Book Of Words - Master And Fool Part 21

The taverm-keeper's son nodded politely, poured ale into their goat's milk, and then took his leave. His father watched all this from the corner of the room, his face bright with patemal pride.

They ate their breakfast in silence, all of them too tired, or hungry, or caught up in their own thoughts to talk. After they had finished, Tawl stood up. "You two go and get some rest I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Jack shook his head. "No. I think I'll come with you, instead."

Tawl gave him a hard look. "I'm just going to find someone to put a couple of st.i.tches in my cheek."

"That's fine with me. After that we can see about getting an extra longbow." Jack wasn't going to be put off. Tawl began walking across the room. "Come on, then," he said as he reached the door.

Feeling like he'd just won a small victory, Jack followed him outside. The sunlight made him squint. The streets were still busy, but a little more ordered now that every market-trader's stall was in place and everyone else had settled down to the serious business of buying. Tawl accosted the first person who walked past, asking her the name of a decent surgeon.

"Sir," said the old lady, "for an injury such as the one on your cheek, any barber on Letting Street will suffice." She smiled pleasantly, bid them good morning, and was off, large empty basket held out in front of her like a shield.

Jack and Tawl exchanged a smile. The people of Toolay were certainly unique.

By the time they found Letting Street it was close to midday. All together there were about half a dozen barbers vying for business along the way. Their shop fronts were open, showing displays of sharp knives, hacked-off topnotches, and gallstones in jars. "This one will do," said Tawl, indicating one enterprising barber who had hung a carving of a huge wooden leech above his door.

"Aah, sirs! I see two men in need of a haircut." The barber came rushing over to them as soon as they stepped through the door. He was a thin man with a red leather belt around his waist and a razor-sharp knife in his hand. He caught sight of Tawl's cheek. "Why, sir, sit down. Sit down. That's a four-st.i.tcher if ever I saw one."

Tawl sat in the proffered chair. Jack stayed where he was. He had grown accustomed to his hair the length it was, and he had no intention of letting the barber near him.

The barber had turned tutting into an art form, and as he examined Tawl's cheek, he made several highly telling tuts in a row. "Oh, sir," he exclaimed shaking his head. "Such a tragedy. A fine face such as yours and now . . . " several fast tuts followed, "disaster! Do you already have a wife, sir?"

Tawl shook his head. He winced as the barber began to clean out the wound with clear alcohol.

"Then this calls for my finest work." The barber began to unravel a large bundle of black thread. "By the time I'm finished with you, your own mother won't be able to tell the difference. You will be able to pay the extra, won't you, sir? Fine little st.i.tches, eight instead of four."

"I'll take four," said Tawl.

"No," said Jack. "Give him the full eight."

Tawl turned a frown Jack's way. "We've got to purchase a longbow."

Jack shook his head. "I'll make do with what I've got." Then to the barber. "Give him whatever it takes." Tawl might not be interested in his appearance, but Jack wasn't doing it for him. He was doing it for Melli.

The barber nodded judiciously. "A man of reason, I see." He looked Jack up and down, and then tutted. "But also, if I may be so bold, one who's badly in need of a little grooming."

Jack edged nearer the door. "St.i.tch him first, then we'll see if we've any money left over for grooming."

The barber executed his most expressive tut so far. With one click of the tongue, he said, Borc save me from these barbarians! They have no sense of refinement whatsoever. He did his duty, though, picking out his finest needle and changing the thread to match. "Brandy, sir?" he asked just before he put point to flesh.

"Will it cost me extra?"

"Two silvers."

"I'll do without."

The barber conveyed his surprise by simply not tutting at all. "Very well. Brace yourself."

Jack looked away.

The barber spoke as he st.i.tched. "So, have you men come from the north?"

"No," said Jack.

"Pity. I was hoping you'd have some news."

"About the siege?"

"Hmm." The barber was silent a moment. Jack didn't want to know what he was doing. "And about the Lady Melliandra." Jack spun around. "What about her?"

"Well, she's the one who married the duke, you know. Quite a beauty by all accounts."

Tawl's arm shot out and he grabbed the barber's arm. "Get to the point."

