Master and Fool (78 page)

The clawing hollow
in Melli's stomach snapped closed. She felt complete.

Looking up through
a blur of tears, she searched out Tawl's face. This was what he had gone back
for: he had gone back to find her baby. "Thank you," she whispered
softly, hugging her baby tight. "With all my heart and soul, I thank
you."

"Who turned
you into a saint, Tawl?" Melli regretted the words as soon as they left
her lips, but she'd said them and she wasn't about to take them back. To her surprise,
Tawl actually smiled.

"They'll turn
me into a saint the day you learn to think before you speak." Reaching up,
he brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Seriously, if you can't be kind
to Nanny Greal, at least don't be mean. It took her a lot to admit who the baby
was and then give him up to me."

Nanny
Greal!
Melli tried, but couldn't quite stop the snort of indignation from puffing down
her nostrils. "Well, she's certainly taken a shine to you, that much is
clear. Ever since last night it's been Tawl this, Tawl that. If that woman has
one soft spot in that hard bony head of hers, then you've surely found
it."

Tawl was laughing
at her. He wrapped his arms around her and the baby and hugged them both very
hard. "I'm so glad you haven't changed," he said.

"
Stop
calling him Herbert. He isn't Herbert."

"What is he,
then?" Nanny Greal cooed down at the baby. Much to Melli's annoyance, he
stopped crying immediately and gurgled up at Nanny Greal.

"He's . . .
" To Melli's further annoyance, she couldn't think of a suitable name.
Garon, after his father? No, it sounded too challenging; she wanted her son to
have a gentle name. She edged past Nanny Greal and looked into the baby's face.
The truth was-though she hated to admit it Herbert suited him nicely. Which
annoyed her even more. "I'll name him in my own good time and that's the
end of that."

Melli pushed Nanny
Greal out of the way, snatched the baby up, and crossed over to the other side
of the inn. "Melli. Don't be so hard on her." It was Tawl. Where had he
come from? "She saved your baby's life. She hid him from Baralis, kept him
safe, and looked after him as if he were her own. You owe her thanks, not
resentment."

They had left the
city at midmorning. Melli had managed only a few hours sleep, her body curled
around the baby, her head resting against Tawl's chest. When she awoke she
found that Tawl was no longer beside her; he was on the opposite side of the
room talking with the knights. His voice was hushed, but one look at his face
was enough for Melli to guess what Tawl was saying: he was telling the men what
had happened last night. The knights' faces were grave, their eyes downcast,
the tendons on their hands and necks sharply strained. Occasionally their lips
would move, and
although
Melli could hear nothing, she knew they spoke
Baralis' name.

After that events
moved swiftly. Borlin came to her and put a new and much larger splint on her
arm. He said there was no time to reset the bone before they left. A mighty
scramble to get ready followed: horses were saddled, disguises were donned,
breakfast eaten quickly, plans decided, supplies acquired, scouts sent out, and
proposed escape routes checked for guards.

While all this was
going on, Melli tried to deal with the baby. She felt like a fool; she knew
nothing about caring for a newborn. Her own milk had dried up four days ago,
and she didn't know what to feed him. The baby cried angrily at her attempts to
calm him, dribbled viciously when offered a finger to suck on, and had a
fist-throwing, feet-kicking fit when presented with a spoonful of sheep's milk.
The newly styled Nanny Greal offered to help. Melli slapped her away. From a
safe distance Nanny Greal suggested giving the baby a rag soaked with
watered-down milk to suck on. Melli suggested that Nanny Greal should shut up.
Five minutes later, when the baby had worked itself up into a tiny bundle of
hungry and indignant rage, Melli was forced to concede.

Nanny Greal dealt
firmly, yet gently, with the baby, calming, feeding, then rocking him off to
sleep. Melli was so upset over Greal's success, she wanted to throw her out on
the street then and there. It wasn't Nanny Greal's baby, it was
hers.

Tawl stepped in
and practically ordered her to calm down. Melli could see he was worried about
the escape from the city, so she let the matter pass.

