need them to put the fear of the devil into
anyone who dares speak Melliandra's name. I will not tolerate anyone supporting
her or her child." He curled his gloved hand into a fist. "Examples
must be made of those who would oppose me."

Kylock's eyes grew
blank as he spoke. Seeing his gaze shift inwards, Baralis shivered. The new
king had a taste for sharp blades, burning flesh, and spilt blood. Baralis
found himself pitying the poor wretches who dared to stand against him.

After a moment,
Kylock's gaze refocused. Uncurling his fist, he said, "While the Royal
Guard are out they can deal with the blacksmiths, too. There are still some who
are flouting my orders and forging candlesticks and belt buckles when I need
arrowheads and spears."

"Send the
duke's own, instead," said Baralis. "The blacksmiths will be less
hostile if they're confronted by their own countrymen rather than foreigners."

Kylock scowled.
"Always the diplomat, Baralis."

"Someone has
to be," snapped Baralis.

The two men looked
at each other a moment, the air between them bristling with quick tension.
Baralis knew it would be up to him to break the silence.

"Besides,"
he said, "I want the Royal Guard to resume their search of the city. The
area to the south was untouched." This statement dissipated the tension
immediately, just as Baralis knew it would.

Kylock stood up.
"But the duke's champion has left the city. Six guards chased him and then
watched him skulk under the wall like a rat."

"Not quite
like a rat, Kylock," Baralis said softly. "More like a red
herring."

"You think
he's back in the city?"

"No. I think
he left because he knew we were getting close." Baralis moved nearer to
Kylock. "Think, sire. Why would he escape in such a public way? He had
already loosened the sluice gate beforehand, so why didn't he leave then?"
Baralis' smile was as succinct as he could make it. "I believe he wanted
to ensure that you and I knew he'd left the city."

"So we would
call the search off?"

"Exactly. And
by doing so we have played right into his hands. I say tomorrow we search the
area we missed. We probably won't find a murderer, but we may find a certain
lady, instead."

Kylock nodded.
"So be it. The search will begin before dawn."

Occasionally there
are nights that one never wants to end. For Jack, this was such a night.

Already it was
close to dawn. He and Melli had watched candle upon candle burn down, pool in
their own wax, and burn out.

They had talked,
laughed, shared wine and bread and silences, held hands, touched shoulders, and
swapped tales. It was a night of surprises and gentle understanding. Melli was
beautiful, more radiant than Jack ever remembered her, but tougher, too. There
was a streak of steel running down her spine, and sometimes when she joked an
edge of bitterness was revealed. Yet, if she was more bitter, she was also more
vulnerable. He'd seen tears in her eyes twice so far this night. Once when she
talked of her reunion with Maybor in the banquet hall of the palace, and the
second time when she talked of the man named Tawl. No tears had been shed for
the duke.

From the way she
spoke, Jack could tell that Melli was in love with Tawl. Strangely, she had denied
the charge, stating that it was Tawl who was in love with her. Jack wasn't
fooled. When a woman talks of a man the way that Melli talked of Tawl there is
only one conclusion to draw. Melli just didn't know it yet.

When Jack told her
that he had seen Tawl escape from the city, she had gripped his hand so tightly
that her knuckles turned white with the strain. "How did he look?"
she asked.

He told her that
Tawl had looked glorious as he ran, and it was nothing but the truth.

Lord Maybor had
entered the room after that, and all talk of Tawl ended. Jack sensed a little
tension between father and daughter and guessed Tawl's departure was the cause.

Lord Maybor had
been grudgingly cordial to Jack, his manner only warming somewhat when he
learned that Jack was good with a blade. He'd left after a few minutes,
muttering words to the effect that it was a sad time indeed when lords were
forced to rely on kitchen help for security. Melli began to apologize for her
father, but Jack halted her. "I stopped being kitchen help a long time
ago," he said, "but I'll not take offense when my past is spoken of.
I'm not ashamed of what I once was."

After that their
mood had lightened. Bodger and Grift had tapped discreetly on the door, and
when they walked into the room they brought a full-blown banquet with them.
There was wine and ale and cheese and ham. Grift advised eggs for the digestion
and eels for the soul, cold mutton for the travel weary and unripe apricots for
the sick. They had eaten till their stomachs strained, and drank till the room
spun out of focus. By turn they were joyous, silly, melancholy, then
maudlin-Drift always first to lead the way.