The barber tutted, pried his arm free, and continued his st.i.tching. "Well, her father escaped and went over to the enemy and is telling everyone that Kylock has captured her. Of course, it's all just a rumor at the moment."

Tawl made as if to stand, but the barber pushed him down. "Just another minute, sir."

"How long ago did this happen?" asked Jack.

The barber shrugged. "I don't know. News takes a while to reach us here." With that he finished his job, tied a knot, cut the thread, cleaned the new blood from Tawl's face, and splashed the skin with a little ointment. "Seven days and then they come out."

Tawl stood up. "How much?"

The barber seemed disappointed that his work hadn't been appreciated. "Two golds."

Jack handed him the money. "Nicely done," he said. The barber bowed and started to say something, but Jack didn't catch what it was, for he and Tawl were already heading out the door.

"We travel today. Right now," said Tawl as the door closed behind him. "We get Nabber, change the horses, and leave within the hour."

"Leave for where?" Jack wasn't sure if Tawl meant to continue on to Rorn or head back to Bren.

Tawl's normally light blue eyes were as dark as the sky at midnight. "We go to Larn as planned."

"What in Borc's name do you think you're doing? The girl has to be killed."

Melli had been hearing words for some time now, but these were the first ones that her brain could be bothered to understand. She was emerging from a smoky haze. Her first instinct was to cough-to hack and spit and splutter. Her second instinct was to keep both her eyes and her mouth firmly shut. She took a deep breath and used it to calm her lungs.

"No, Baralis. The girl doesn't have to be killed. The child does."

"They are one and the same right now."

Melli shuddered. She couldn't help herself. She recognized both speakers-Kylock and Baralis-and the sound of their voices chilled her to the bone.

When Baralis spoke again his tone was lower. "Look, as long as the girl is alive, she is a blade in our side. Maybor is running around telling everyone we've got her, half the people in Bren would rather see her son in the palace than you, and Highwall is actually claiming to be fighting on her behalf. The girl must die."

The last words were taut with controlled fury Not even a second pa.s.sed before Kylock replied, "No. She won't die. I won't let her."

"If you want her, take her now and be done with it Just don't lose sight of what she is."

"And what is she, Baralis?"

"She is your only rival."

Melli became aware of a splitting pain in her head. The urge to cough grew stronger, but she fought it.

"No, Baralis," said Kylock softly. "She isn't my rival, her child is."

The tension in the room was unmistakable. The air grew close and heavy, like before a storm. Melli smelled something metal like sword steel. Her skin p.r.i.c.kled as a wave of warm air pa.s.sed over her.

There was silence for a moment, then Baralis said, "Very well, if you insist."

"I do insist, Baralis." Kylock moved near to the bed. Melli sensed his gaze upon her. "Oh, and she will stay here for the time being. The tower is no place for her to sleep."

With light steps Baralis walked across the room. "She will need to be watched closely at all times."

"The woman will do it."

"As you wish." Baralis' voice was hard. "I will send her here to make arrangements." With that Baralis left the room, closing the door behind him.

Melli didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened. She knew Kylock was close to her, watching her. She felt something touch her cheek. Opening her eyes, she found herself looking straight into his.

A black band ringed his irises. "Aah, the mother-to-be awakens." He was wearing gloves. His finger trailed from her cheek down beneath the sheets. Slowly it moved across her breast and down to her belly. He paused a moment and then poked her stomach as if testing a fruit for ripeness. Melli's hand shot up to stop him. Kylock grabbed her wrist. He slammed it against the bed. "No. No, my love, this is not the way to repay a debt."

Melli wanted desperately to cough. Her lungs felt full of dust. Kylock twisted her wrist so she couldn't move her arm. "What do you want from me?" she cried.

Kylock shook his head slowly. "I don't think it's your place to ask questions," he said. A tiny drop of spittle appeared at the comer of his lip. He dug his gloved fingers into the bones of her wrist.

A knock came upon the door. "Who is it?" snapped Kylock.

"It's Mistress Greal, sire. Lord Baralis bid me come." Mistress Greal. Melli started choking. Her head came off the pillow and she coughed and spluttered, unable to stop herself.

"Come."

