The Book of Words

by J. V. Jones

  “Ten days is more than a few, Lord Maybor.” The queen paced the room. “Very well, I will delay it.”

  Maybor breathed a sigh of relief. “I have heard that the king’s health has much improved, ma’am.”

  “Yes, Lord Baralis has made a medicine that seems to help him a little.” Maybor grew cold. What mischief was Baralis up to now—trying to ingratiate himself with the queen?

  “You may leave now, Lord Maybor. I trust I will see you at the Winter’s Eve festival.”

  As Maybor made his way back to his chamber, he decided he would meet with the assassin on the morrow and order him to make haste with his task. Baralis was up to no good.

  Eight

  Tawl was shaken awake. As he came to, someone splashed icy cold water on his face. “Come on, my friend, wake up.” Tawl opened his eyes.

  “Look, he’s awake now. Leave off. The Old Man won’t like it if you treat him too rough, Clem.” Tawl was now being slapped hard on his cheeks.

  “I don’t think he’s quite awake enough, Moth.” Tawl felt another sharp blow.

  “Clem, his eyes are open. Leave off.” Tawl looked around. He was in a small dark room with two men looming over him. His hands were tied behind his back.

  “Head hurtin’ a bit?” The smaller of the two was speaking. “Sorry about that. Clem gets a bit carried away, if you know what I mean. Don’t you, Clem?” The one called Clem nodded. The other man continued, “Nothing personal. The Old Man says bring him in, and we bring him in. Is that right, Clem?” Clem nodded once more. “Course, you’ll have a few beauties on your head, but you know what Clem says?”

  “What do I say, Moth?” asked Clem.

  “You say, better a lump on your head than a lump in your bed. That’s what you say.”

  “That’s what I say, Moth,” repeated Clem.

  “Here, we’d better get a move on, can’t keep the Old Man waiting. Will you do the honors, Clem?” The one called Clem produced a huge and deadly-looking knife and cut the rope that tied Tawl’s wrists together.

  “Clem’s sorry if he tied you up a bit tight. Aren’t you, Clem?” Clem obediently nodded. “He’s also sorry that he’s going to have to ’fold you. Aren’t you, Clem?” Tawl never got to see Clem’s nod this time, as a thick black cloth was pulled over his eyes. He felt his arm being taken and he was guided out of the room.

  “You look a bit stiff, friend. Don’t worry, Clem won’t lead you off a cliff. Will you, Clem?”

  Tawl was guided down some stairs and on a journey through somewhere that smelled strongly of human excrement.

  “Never mind the smell, friend. It won’t do you any harm. Clem’s spent his whole life down here and it didn’t hurt him. Did it, Clem?”

  “No, Moth. Should we go the usual route, or the fancy one?”

  “I think the fancy one, don’t you, Clem? I feel like a bit of sea air.” Tawl was guided up some stairs and then into the sunlight. He immediately felt salty sea breezes.

  “Weather’s right nice today ain’t it, Moth?”

  “You’ve never spoken a truer word, Clem. Beautiful, balmy breezes for so late in the season.”

  “You should’ve been a minstrel, Moth.”

  “Alas, Clem, if a life of crime hadn’t called, I might have been.”

  “It’s minstreling’s loss, Moth.”

  Tawl was led down another set of steps and the reek of the sewer returned stronger than ever. After a while their route led upward and the odor became less pervasive. He was then guided through a confusion of twists and turns and was finally brought to a standstill. The scent of fresh flowers assailed his senses.

  “The Old Man likes things to smell sweet. Don’t he, Clem? Could you stay with my friend a minute while I tell the Old Man we’re here?”

  “Should I take the ’fold off him, Moth?”

  “Best wait until the Old Man gives the nod, Clem.” Tawl and Clem waited in silence for a few minutes until Moth returned.

  “Take the ’fold off now, Clem, if you would.” Tawl blinked from the light. “Old Man says step inside.” Tawl was pushed gently through a door.

  He found himself in a room filled with flowers—a small, old man was sitting by a bright fire.