Minutes later they
were on their way. Tawl made everyone split into small groups: some went
through the east gate disguised as merchants, some went through the south gate
as mercenaries or farmers, and Melli, Tawl, and the baby went under the wall.
It was like fleeing from the palace all over again: freezing water, foul smells
and utter darkness. Melli relished every step. She was free. Free from Baralis
and Kylock and her small, confining chamber. It was a joy to walk hand in hand
with Tawl, the baby snuggling against her back in a blanket-lined sling
designed by Nabber.

For a while, Melli
managed to forget everything that had gone before, but when Tawl asked her how
she was coping in the dark, she began her reply: "Oh, this is nothing
compared to the tunnels Jack and I . . . "

Melli couldn't
finish the sentence. There was no more
Jack and I.
Jack was gone, killed
by Baralis as they tried to escape. Closing her eyes very tightly, Melli willed
herself not to cry. Tawl reached out and felt for her hand, and although she
knew he was trying to comfort her, his thoughtfulness only made her feel worse.
She and Tawl were safe, her baby was safe-it didn't seem fair that they had
emerged from the palace unscathed while Jack's body was left behind.

Suddenly the baby
began to cry, and despite Tawl's warnings that she would need both hands free
to climb up to the surface, Melli took the baby from the sling and hugged him
close to her chest. She needed to feel his warmth against her heart.

Andris was waiting
for them on the other side of the wall. He had a spare horse with him, and he
handed Tawl the reins before riding off. Melli rode on the horse whilst Tawl
led it forward like the good husband he was pretending to be.

The journey to
Fair Oaks took three hours. Occasionally, when they were walking on high
ground, Melli would catch glimpses of Borlin. The stout archer was taking a
parallel route to theirs and was ready to provide cover with his bow if trouble
came. Nothing happened. The only people they passed were road-weary travelers,
bonethin farmers, and mercenaries looking for a fight. No one paid any
attention to the fieldhand dressed in rags and his wild-looking wife.

Eventually they
came to a small village that boasted one inn, a smithy, and a dressmaker. Fair
Oaks. They were greeted by two knights whom Melli had never seen before. The
men wanted to take them straight to the inn. Tawl refused at first, but after
some discussion that Melli wasn't party to, he reluctantly agreed.

Never in her life
would Melli forget the welcome she got at the inn. The innkeeper, his wife, his
three pretty daughters, the cook, the stableboy, and an old man who could have
been anyone's grandfather, all bowed as she walked in the door. Melli was
confused. What had they been told?

"Drink! Food
for the lady. Quick, quick." The innkeeper clapped pudgy hands together
and the prettiest daughter went running off. Pulling a chair close to the fire,
he dusted it down with his sleeve. "Please sit, my lady." He wasn't
looking directly at her. No one was. They were all looking at what she held in
her arms.

The baby started
to cry. Everyone in the room leant forward. Tawl touched her sleeve.
"Andris got here before us," he murmured. "He thought it best to
tell them who the baby is."

Melli didn't know
what to do. Everyone was waiting for her to move.

The youngest of
the innkeeper's daughters stepped forward. "Can I have a look at the baby,
my lady?"

Melli glanced at
Tawl. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and Melli held out the baby for the young
girl to see. Soon everyone was around her. Awestruck at first, they spoke only
in whispers, keeping a polite distance between themselves and the child, then
as they grew more confident the atmosphere changed. They stroked the baby's
hair, giggled over his tiny fists, gave advice on how to feed him, and shared
newborn stories of their own. They were all united in their desire to do
something for the baby: the cook went off to warm some milk, the innkeeper's
wife brought down her softest lambswool blanket, the stableboy went away to
look for something suitable for the baby to lie in, the old man hummed a
lullaby for sleeping, and the innkeeper's daughters, all three of them, ran
upstairs to make sure the room the baby would rest in was as warm and dry as it
could possibly be.

Melli felt tears
coming to her eyes. She had gone on for so long without kindness, that now, to
find it here amongst strangers seemed a gift of the most precious kind. She
knew these people were taking a great risk welcoming the duke's son-Kylock
would tolerate no one who aided the sole challenger to his title-and she paid
back their bravery with trust: handing the baby over to the innkeeper's wife
while she slept a few hours by the fire.