The door opened and a woman walked in. Melli's eyes were full of tears. The woman looked different: smaller, and the lower part of her face was oddly misshapen. Then she spoke. There was no mistaking her thin, clawing voice. "I see the little b.i.t.c.h is pretending to be ill." She stepped toward the bed. Kylock moved away. Grabbing a handful of hair, she yanked Melli upright and then thumped her hard in the back. "There. That should do it."

Melli stopped coughing.

Kylock regarded Mistress Greal with distaste. He crossed the room toward the door. "See to it that she gets a bath," he said.

"But "

"Do it. "

Melli had the fleeting pleasure of seeing Mistress Greal flinch. The door slammed shut. Mistress Greal turned to face her. "So, landed on your feet again, have you?"

"What are you doing here?"

Mistress Greal snorted. "I ain't answering to no s.l.u.t." She looked around the room with a proprietorial air. "They should have kept you in the tower. This place is too good for you. Fancy bed, carpets ... you'd think you were a princess, not the biggest wh.o.r.e in Bren."

Melli was trying hard to keep her sanity. It felt as if she'd woken up in the middle of a bad dream. Baralis, Kylock, and now Mistress Greal. Who next, she wondered, Fiscel and Captain Vanly?

She forced her mind to stay focused. "What do you know about the tower?"

"I picked it for you, that's what. Nice and bare. No frills. No blankets, no candles-I made sure of that." Mistress Greal smiled. She looked hideous; two of her front teeth were missing.

Realizing that Mistress Greal didn't mind answering questions when they gave her a chance to show off her authority, Melli continued. "So Baralis left you in charge of my welfare?"

Mistress Greal almost simpered. "Yes, he did. Told me anything I saw fit to do, just go ahead and do it. He didn't want nothing to do with you. Can't say as I blame him, either."

Melli sat back against the headboard. The picture was becoming clearer now: Mistress Greal had been the one supervising her imprisonment, not Baralis. He had washed his hands of her. Melli felt a tiny spark of disappointment, then told herself she hadn't. Quickly, she moved on. "Baralis must trust you a lot."

Mistress Greal was helping herself to a gla.s.s of wine. The bones around her wrist jutted out at odd angles. "He owes me, does Lord Baralis."

"Owes you for what?"

Mistress Greal whipped around. "Getting a little nosy, ain't you?"

Melli tried a different approach. "You must have done him a great service to be given such responsibility."

"D'you think me a fool, missy? I've been managing young girls since before you were born. I know every trick a s.l.u.t like you can pull, and flattery is just the first of them."

As she spoke, Mistress Greal's grip slipped on her wine cup, and wine went spilling down the front of her dress. She shot Melli a venomous look. Coming toward the bed, she held out the cup in front of her. The damage to her wrist was plain to see. "So you want to know what I did to get here, do you?" She leant over the bed and thrust her wrist under Melli's nose. "Well, take a good look at that, missy. That should tell you all you need to know."

Melli refused to be frightened by her. She pushed the wrist away. "An unhappy client, perhaps?"

Mistress Greal slapped Melli with her good hand. Melli's head snapped back. Her skull hit the headboard. The impact wasn't great, but the pain it produced was dizzying.

Slowly, she brought up her hand to feel the back of her head. She winced as her fingers touched the sore spot. Her hair was stiff with blood.

"Your father did this to me." Mistress Greal thrust the wrist back into Melli's face. "And my teeth. Robbed me of my good hand and my looks he did, and that's something I'm never going to forget"

Melli hid her surprise. Her father must have found out what went on in Duvitt! She felt a moment of pure, spiteful pleasure. He must have given the old witch quite a blow to take out her teeth.

"So you've been extracting what petty vengeance you can through me?" she said.

Mistress Greal waggled a bony finger. "I wouldn't say finding the most wanted woman in Bren is such a petty thing. Would you?"

"You found us?"

"Your father was wenching in my sister's establishment. Can't take his ale, you know."

"He got away, didn't he?" said Melli casually, trying not to betray the importance of the question.

"That old b.a.s.t.a.r.d's got the luck of the devil."

Melli's whole body relaxed. Up until now she hadn't realized just how tense she had been. All her muscles ached, her head was pounding, and her heart was beating wildly against her ribs. Somehow none of it mattered anymore. She was all right, her baby was still alive, and Maybor had managed to get away.