Later, after
Bodger passed out and Grift was forced to carry him from the room, things had
mellowed to a slow, sleepy hush. He and Melli sat close, dropping in and out of
sleep, exchanging secrets one moment, softly snoring the next. He had told her
about Tarissa, then: only part of it, only the good part. And as he spoke of
Tarissa to Melli, his perceptions began to change. For so long he had thought
only of what was bad, and now to say out loud what was good had a profound
effect upon him. As Jack told Melli of Tarissa's spirit, of her skills at
fighting, and of her sparkling hazel eyes, he relived them as he spoke. Pain softened
to hurt, and even hurt became tempered with understanding. Tarissa had done
what she had to. She had lied about Melli's death so she wouldn't have to kill
Vanly herself.

Melli had been
nothing but kind through the telling, though she had dogged him about Tarissa's
appearance until he was forced to admit that Tarissa wasn't so perfect after
all and that her nose had been a little crooked. "Just like yours,"
Melli had replied, her vanity now gratified-her nose was perfect.

They had joked and
teased each other for a while after that; once Melli kicked him in the shin,
then pinched the muscle on his forearm. He, in turn, pulled her ear and
squeezed the tip of her nose. The blows were swung with neither force nor
rancor-mostly it was just an excuse to touch each other.

Now they sat
quietly, waiting for the dawn, neither one of them wanting to be the first to
take their leave.

Jack was just
drifting off into the hazy state that led to sleep when he heard a loud banging
noise.
Ignore it, it's a dream,
his mind told him. The banging came
again, louder, more insistent. Jack opened his eyes. Melli's were already open.
The whole room reverberated with the sound of the banging.

Melli looked at
him. "They've come for me," she said. Jack sprang up. "Stay
here." He checked his blade and raced from the room. The stairs were
nothing but a blur as he took them. At the bottom he found Bodger and Grift.
Bodger had dark circles round his eyes and dry skin flaking from his lips. The
two guards were carrying a large wooden plank between them, and they were
attempting to bar the door.

The banging began
once more. "Open up!
Open
up!" came a voice from the other
side.
"King's business. "

Jack took
Bodger's end of the bar. "Go and find Maybor," he said to the guard.
"Wake him and tell him to get to Melli's side. Then make sure Melli is
dressed in a warm cloak."

Bodger
hesitated for an instant.

"Go!"
cried Jack. Bodger moved away, and Jack then turned to Grift. "Right,
let's get this bar in place."

"If you
don't open up on the count of ten, " shouted the voice through the wood,
"we're breaking down the door. "

"What's
your guess of their number?" asked Jack, as he and Grift swung one end of
the bar toward the door.

"Ten!"

Grift spoke
over the counting. "If they're the same search party as Nabber saw last
week, then they're six in number. They'll have blades, halberds, and torches,
and they won't blink an eye at burning the place to the ground."

"Six!"

With the first
end in place, Jack struggled to wedge the second end into the space between two
timbers. Behind him, he heard footsteps racing up the stairs. The count was
drawing to an end.

"Three!"

Sweat was
pouring off Jack's brow onto the wood. Every muscle was straining. The plank
was a fraction too large. "Two!"

But, by Borc,
it was going in. Jack shifted his hold a fraction. He shoved the first end hard
against the door. With all his might, Grift pushed on the first holding timber,
forcing it back just a fraction.

et..

Jack rammed the
end of the plank into place, missing Grift's fingers by less than a
hairsbreadth. Jack thrust so hard that the surface of the holding timber was
razed to splinters.

"Right!
We're coming in!"

Jack was
breathing fast and heavy. His tunic was soaked with sweat. Grift looked at him
and smiled. "You did well, lad."

There was
silence from the other side of the door for a few seconds and then a terrible,
house-shaking boom as the door was beaten with a battering ram.

The bar held
firm.

At the top of
the stairs Melli, Maybor, and Rodger appeared. Jack spoke to Maybor. "Is
there a back way out of here?"

Bodger answered
for him. "There's a door in the kitchen-it leads off to a back
street."

Crack! Another
blow against the door. This time the sound of splintering wood accompanied the
jolt.

"Right,"
Jack said. "You're going to have to risk that. Have you all got
blades?" Everyone including Melli nodded. "Right, all out. I'll stay
here and make sure they don't come after you."

"But
Jack-"

"No,
Melli," interrupted Maybor. "The boy's right. We don't stand a chance
with the guards after us."

Crack! More
splintering.

"Have you
got somewhere to go?" asked Jack. Maybor nodded. "Lord Cravin keeps a
storage cellar not far from here-under a butcher's shop I think." He told
Jack the address. "We'll meet you there."

Crack! The
whole door jerked forward. The hinges were beginning to give.

"Go!"
cried Jack, nerves frayed by the constant battering. "I'll catch up with
you in a few minutes."