  “Come in, young man. Would you like a cup of nettle tea?” The Old Man didn’t wait for a reply. “Of course you would, eh. Nothing like nettle tea for a swelling of the head. Everyone I bring in swears by it. Of course, to my mind, the best thing to cure anything is the lacus, but you know all about that, young man, don’t you?” The Old Man gave Tawl a shrewd look. Tawl decided his best policy was silence. He watched as the Old Man poured him a cup of greenish-looking tea and handed it to him.

  Tawl made no motion to drink the tea. “Come, come, young man, you’ll regret not taking the tea when those lumps swell to the size of your balls.” Tawl reluctantly took the cup of unpleasant-looking liquid. “Sit down, Tawl. You don’t mind if I call you by your name, do you? When you get to my age there’s no time for formalities. I might drop dead at any second.” Tawl secretly thought that he had never seen a healthier looking old man.

  “Of course, I’m sorry about the way you were brought in, but I find it’s the best method in the long run. No awkward questions, no unpleasantries. I’m sure you understand.” There was a soft knock on the door and Moth stepped into the room.

  “Sorry to interrupt you, Old Man, but Noad’s just told me there’s been a bit of trouble with Purtilan.”

  “You know what to do then, Moth.” Moth nodded his head gravely and was about to leave when the Old Man spoke again. “Make it unpleasant, Moth. You and Clem do one of your specials. There’s been far too much trouble in the Market District of late.”

  Moth left and the Old Man continued, “You are a man who attracts interest in high places. Do you know that the archbishop of Rorn is having you followed?” The Old Man did not wait for Tawl to answer. “Now whenever the venerable archbishop is interested in a person, I’m interested in that person, too. Especially when that person and I have a mutual friend.” The Old Man was looking rather smug. “Bevlin, the wiseman, is an old, old friend of mine.”

  Tawl finally decided to speak. “And what if I have never heard of this Bevlin whom you speak of?”

  “You disappoint me, Tawl. I would expect nothing but the truth from a knight of Valdis.” The Old Man crossed the room and chose an orange-colored chrysanthemum from one of the many vases. He drew it to his nose and inhaled deeply. “When you were captured by Tavalisk’s cronies, they found a skin of lacus on you. Now, I have a few resources myself and I managed to obtain that skin. As I suspected, it had Bevlin’s mark upon it.

  “Why did you think he gave it to you? Let me explain. Bevlin is no fool; he knew that the lacus skin was marked, and he hoped that his mark might at some time prove useful to you. He has many friends who would aid his causes. Unfortunately, Tavalisk also saw the mark, and that is why you spent a year in one of his dungeons.” The old man replaced the flower in the vase, careful to maintain the arrangement.

  “Now, I would help you. I owe many debts to Bevlin and I would pay one back.”

  Tawl considered all the Old Man had said, he made a decision and then spoke. “I need a fast ship to take me to Larn.”

  The Old Man’s sharp gaze did not falter. “So be it. I will arrange it for you. Is there anything more?”

  “I would repay a debt of my own.”

  “The girl Megan? I will see she is compensated for her troubles.” Tawl tried to conceal his surprise—was there nothing this man did not know? He was pleased, however, that the Old Man had not questioned his reasons for heading to Larn.

  As if reading his thoughts, the Old Man said, “I have no wish to know what you do on Bevlin’s behalf. But I do have two warnings for you. First, I have many contacts throughout the Known Lands, and I know that the knights are no longer welcome in many places and hatred for your order grows. I say keep your circles well covered; they will only bring you trouble.” The
Old Man spotted Tawl’s expression. “You’re young and idealistic—you probably can’t see what’s going on.”

  “I know the knights are much maligned in Rorn.”

  “And rightly so. Tyren is leading them astray. He wants money and power and seeks to gain them while hiding behind a smoke screen of religious fanaticism.”

  Tawl stood up to leave. “A man should not be condemned by hearsay alone. Tyren was a friend to me when I needed one most.” The Old Man waved him down.

  “Sit down, sit down, I meant no offense. The knights are not my concern. If you choose to follow them, then I am not the man to block your path. You are full of dreams and think that gaining the final circle is all that matters. Let me tell you, I have known many knights and the third circle is just a beginning not an end.” The Old Man gave Tawl a sharp look. “What do you think you’d do once you got it, eh? The sort of great deeds that guarantee your memory outlives your flesh?”

