Master and Fool (54 page)

"Your
Eminence is wise indeed."

Tavalisk beamed.
He was still the chosen one, after all. Marod had certainly picked well when
he'd picked him. "Any more news, Gamil?"

"The Fishy
Few
was spotted in the east bay this morning, Your Eminence. She's probably
already docked by now."

"Hmm. I think
it's best if we let the knight and his friends go. Wouldn't want to waste my
time with such trivial matters as torturing commoners-not at the moment,
anyway." Gamil was quick to bow. "Your Eminence is quite right. Let
us concentrate on more important matters."

He'd certainly
changed his tune. What did the pocket have on him? "'That's all for now,
Gamil. After you've done me a little favor, you can go. " It was, Tavalisk
considered, exactly the right time to put Gamil in his place.

"What favor,
Your Eminence?"

"I'd like you
to make me a written list of all your intelligence sources."

"All of
them?"

"Yes. From
the richest merchant down to the lowliest scullery boy."

Gamil looked
worried. "But Your Eminence, that would take all day."

Tavalisk faked a
yawn. "I'm prepared to wait."

"So the
archbishop's chief aide was working for Larn?"

"That's
right, Tawl. The Old Man was spot on."

"What is the
man's name?"

"Gamil."

Tawl sat back in
his chair. They were gathered around a small circular table in the Rose and
Crown. The remainders of a roast pork dinner lay congealing on platters, and
Nabber was just finishing off the last of the pie. The place was quiet and
warm. The tavern-keeper had just put more logs on the fire, and the tavern-maid
kept coming by to top up the ale.

Gamil. It was the
name they had given him all those months ago at Larn. The man he'd delivered a
letter to on their behalf. Tawl remembered his face clearly, remembered his
surprise at seeing who was waiting outside his door. The man was just another
self-serving coward-he and the archbishop deserved each other. Tawl rubbed his
aching forehead. "Everything is connected in the end."

Jack looked up.
During the telling of Nabber's and Megan's stories he hadn't said a word.
"What's connected?" Tawl had dropped the comment casually, yet Jack's
manner was anything but casual. Tawl shrugged. "You know: Larn, Rorn,
Bren. Even you and Melli-the way you both came from the kingdoms."

"Larn, Rorn,
Bren, and the kingdoms," repeated Jack. He had been acting strangely since
he got off the ship. Distracted and introverted, he had kept his distance from
them all. Tawl wondered what was going on in his mind.

"Why don't
you get some rest?" Tawl said. "Nabber's taken three rooms for the
night" As he spoke, he shot a quick glance at Nabber.

Nabber nodded. He
stood up, walked over to where Jack sat, and pulled on his arm. "Come on,
Jack. I'll take you upstairs. You can have the room with the bed. Two golds
extra it cost me."

Jack allowed
himself to be led away. Tawl watched him go.

"You are
worried about your friend?" Megan drew her chair closer to his.

"Yes. We've
all been through a lot." Tawl took hold of Megan's hand and kissed it.
"But none as much as you." Her smile was so sweet, it pained his
heart to see it.

She raised her
finger to his lips. "Don't blame yourself, Tawl. You can't go through life
protecting everyone you care for. It just can't be done."

Tawl shook his
head. "Megan, I-"

"You care too
much, Tawl. You always live for others, never for yourself."

"If I'd known
you were in danger, I would have come." Megan ran her forger down his
cheek. She smiled softly. "Don't you think I know that, Tawl?"

She was so
beautiful. More beautiful now than she had ever been. The bright curls she had
lost were nothing compared to the sparkle in her eyes. He reached over and
kissed her on the lips. "I have so much to thank you for."

"You don't
owe me thanks, Tawl. You've been so hard on yourself for so long that you
expect others to be, too. Telling you that my imprisonment wasn't your fault
isn't a favor. It's the truth. The archbishop threw me in a dungeon, not
you."

"But "

"Tawl, you
cared.
If you'd known, you would have been there." Megan's deep green eyes
looked straight into his. "That's enough for me."

