The Baker's Boy (24 page)

Jack did not like
to be idle and had asked Falk if he could help. "No," Falk replied.
"It is a blessing to me to handle the bounties of nature. I love to cook.
I take only what I need, and I waste not a thing. The bones from a roast will
be next day's soup, the scrape from the apple will be set to dry." Jack hadn't
known how to reply to this and so had offered to bake bread for Falk.

"Boy, you are
weak yet. Baking bread must wait. Besides, I have only a make-shift
stove."

"I could make
griddle cakes," said Jack, hoping that Falk would agree, for he did miss
bread in his diet.

"Very well,
Jack. I see you have a need to repay me. It would be ungracious of me if I did
not let you do so." Falk had a way of saying things that left Jack at a
loss for words.

So, this day Falk
had returned with the flour and eggs that Jack had asked for and the boy set
about making the batter for griddle cakes. As Jack mixed the ingredients, he
felt that his old life as a baker's boy was far behind him. There would be
times, like this, when he would bake bread, but there was no going back to the
past. He could probably find a town far away in the east where he could take up
a position as a baker's apprentice, only he wasn't sure if that was what he
wanted anymore.

He knew he would
have to move on soon, and although he had enjoyed his time with Falk, he needed
to be on his own. He was worried about the future: Baralis was after him, he
had no money in his pocket and nowhere to go. The time was fast approaching
when decisions would need to be made--he could choose to forget about the incident
with the loaves and live quietly as a baker, or he could change the course of
his life and make himself anew.

As he thought,
Jack made the batter, adding a combination of beer and water to thin the mix.
He stirred it, seasoning the mixture with a touch of salt. He would let it sit
for just long enough to enable the flour to soak up the water-if it were left
too long, the yeast in the beer might cause the mix to rise. Master Frallit
would beat a boy whose griddle cakes were anything less than flat.

Falk had just
returned from one of his mysterious forays. Jack would have liked to ask what
the man did on these outings, but could not find the right words to do so.

"So, you are
indeed a baker," commented Falk, nodding toward the batter.

"I was never
made a baker. I was a baker's apprentice."

"Words!
Titles! If you can bake, surely you are a baker." Once again, Jack could
think of nothing to say.

He checked the hot
iron platter on the fire and greased it with a little pork fat. The grease
smoked: the temperature was just right. He gave the mixture one final stir and
then poured it in separate rounds onto the hot surface. The iron platter hissed
and smoked but soon settled down, and minutes later the delicious aroma of
griddle cakes filled the den. He had no wooden spatula to flip the cakes over
with and had borrowed an old knife of Falk's to do the job.

Falk watched Jack
with a certain skepticism at first, but then seemed genuinely interested in
what he was doing. "Well, Jack, I am impressed," he said as Jack loaded
a plate with the hot and fragrant griddle cakes.

After they had
eaten their fill and were relaxing close to the warm stove, Falk made a simple
request: "Tell me who you are."

The fire dimmed
and the wind calmed, as if waiting for his reply. Time drifted away from him,
and if asked later, Jack would never know how much had passed before he spoke.

"I don't know
who I am. Only days ago I thought I knew, but now everything has changed."
Jack waited a moment to see if Falk would speak. He didn't, and it was his
silence that gave Jack the courage to carry on. He could trust this man.

"Over a week
ago now, something happened to mesomething evil. I burnt some loaves, then I
felt a terrible pain in my head. When I looked again, they were barely
browning." As he spoke, Jack felt relief. It was good to speak it out
loud; it lost power by being shared.

"That's why
you left the castle?"

"Yes."
Jack was glad that Falk didn't seem shocked. "I couldn't risk anyone
finding out what I'd done. They might have stoned me."

"People in
the Known Lands are fools. Anything they don't understand they seek to
destroy!" Falk shook his head in anger. "They call themselves
civilized, but they have no idea about the way things are."

"Sorcery, for
that is what it is-I'll make no bones about it-isn't a gift from the devil.
Sorcery is neither good nor bad-it is the person who draws upon it who controls
its nature."