  Tawl felt his face flush. It was so near the truth. He hadn’t thought beyond the third circle, except for vague dreams of glory. The future was not for him—the present was the only currency he could safely deal in.

  The Old Man smiled pleasantly. “Now where was I?”

  “You had two warnings. I am yet to have the benefit of the second.”

  “Ah, yes. The second one is this: Larn is a treacherous isle, be wary of the price.”

  The Old Man took the cup of nettle from Tawl. “Moth will see to your needs. Unfortunately, he and Clem are out doing a little business at the moment. My boy Noad will escort you. Moth will contact you when it’s all arranged.” The Old Man spoke Noad’s name softly, and a young boy came into the room. The boy led Tawl out, and the Old Man turned back to his fire.

  Tawl underwent the same blindfolded, foul-smelling journey, this time without the benefit of sea breezes. The boy led him back to the small dark room, and from the top of a high shelf took Tawl’s long-knife and the curved blade. These he handed to Tawl. “Old Man don’t want you knocked out again.” The boy replaced Tawl’s blindfold and led him up some steps and outside. They walked for a short while and then the boy removed the blindfold.

  “Here you go. Turn left at the top of the street and you’ll find yourself in the whoring quarter in no time.” The boy was off, quickly slipping down a thin alleyway.

  Tawl followed the boy’s directions and soon found himself in an area he was familiar with. Deep in thought, he made his way back to Megan’s.

  Tavalisk was eating plums. He had a bowl full of the deep, purple fruit. He popped one between his pink lips, and as he chewed, its juice dribbled down his chin. He dabbed at it fastidiously with a silk napkin and then spat out the stone onto the floor.

  “Enter.” Gamil entered carrying a bowl of hazelnuts.

  “Your Eminence’s nuts,” he said, placing them on his desk.

  “So, Gamil, what news have you for me today?” Tavalisk selected a fat and shiny plum and placed it between his sharp teeth.

  “Our knight has emerged from the Old Man’s clutches.”

  “And what state is he in? Was he beaten?” Tavalisk spat out the plum stone in the direction of his sleeping dog.

  “I don’t think he was, Your Eminence.”

  “Oh, how very disappointing. I wonder what they’re up to?” Tavalisk, having missed the dog with the stone, now shook the little dog awake.

  “Well, I can’t say for certain, Your Eminence. Not even you can tell what the Old Man is up to.” Tavalisk was about to bite on another plum, but put it down untouched as he heard Gamil’s words.

  “It is not your place to tell me my limitations, Gamil. You would be a fool to think that you are my only source of intelligence.”

  Gamil, suitably contrite, bowed his head low. Tavalisk continued. “The Old Man only has power as long as I choose to let him. For the time being his activities undermine Gavelna’s leadership. And it is in my interest to keep the first minister’s authority suitably—” Tavalisk chose the plumpest plum “—contained. I must be the leading power in Rorn. The old duke lives like a hermit, shunning his rightful position as leader. Someone has to fill the void, and it suits me for the moment to let the Old Man and the first minister both think they have. While those two are busy at each other’s throats, I have Rorn to myself.”

  The archbishop dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his silk napkin, removing the dribble of plum juice that had escaped his ravenous lips. “Our spy in Castle Harvell—I would have you communicate to him.”

  “Certainly, Your Eminence. What would you have me say?”

  “I would know who Baralis’ enemies are. That man is trying to wed Kylock to Catherine of Bren, and I need not tell you how little I like the thought of that alliance. Bren is already too powerful. With the kingdoms at its side, the duke would be set to dominate the north. Who knows where the alliance might lead? The two powers could conquer all the territories between. Halcus, Annis, Highwall—before we know it the good duke could be ruling virtually half the Known Lands.”

  Tavalisk was feeling quite agitated; he poured himself a cup of fortified wine. He winced as the liquor met his palate: not a good mix with plums. “Not to mention trade. The duke of Bren is up to something with those damned knights. They are looking to steal trade from under our feet. They seek to make Rorn look greedy by charging lower prices. The tactics of charlatans!”

  “It is indeed an insidious evil, Your Eminence, to charge a fair price.”