It
was
enough.
She wasn't lying to spare his feelings. She was speaking the truth. Tawl felt a
subtle shifting in his heart. A lightening. Perhaps there was something to what
she said. Perhaps sometimes caring could be enough.

Megan was smiling
like a wily fox. "Now, tell me about the woman you love."

Tawl didn't bother
to hide his surprise. He did take a deep draught of ale, though, to give
himself a moment to think. "What makes you say that?"

"Your kiss.
It was sweet rather than passionate."

What was it about
this woman? How could she know so much?

Megan laughed.
"You look quite indignant. I didn't mean to offend you."

No. She meant to
let him off lightly. By bringing the subject up, she was relinquishing all
claims on him, telling him he was free to leave. "You are a remarkable
woman."

"I'm glad
you've found someone to love."

Tawl took both her
hands in his. "Wasn't it you who told me it's love, not achievement, that
will rid me of my demons?"

Megan rested her
head upon his shoulder. "You still have a fair distance to go."

Jack lay on the
bed but didn't sleep. His head was bursting. His senses were overpowering him.
He felt the rough wool of the blanket scratching his wrists, felt a droplet of
sweat run along his cheek. He saw the air swirl and thicken in front of the
fire, and the ceiling bear the strain of footsteps above. He heard everything:
moths beating their wings against the shutter, worms burrowing into the wood, a
man in the next room snoring, and the tide pushing its way to the shore.

Voices. He heard
voices, too.

Fyler's last
words:
"I've never seen the captain care for anyone the way he cared
for you on the voyage home. Treated you like a son, he did "

Quain's last
words:
"Jack, next time you're in Rorn be sure to come and see me.
We've got a lot in common, you and I. "

Tawl in the
tavern:
"Everything is connected in the end. "

Voices, hundreds
of them, buzzed across his mind like flies around a joint. Why wouldn't they
leave him in peace?

Jack tossed and
turned in the bed. The blankets beneath him were wet with sweat. Outside
someone was walking down the street-their footsteps pattered in time with his
heart. Like a guard listening for intruders, Jack strained his ears to hear
more. The fire crackled, the moths flew, the man in the next room snored, and
the sea lapped against the shore-all in time with Larn.

Jack couldn't bear
it. He felt as if he were going mad. Larn was squeezing him from all sides.

"Did what
she wanted, didn't you?"

The voices grew
loud again. Taunting, arbitrary, lashing against his soul.

Stillfox sitting
by the fire: "I
heard a tale about a girl who came from Larn once. Her
mother was a servant to the priests. "

Falk talking about
his mother:
"It seems to me that she might have kept her past a secret
to protect you. "

Quain before the
storm:
"She was adrift on a skiff with neither sails nor oars to get
her moving. "

Jack clamped his
hands to his ears. The voices still wouldn't stop.

Stillfox again:
"It
was her mother-a woman
so
badly deformed that she could use no muscles
on the right side of her face, nor lift her right arm-who saved her. With her
help the girl was cast adrift on a small boat in the treacherous waters that
surround the island. "

Master Frallit:
"She
was a
foreign
whore at that. "

His mother on the
castle battlements each morning:
"Keep your head low, Jack, you might
be spotted. "

Jack felt as if he
were suffocating. He was being crushed by the weight of the voices. The words
were heavy, penetrating, persistent. They would give him no peace.

Sweat dripped from
his nose and into his mouth. It tasted of the sea.

Stillfox:
"She
swore a terrible oath that one day she would destroy Larn. "

Quain:
"She
was running away. "

Falk:
"Perhaps
she was afraid for you more than herself. "

"STOP!"

Jack sat up. His
ears were ringing. His heart was racing. The blankets were ropes binding him to
the bed. He tore them from his body. He had to get away.

The coolness of
the wooden floor was a blessing. He dressed quickly, pausing only to splash
water on his face. He took the stairs three at a time, and if a door wouldn't
open, he forced it. People tried to stop him, but he shook them off. Their voices
were no different than the ones in his head.

At last he was
outside. Taking a calming breath of the night air, he willed the madness to
recede. The voices faded to whispers, to senseless humming, and then to
nothing.

