The Baker's Boy (49 page)

There was a noise on
the other side of the door. Jack heard the bolt being drawn back. He looked
around, desperately searching for something to use as a weapon. The room was
bare, the wooden bench its sole contents. Ouickly, Jack slipped to the side of
the door. It swung open and Jack, who was now behind the door, heard a man step
into the room. Before the man had the chance to take another step, Jack pushed
the door back with all his strength. The heavy door slammed into the man,
knocking him off his feet. The man started to cry out. Jack rushed forward;
desperate to quiet the man, he kicked him violently in the head. Blood rushed
from the guard's nose and mouth. The man tried to get to his feet, but Jack
kicked him hard in the kidneys and he crumpled to the floor again.

Jack wavered for a
second, wondering what to do. He caught sight of the guard's sword tucked under
his belt. He grasped the hilt and pulled hard. The guard reached for his sword
but he was too late; he grasped the blade not the hilt, and as Jack drew the sword
the blade cut deeply into the soft flesh of the palm of the guard's hand. The
sight of so much of his own blood frightened the guard and he began whimpering.
Jack's heart was pounding excitedly: he had the sword. He stood over the guard,
sword poised, and found he could not stab him-the guard looked too pathetic.

Jack knew he had
little time; he could not be sure if the man's cries had been heard. He gave
the guard one last kick to the head, hoping to knock him out. It didn't work;
the man was still conscious. Jack carefully took the blade in his hand and
swung the weighted hilt down on the head of the guard. He had intended to get
the back of the man's head, but the guard looked around at the last moment and
the hilt hit him full in the face. Jack drew back, horrified as the man's face
turned into a bloody mess.

Jack fled from the
sight, appalled at what had happened-a clean blade to the innards would have
been a kindness compared to what he had done. He had intended to draw the
guard's unconscious body into the room and close the door, hoping to give
himself more time for escape, but the sight of the guard's ruined face sent him
into a panic. He began to run. He paid no heed to where he was heading. Down
stone passageways he fled, each one looking the same as the next.

After some time he
grew short of breath. He slowed down, gulping for air. He listened to see if
anyone was pursuing him, but the only sound he could hear was the blood pumping
through his veins. He had not realized that he was being held in such a maze of
tunnels. Forcing himself to think, he decided what to do next. He looked back
in the direction he had come from; he would not return that way. By sheer luck,
it seemed, he had managed to avoid the guard room.

Jack walked on a
short way and was presented with a choice as the tunnel he was in branched off.
The passage running straight ahead was long and dark, and was not lit by
torchlight. Jack did not like the thought of walking where he could not see. He
decided instead to take the second tunnel. The path that Jack chose took a
sharp turn and he found that it was no longer lit. He paused on the verge of
darkness. Should he go on? His eyes strained against the blackness. He had no
way of telling how long the tunnel was. He stepped forward into the dark.

Baralis was pacing
his chamber. As he walked to and fro, he worked the curative oils into his
hands; they were causing him great pain. The rains had come this morning and he
felt the ensuing dampness working on his stiffening fingers. Baralis hoped that
Bringe had managed to damage the orchard the previous night; it would be a
shame if they missed the benefit of all the rain.

The oils were
doing no good. He dried off his hands and went over to his desk where he kept
his painkilling drug. He carefully measured a portion of the white powder and
transferred it into his glass. He poured a little wine to wet the mix, raised
the glass to his lips and drank it dry.

The interrogation
of the boy yesterday had disturbed him deeply. It left him physically and mentally
exhausted. He felt sure the boy had spoken the truth-he did after all have his
own ways of ascertaining such things. There was more to this, though. There had
been a point when Jack had nearly driven him from his mind. He, Baralis, forced
back by a mere boy.

It meant
something. The boy's mind was closed as surely as a locked chest. For a brief
instant something was there-a vision, almost a message: a woman, and behind her
a man. He'd tried to dig deeper but was repelled, meeting blankness once more.
Baralis had searched the minds of hundreds of men to get where he was now, and
not one had resisted him like the baker's boy.