"But everyone
at the castle says it's evil, and only wicked people use it," said Jack.

"They are
right and they are wrong. It is mostly drawn by people who are wicked, or
rather greedy. But it wasn't always that way. At one time, many centuries ago,
sorcery was common in the Known Lands. It came out of its making and was as
ancient as the land itself. Gradually people in power came to resent the random
spreading of sorcerous gifts-a common laborer was just as likely to be favored
as a great lord. People in high places could not tolerate such a dangerously
indiscriminate scattering of power. They acted swiftly, eradicating all who could
practice. 'Tis easier to rule by sword than sorcery."

"Only a few
practitioners survived the Great Purge. Today the art endures more by rumor
than practice. Its time has nearly passed; this world is too modem for it to
continue. Like most things old, its worth has long been forgotten."

"There are
still a few places where it thrives. Places cut off from the changes of time,
places where the land itself is as magical as the people who stand upon it. But
they are ever decreasing, and fewer and fewer people can draw upon its
source."

Jack's mind was in
a turmoil. Could what Falk had said be true? All his life he'd been taught that
sorcery was devilment, and now this man had turned everything around. "So
I'm not evil?"

"There is
dark and light in every man, as there is in every day." Falk shrugged.
"I doubt whether you are evil. Though there is much you are not telling
me." He looked Jack squarely in the face. "You never really told me
who you are. What about your family? Where were they from?" Anger flared within
Jack. It was the same as ever, people asking casual questions, never realizing
how hard it was for him to answer. "I'm a bastard! Satisfied? My mother
was a whore and she didn't keep count of her customers!" He stood up and
threw his cup in the fire.

"Where is
your mother now?"

Was there no end
to the man's probing? Jack watched as the wooden cup succumbed to the blaze.
His anger left him as quickly as it came. He turned to face Falk as he said,

"She died
eight years ago. She had a growth in her breast and it ate away at her."

"How did you
manage with her gone?" Falk's eyes were impossibly blue. There was such
compassion in them that Jack felt free to say things he'd never admitted
before.

"It was easy.
In some ways, it was even a blessing. After her death the taunting stopped for
a while, and I could pretend I was normal."

For the second
time Jack expected condemnation for his words and received understanding
instead. "It's not a sin to be ashamed of your parents. What is wrong,
though, is to accept the words of others without questioning. Just because
people called her a whore doesn't mean that she was."

Jack turned to
face Falk. "But why-"

"Why do
people belittle others? It's the same as with sorcery. If they didn't
understand, if she was different in any way, they would hate her for it."

"She was
different!" Jack felt an excitement growing in his breast. Falk had not
only freed his thoughts, he was altering the very nature, of them. "She
was a foreigner. She came to the kingdoms when she was fully grown."

"Where was
she from?"

Jack shook his
head. "I don't know. She never said. I think she might have been afraid of
someone or something in her past."

"Aah."
Falk stroked his beard and thought for a while. Then he said, "Perhaps she
was afraid for you more than herself. If she was just concerned with her own
safety, then what would be the harm in taking you into her confidence? It seems
to me that she might have kept her past a secret to protect you."

What was it about
this man that he could so casually challenge beliefs Jack had held true for
years? He cast his mind back to his childhood, to the mornings on the
battlements. He remembered her words, "Keep your head low, Jack, you might
be spotted." Spotted by whom? Jack's head was reeling with new ideas. Up
until now, until this conversation with Falk, he felt as if he'd been looking
at the world through a brewer's filter. Things had suddenly been thrown into
sharp focus.

"As for being
illegitimate, Jack, some of the most powerful men in the Known Lands had
similar starts in life. Why, the archbishop of Rorn himself had no father to
call his own-yet no one knows it." Falk stood up and put his arm on Jack's
shoulder. "A word of advice. Don't hate the man who fathered you."

Jack moved away.
"What makes you think I do?"