  Tavalisk gave Gamil a shrewd look. He took a second sip of wine; it tasted no better than the first. “This situation is very serious indeed. I need to monitor events carefully, and I must have players in place. Baralis will have powerful enemies whom I can contact. Why do something yourself when you can get someone else to do it for you?” Tavalisk took a third sip; the wine, though still bitter, found acceptance on his tongue.

  “I will discover who has reason to hate Lord Baralis, Your Eminence.”

  “Knowing Baralis as I do, I’m sure there will be more than a few people in Castle Harvell who would wish him ill.” Tavalisk took another gulp of wine. How could he have ever considered this nectar bitter?

  “Is there anything more, Your Eminence?”

  Tavalisk picked up his dog and handed it to his aide. “Take Comi for a walk in the gardens, Gamil. He hasn’t been out all day and needs to relieve himself.” Gamil flashed Tavalisk a look filled with malice. Tavalisk pretended not to notice.

  Once Gamil had left, Tavalisk fetched the platter of nuts and, with a sly smile on his face, proceeded to crack them open.

  Today was the day that Jack was going to leave Falk’s den and head east. Jack would be sorry to leave, but he had his own life, and now, thanks to Falk, it appeared more hopeful than before. Life wasn’t as simple as he’d thought, but it was rich with possibilities. His mind had been opened up to other points of view. He was beginning to see that there was more than one way of looking at things, and that beliefs he’d held for years demanded questioning. Falk had given him much to think about, and now he needed time alone to reach his own conclusions.

  “Why did you help me that day when I was sick?” asked Jack. They were sitting by the fire, and ale had made them pensive. Falk sipped his drink and remained silent. Jack thought that he had overstepped the boundaries of their peculiar friendship by questioning his motives. He was about to apologize for asking when Falk finally spoke up.

  “I cannot lie to you, Jack. I helped you because there was more to you than sight alone.”

  “You saw the thing in me that changed the loaves?”

  Jack was surprised by Falk’s answer. “No, I am no magician. Only they can spot the potential for sorcery in each other. I am a woodsman—I know the earth not the heavens.”

  Jack felt the hair on his neck bristle. He was afraid. “What did you see, then?”

  “You are persistent,” said Falk, “I’ll give you that. I helped you the day you fell sick in the rain, because I felt a pulling in my blood.
I saw the potential for . . .” Falk looked at the floor, flattening the leaves with his shoe “. . . I cannot say. Destiny escorts you, and given the opportunity, she would lead you to the dance.”

  Falk stood up quickly, clearly uncomfortable with the subject of conversation. “Seems you are on your way. I have gifts I would give you.”

  Destiny? It seemed to Jack his life had never been more confusing: sorcery, choices to make, and now some shadowy destiny accompanying him. He was a baker’s boy, nothing more. Life had been a lot easier when his only concerns were baking, scribing, and courting.

  He ran his hands through his hair, longer than ever now. Master Frallit would have wielded his knife at the sight of it. The kitchen girls had liked it long, though. Not that he was interested in them anymore; a man could hardly be expected to think of women when he had just recovered from a wet fever and was about to set out on a new life. Still, the image of one woman kept playing on his mind: the girl Melli. Even now he could see her perfect skin, almost feel the contours of her body.

  He felt a little ashamed of the progress of his thoughts. Women, no matter how much he tried and how pressing his problems were, had a way of insinuating themselves into his thoughts. Why, only minutes ago Falk had told him something important—true, it was a little vague, but important no less—and here he was imaging how Melli would have looked in a low-cut dress!

  He laughed out loud and Falk laughed with him. He wasn’t about to ask why Falk laughed along—he feared being told the woodsman could read his thoughts. Which only made him laugh more. It was good to laugh; it was hard to believe there was anything bad in the world that wouldn’t retreat at the sound of laughter.

  Falk walked to a corner of the den and knelt down, then lifted a bed of moss to reveal a small pit. He sorted through the contents, found what he wanted, and replaced the moss. Falk came and sat beside Jack once more and started to unwrap several items from their linen swaths.

  “You came with nothing, and I cannot let you part that way. I did not save your life for it to be forfeit as soon as you leave.” He handed Jack a small but heavy dagger. “You will need a knife.” Falk unwrapped another item. “You will need a water flask.” The final item was a thick and luxuriant cloak. “You will need warmth.”