Of course he was
far too skilled for the encounter to have caused him any harm. The boy had
obviously suffered badly from the incident, while he'd come out unscathed.

Still, there was
something disturbing about the episode. The boy had access to a great amount of
power. He probably spoke the truth when he said the loaves were the first thing
he'd ever done. Such untrained might was dangerous. The boy turned back time in
the oven! Baralis shuddered, almost against his will. He'd never heard of such
a thing being done before. It shouldn't be possible. To hold time in abeyance
for even a second took the skill of a master. He himself could barely stay a
tallow's flame. And yet this boy from nowhere had done more, so much more, than
that.

Jack didn't
realize the magnitude of what he'd done. He thought it was just a case of
turning burnt loaves to dough. It was time he turned, not bread. Only last week
Baralis had returned to the kitchens. The aftermath could still be felt. That
fool Frallit had been forced to change the baking slabs. They were acting
strangely and the dough took hours longer to bake. It was Jack's drawing that
had done it. All sorcery left an aftermath of some sort: a trace of what had
been. Only the most powerful kind still lingered weeks past its drawing.

The boy had set
something in motion that might take years to pass. The cinders from the oven
had been ground for soap. 'Twould be a lucky lady who brought that lather to
her face. At worst it might help preserve her looks, at best it might make them
more youthful. The baking slabs might end up dumped in the middens-Baralis
couldn't imagine what the result of that would be.

The loaves
themselves had been destroyed. He'd at least made sure of that.

He would have to
think carefully on what to do about the boy. His plans were running smoothly at
the moment; he wanted no spoiler, no wild card. He had a nagging feeling that
Jack could turn out to be one. At a different time he would have kept the boy,
experimented, dissected, made it his business to get to the bottom of the
mystery. He had too much on his mind at the present, too much was at stake. He
would have the boy killed.

He was disturbed
from his thoughts by the arrival of his servant. "Ahh, Crope. Just the
person I was thinking of. I have a little job for you."

"Yes,
sir."

"Well, you
know our two guests."

"Guests?"

"The
prisoners, you empty-headed numbskull! I want you to dispose of the boy."

"He's
gone."

"What do you
mean he's gone? Of course he's not gone. I saw him with my own eyes yesterday.
He's guarded by ten mercenaries, he cannot have just gone." Baralis was
shaking.

"Well, sir, I
was just down at the haven, bringing some delicacies for the lady-she
appreciates it when I bring her honey rolls and sweet wine."

"Get to the
point, man!" roared Baralis.

"Well, Traff
comes running up to me and says the boy has escaped. Says he did some terrible
damage to one of his men."

Baralis was
frantic. "The girl? She has not escaped?"

"No, sir, I
saw her myself just a short while back. I made sure her door was firmly
bolted."

"Do they know
which way the boy headed in the woods?"

"Traff said
that they think the boy headed for the passages. He says that they would have
seen him if he'd made for the way out."

Baralis thought
for a while. It was a good thing that the boy had not headed for the woods; he
might still be found. "Come with me," he ordered, and the two men
rushed from the room. Before long they were heading down the tunnel that linked
the haven to the castle, Baralis drawing light to illuminate the way.

"Crope, go
and tell that useless imbecile Traff to search all the tunnels and rooms. Have
him put two men on the entrance, in case the boy doubles back." The first
thing Baralis had to do on reaching the haven was to check on the girl. He had
seen that Jack had grown attached to her, and if he was in the tunnels he might
try and find her. The boy had no bearing on his plans, he was merely a
dangerous distraction, but he could not risk losing Melliandra. If the girl
escaped he would forfeit his wager with the queen. The bolt on her door was no
longer enough. She would have to be transferred to a room that could be
securely locked.

To her surprise
Melli found that she liked Baralis' huge, hulking servant. He treated her as if
she were a fragile butterfly, bringing extra blankets when she was cold and
special foods to eat, even rose water to splash on her face.