By the time she
awoke all the knights, Nabber, and Nanny Greal had arrived. Judging from the
number of lit candles, it was an hour or two after dusk. The baby was crying
heartily for his dinner and all the women were fussing around, trying to calm
him down. Once again, Nanny Greal was the only person who could comfort him:
one squawk of her shrill voice and the baby was as quiet as a lamb.

Little Herbert was
quiet now, resting against Melli's chest as Tawl caught them both in a hug.
Melli felt safe and happy. Her baby was alive and well, and as long as Tawl was
beside him, he'd never come to harm.

"Tawl!"
cried someone from outside. "They're here! Maybor's men are here."

All thoughts
dropped from Melli's mind at the sound of her father's name. She looked up at
Tawl. "Is my father coming?" She had visions of Maybor meeting his
grandson. He was sure to insist that the baby resembled him!

Tawl's face
darkened. "Melli, I-"

Melli shook her
head. "No," she said softly. "No. " The look in Tawl's eyes
scared her. Some deep protective instinct warned her she didn't want to hear
anymore. She tried to pull away, but Tawl held her firm.

"Maybor died
two weeks ago. He'd spent a month up in the mountains hiding away from Kylock,
and he caught pneumonia." Tawl's voice was gentle. His fingers traced the
line of her cheek. "By the time he came down it was too late."

Melli's legs
buckled beneath her. The only thing that kept her from falling was Tawl. Her
father dead--she just couldn't imagine it. He had always been so hearty, so
full of life....

Someone came
forward and took the baby-Melli didn't know who. Tawl picked her up and carried
her over to the fire. A cup of wine was pressed to her lips and reluctantly she
drank. It tasted like blood. "How do you know what happened to him?"
she said to Tawl.

"Jack and I
saw him the night he died. He said he loved you very much." Tawl was
kneeling beside her now. His eyes were filled with love and understanding.
"I should have told you sooner, only everything happened so fast, and I
wanted to wait for the right moment."

Two weeks. He'd
been dead two weeks and she hadn't even known it. She felt like a traitor. Her
mind was acting strangely, switching from thought to thought without the normal
links in between. "Who are the men?" she asked. "The ones who
are coming?"

"They're the
Highwall troops he led off the battlefield into the mountains. He saved their
lives."

"Why are they
coming here?"

"They're
going to help us take over Tyren's camp." Tawl took her hand. "Maybor
brought them down from the mountain to give them a chance to fight."

Melli nodded; her
mind had already moved on. "Did he suffer much?"

"If he did he
never showed it. When I saw him he was clear-headed and alert, almost his old
self."

"What did he
look like?"

"'The same as
ever. His hair was well brushed, he was clean-shaven. Even wearing
fragrance."

Melli smiled. She
could see him now, lying in his bed, surrounded by pots of hair oil and scented
creams, calling for his mirror whilst supervising his shave. In the back of her
mind she knew that Tawl was leaving things out no one dies of lung fever
without pain-she also knew that if she asked him, he would tell her everything.
But the same instinct that had warned her earlier to stop Tawl speaking warned
her now to accept the image she had. Better to accept the half-truths than root
out cold facts that could haunt her for life. She knew the thought of her
father suffering would be too much for her to bear.

"I think you
should go upstairs and lie down," said Tawl. "I'll ask the
innkeeper's wife to send up the baby and you and he can rest for a while."

Melli stood up.
Strange, but she didn't feel like crying: not now, not yet. Crying marked the
end of things, and there was still a long way to go. "No," she said
gently. "I won't rest just yet. I want to meet my father's men and show
them the baby."

And that was what
she did. One by one, she met them, talked to them, kissed their weary cheeks,
shared jokes about her father's stubbornness, and showed them all his grandson.
She made sure they were well fed and rested, ordered hot water for them to wash
with and strong brandy to help them sleep. She set the cook cooking, the innkeeper's
daughters mending, Tawl and Borlin physicianing, and Nanny Greal doing all the
unpleasant things like scraping the mud off their shoes.

Melli didn't stop
until she was too tired to think. Close to midnight, Tawl took her hand and
told her to sleep. She was about to protest--Grift had turned up with the men
and she hadn't had a chance to speak to him yet-but something in his face
stopped her. Glancing over at the far side of the room, she saw that Andris and
Borlin were talking to a handful of the Highwall troops.