"I have
experience with such feelings-I too was called a bastard. I made the mistake of
letting it ruin my life. I managed well until I passed my twenty-third year. I
had a wife and three children and land of my own. One night I overheard two people
talking in a tavern. One man mentioned my name and said I was doing well. The
other just sniggered and said, `Once a bastard, always a bastard.' I went for
the man's throat; it took four men to pull me off. He nearly died. I was
sentenced to work a year in the slate quarries. Instead of spending the time
wishing I was with my family, I festered in a pool of hate. I hated my father
for making me an object of contempt. I blamed him for everything."

"Unlike you,
I knew who he was. When my year was up, I tracked him down. It took many years
before I finally found him. I was full of anger and ready for battle. He was an
old man, stiff with rheumatism and pathetic to behold."

"I held my
fist to his face and he begged for mercy. I am thankful to this day that I gave
it."

"We sat and
talked and supped a while. He told me that the reason he never married my
mother was because she came from a good family and would be better off not wed,
for he had no money to look after a mother and child. I don't know if I believed
him-it doesn't really matter. The point is, he was just a man-not evil, not
cunning, not deserving of punishment."

"I left him
and returned home. My wife and family had moved away and left messages for me
not to follow. The rest of my tale is too long to tell. I've seen much of life
and men, traveled to scores of cities, talked with countless people and been
known by many names. I ended up here, alone. What I say to you, Jack, is don't
make the same mistake as me. Don't spend your time inventing fantasies of
revenge. They will only destroy you in the end." Falk put down his cup and
made his way out of the den, leaving Jack alone to contemplate his words.

Baralis had
decided to make his move on the girl, and to this end he had called his
mercenaries to him. Once again they were meeting outside the castle gates. A
vague uneasiness of late had caused him to take Crope with him on any of his
expeditions. Baralis found a certain reassurance in the huge bulk of his
servant. There was one unexpected bonus to this arrangement-- the mercenaries
looked decidedly intimidated by Crope's presence.

"I want you
to pick up the girl. I know her position. She is southeast of Harvell, four
days hard ride." Baralis' gaze challenged anyone to doubt his knowledge.

"What about
the boy?" asked the leader. Baralis had no intention of letting them know
he had no idea where the boy was. He didn't like anyone to think he might not
be infallible.

"I will
personally see to the boy myself. He is not traveling with the girl
anymore." Baralis watched with amusement as he saw that his mercenaries
were wary of how he knew so much. One final twist of the knife, "When you
pick up the girl this time, I strictly forbid you to lay one finger on her. I
will not have her raped by mercenaries like a common tavern wench."
Baralis saw the faces of the men register many emotions: amazement, guilt,
hatred, and fear. He was not displeased. "Go now, and do not fail me
again."

The men mounted
and rode away. Baralis was wondering if he had left it too late. The girl would
soon emerge from the forest and begin to encounter towns and villages. Still,
he thought, as long as she is away from court there will be no betrothal. Once
the girl was caught and in his haven, he could turn his full attention to
finding Jack. The dove was weakening and would soon die. The baker's boy could
be leagues away by now; a second bird might be unable to locate him. Baralis
was not unduly concerned-a dove was not the only way to search the forest.

"Come, Crope.
Let us get out of this bleak wind. There is much for me to do."

"Will there
be anything for me to do, master?" asked Crope, his hand inside his tunic,
doubtless holding his precious box. Baralis wondered what was in it-probably
his dead mother's teeth.

"If there is
not, I will find you something." The huge man smiled, and Baralis added,
"Something tailored to your unique skills."

As they walked
back to the castle walls, Baralis considered the queen. It was now common
knowledge that the king's health had improved. It was only a matter of time
before she would summon him again, and then they would strike a deal.

Baralis and Crope
approached a remote section of the castle wall. Baralis' twisted hands felt
carefully for the tiny protrusion in the stone. He caressed it gently and the
wall swung open. The smell of dank earth met his nostrils. They stepped into
the opening, Baralis closing it straight after, and headed into the dark depths
of the castle.