Melli had to admit
she was living in considerable comfort. She was, however, far from satisfied.
She found herself thinking more and more about her time in the forest; she had
been truly free then, no one to tell her what to do or how to do it. She
supposed that at some point Baralis would have to let her go. He could not hold
her indefinitely, and she could not believe that he would harm her in any way.
He was, after all, the king's chancellor.

Melli popped a
honey roll into her mouth, wondering what had become of Jack. She was startled
when Baralis let himself into her room. She noticed that he seemed relieved at
the sight of her. He caught her with her mouth full of food. She swallowed
quickly and took a drink of water, slamming her glass down when finished.

"It appears,
Lord Baralis, that your servant has better manners than you. At least he thinks
to knock before entering a lady's room."

Baralis seemed to
be agitated, and when he spoke his voice was lacking its usual mellifluous
tones. "Does a lady usually run away from home and end up whoring in
Duvitt?"

"Does a
gentleman usually hold a woman against her will?"

"I don't
believe, my dear Melliandra, that I ever styled myself a gentleman." There
was something slightly different about Baralis this day: he appeared less controlled,
less cultured than usual.

"To what do I
owe this pleasure?"

"I'm afraid I
have some bad news. You will have to forgo these pleasing surroundings."

"Why?"
Melli demanded. "That is no concern of yours."

"Where will
you be taking me?" She was beginning to feel frightened.

"Not far.
Follow me."

"What about
my things?" she said lamely, trying to forestall him. Baralis came close
to her-he was barely a foot away. She could smell him: a heady, enticing scent.
His fragrance drew her to him, a pull upon a thread. She leaned toward him.
Their eyes met and she inhaled sharply; it was his breath that filled her lungs
... it was potent like a drug. He raised his arm and drew his hand down her
back, his fingers searching for the scars beneath her dress. The caress
thrilled and stung, and her lips parted, relinquishing his breath and preparing
for his touch.

Baralis seemed to
resist her compulsion and spoke, his words altering the texture of the moment.
"All you will need for now,' my pretty one, are the clothes on your
back."

Melli stepped away
from him. She felt unsteady on her feet and starved of air. Baralis held her
gaze a moment longer and then turned on his heels. "Come now," he
said, his voice an impatient hiss. He led Melli a short way and then to her surprise,
he stopped by the solid stone wall and felt the stone with his fingertips.
Melli jumped back, startled, as the whole section of wall began to move.
Baralis ushered her through the gap and into a large room. Several candles
burned low and Melli could see it had been used recently; there was a flagon of
ale resting on the table. There were a few chairs, a desk with manuscripts laid
out upon it, and on the wall was an old, faded tapestry. The wall slid back
into place and Baralis made his way across the room, pausing to take a key from
his belt and light an oil lamp.

There was a low,
wooden door on the far wall and Baralis opened it with a turn of the key.
"In here." He beckoned her and she came forward, trepidation growing
inside of her.

The room was small
and cramped, lined with shelves, obviously intended as a storeroom.

Melli mustered her
courage. "I refuse to step inside that place."

Baralis turned on
her, gripping her wrist cruelly. The oil lamp swung dangerously. "You will
go in there." Melli looked to the lamp-the flame was close to her dress.
She stepped inside, tugging her wrist free from his grip. Baralis came in
behind her and set the lamp down on a shelf, then turned around and left the
room. Melli was tempted to shout out as she heard the lock turn, but her pride
prevented it. She would not have that man believe her frightened.

Melli looked
around the room, rubbing her arms. The place was cold and damp, water was
running down the walls, and the floor was wet. There was no chair or pallet to rest
on; she could not sit on the floor, so she was forced to stand.

Her heart was
still pounding uncontrollably. She could hardly believe she had let Baralis
caress her back, welcomed the touch of his fingers down her spine. She could
still feel the subtle pressure of his breath in her lungs. She shook her head
vigorously, seeking to dispel the sensation. She had actually wanted him to
kiss her. Absently, she rubbed her fingers across her lips. Baralis was rumored
to have unusual powers, perhaps he had used them upon her. Her fingers stole
into her mouth and she sucked gently upon them. No, she knew there had been no
artificial inducement. Nothing save the pull of attraction-him for her and she
for him.