Jack felt drained.
His feet found their own way along the streets.

Prostitutes called
to him, drunken men appraised him, old women crossed the street when he passed.
The stars were out tonight. They glittered in time to Larn. Jack quickened his
pace. No matter how fast he walked, Larn was inside him. No matter how hard he
tried, things would never be the same.

Down toward the
sea he walked. Across half a league of seafront, along the eastern quay,
between row upon row of fishing boats, and up the gangway to
The Fishy Few.
Until
he got there, Jack didn't even know where he was going, but as soon as he saw
the bull of the ship, he knew he'd come to the right place.

"Who goes
there? Disturb this ship at your peril."

"Carver. It's
me, Jack. I've come to see the captain."

"Well, you're
in luck. He hasn't left yet. He's still in his cabin, making a log of the
voyage." Carver let him board the ship. "Hey! You best not be
proposing to go on another journey, matey. Because if you are, I'll throw you
overboard right here and now. Ain't never sailing to Larn again. And I'm
prepared to commit murder to keep it that way."

"It's all
right, Carver. Larn is just another barren island in the middle of the
sea." Even as Jack said it, he didn't believe it. How could he? Larn beat
in his heart and in his soul.

"Hmm. Just
you watch it, matey."

"I will,
Carver. I will."

Jack went
belowdecks. The wood of the ship smelled sharp and confining. The low ceilings
cut down the size of the night. The captain's door was closed.

Jack didn't knock.
He pushed.

The captain was
sitting at his desk, scribing in a ledger. He didn't look up. "Come in.
Sit down. I've filled you a glass." Jack stepped into the room. It was
warm, but not too warm. Bright, but not dazzling. On the table lay two glasses:
one was full to the rim, the other was short of the mark.

Quain swung around
to face him. "I thought you'd be here by now."

Jack sat.
"You knew I would come?"

"Well, I had
an inkling you might."

"And if I
hadn't?"

"Then I'd
have the second glass all to myself." The captain smiled softly. "I'm
rather fond of arrangements where I get to win either way."

Jack took hold of
the full glass. It was smooth and heavy in his hand. "What became of the
girl from Larn?" The captain spoke straightaway, as if he'd been expecting
the question all night. "After
The Bountiful Breeze
docked, I took
her home with me. She was still ill, and my mother and I looked after her for
several weeks. I've never seen a woman so determined to get well-she near as
willed herself to health. The day she was strong enough to walk was the day she
left the city. There was no stopping her. She was afraid of Larn, afraid the
priests would track her down and kill her. Though it broke my heart to do it, I
gave her my savings and let her go."

Jack felt as if
the night itself was spinning, and he and Quain were the only stationary
points. "Where did she go?"

"She wouldn't
tell me. She didn't want to put me at risk." Quain spoke in a whisper.
"I think she headed north."

"What did she
look like?"

"Dark hair.
Blue eyes, small bones, a heart-shaped face. Simply beautiful."

Spinning.
Everything was spinning. Jack heard the air rush past his ears. "What was
her name?"

"Aneska."

And then it all
stopped. Dead.

Quain brought the
rum glass to his lips. He swallowed and then looked straight at Jack. "The
day she left Rorn she said must go by a different name. A name that would go
unremarked in every city in the Known Lands. I said she should call herself
Lucy. Whether or not she took my suggestion, I'll never know."

All the time that
Quain was speaking, Jack hadn't taken a breath. He took one now, and the air
crackled all the way down to his lungs. He was out of the chair before he knew
it. He had to touch the captain and prove to himself that the man and his words
were real. Quain was warm and smelled of rum: solid as the old sea dog he was.
Jack knew he spoke the truth.

A tightness formed
in Jack's chest. He felt a world of new emotions pushing against his heart,
causing it to ache with a sharp-sweet pain. There was relief, wonder, excitement,
joy, and most of all there was sadness. How
she must have suffered,
he
thought.
How well she had hidden both her past and her fears.

Jack was grateful,
too. Grateful that the man before him had been the one to reveal the truth.
Coming to kneel at the captain's feet, Jack said, "She did take your name.
She called herself Lucy."