by J. V. Jones
“Jack, come here and don’t say a word.” Melli opened her arms. He was about to protest, but she cut him short, “Now!” He came into her arms and Melli raised her face to his and began to kiss him, slipping her wet tongue between his lips. She felt the pressure of Jack’s body against hers and his hands encircled her waist. The guard drew close.
“What’s all this?” he demanded. Melli forced Jack’s face down into her shoulder with a push of her hand.
“I might ask you the same, my man.” Melli’s voice was regal and commanding. “Be on your way.”
The guard hesitated, trying to get a look at Jack’s face. Melli shot him an indignant glance. “I’m sorry to disturb you, lady,” he said with a sly wink.
“You will be sorrier if you do it again! Now go at once.” Melli breathed a sigh of relief as the guard withdrew. Her lips found Jack’s once more and she began to kiss him again, keeping an eye on the guard until he was out of sight.
Melli pulled away from Jack. She could feel his reluctance to let her go. She was determined not to betray a similar reluctance on her part. Flushed and breathless, she turned from Jack and proceeded to walk off into the grounds. Before long she heard the sound of him running to catch up with her. “Where do we head for?” She could not risk looking at him.
“The woods,” came his reply.
Twenty
The terrain leading to Toolay was hilly and mountainous. Like Rorn, most people who visited the city did so by boat. Toolay was a city that lived off the sea; the cold clean waters that surrounded it were teeming with fish and crustaceans. It was said that once you tasted a fish from Toolay, you would never be satisfied with a fish from anywhere else the rest of your life.
Besides its fish, Toolay was known for its embroidery. While the men were off at sea for weeks at a time, their wives would gather together in groups and work their fabulous creations. Mythical creatures, ancient heroes, and legendary princesses were designed with astonishing detail, painstakingly embroidered over months and sometimes years. Rorn and Marls willingly paid a high price for such finery. The fishwives of Toolay also did less grand commissions: cushion slips embroidered with patterns, shawls stitched with flowers. It was these more humble works that were in greatest demand. Many a young maiden about to be wed would dream of one day owning a shawl from Toolay.
Tawl and Nabber crested a rise and caught their first sight of the city. Perched perilously near to the cliff’s edge, Toolay looked as if it were about to fall into the very ocean that provided its livelihood. The city was much smaller than Rorn, the buildings less grand. No marble or spires, just low, modest buildings kept white by the constant blast of sea and sand.
Tawl had never been to Toolay before, and he felt the familiar excitement churn in the pit of his stomach. He always experienced a mixture of worry and wonder whenever he visited a city for the first time. “Come on, Nabber,” he called, racing down the hillside. “If we rush we will make it before noon.” Nabber was quick to catch up, and before long they found themselves struggling for breath at the bottom of the hill. Tawl felt like he needed a moment to catch his breath, but the boy was off, heading toward the next slope.
“Hey, Tawl!” he cried. “You’re not going to let a young boy beat you to the city, are you?” Tawl had little choice but to run after him.
A few hours later, their muscles sore and aching, the two companions approached the city. As they drew near, the wind brought the odor of fish to their nostrils—the men of Toolay not only caught fish, they also smoked and dried it. Huge straw mats were spread with single layers of fish and left in the sun to dry. Tawl and the boy passed many of these mats, each one watched over by a small child or a guard goose.
The city itself was bustling with life: a huge open market entirely blocked the street. Stallholders stood beside their brightly colored tents and called their wares:
“Ribbons, posies, tokens for your lady love.”
“Fish, fish, biggest lobsters ever to see land.”
“Peppers, spices imported all the way from exotic Tyro.”
“Apples, cheap apples, only slightly bruised. If your young uns don’t like the look of ’em, they’ll make a lovely pie.”
Tawl watched and listened, admiring the goods, and deciding what food he would buy for the boy as a treat.
He had been constantly surprised by Nabber since he’d allowed the boy to join him. The boy had tireless energy; he was up before Tawl in the morning, he raced ahead of him all of the day, and wanted to talk through all of the night. Nabber wanted to know the stories of the great heroes, but only liked the tales where the adventurer found stashes of gold and jewels. The tales of the heroes who died penniless, and the ones who gave away their money to the poor, just caused Nabber to shake his head in bafflement.
Nabber had admitted taking more than money from the bodies by the roadside. From his pack he had produced a large, notched knife. Tawl had offered to teach the boy how to use it to defend himself. Nabber had declined the offer, assuring him that there wasn’t much he didn’t know about the blade. Seeing the look of disbelief on Tawl’s face, the boy performed several tricks of precision and dexterity with the knife, effectively dispelling any doubts the knight had.
Tawl found one market stall that sold hot pastries filled with crabmeat. He purchased two of the delicious smelling items. The stallkeeper threw in a third for free. “You are most generous, madam.” Tawl gave a slight bow.
“It’s my pleasure, sir,” replied the woman. “You are from out of town, that much is obvious by your golden hair, and the people of Toolay have ever welcomed travelers.” The woman gave him a kindly smile. Tawl thanked her and left.
He turned about, ready to hand the pastry to Nabber, but the boy was nowhere in sight. He looked around for a while and found no sign of him. Tawl resigned himself to the fact that the boy must have decided to go his own way once he was in the city. It was probably for the best. The boy would be better off with people around him and there would be regular shelter and plenty of food. Tawl climbed on top of a broad wall and sat eating the pastries. He found he had no appetite for the third one and wrapped it in a cloth, saving it for later.
He was half dozing in the warm noon sun when he felt a sharp knock to his temple. He opened his eyes to find the boy grinning up at him, poised to throw another stone. “Caught you sleeping, didn’t I?” Tawl jumped down off the wall and grabbed the boy by his ear.
“What do you think you were doing by wandering off on your own? You might never have found me again.”
Nabber struggled free of the grip. “I kept an eye to you.”
“What were you doing?”
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that. You know . . . prospecting.”
“All right.” Tawl sighed heavily. “What have you got?”
“Plenty, the pickings are rich in Toolay, I can tell you. People walking this market have got more money than’s good for ’em. I just creamed a bit off the top—the surplus, like.”
“How much?” demanded Tawl.
“I don’t see that you’re entitled to know that, my friend.” The boy’s smug smile quickly changed as Tawl grabbed the back of his hair.
“Look here, friend, as long as you are traveling with me I’m in charge.”
“All right, all right, let go then.” The boy made a dignified show of smoothing his hair back in place. “Seems as you’re insisting, I’ll show you.” Nabber opened his pack and let Tawl peer into it; there were plenty of gold and silver coins and a few bracelets and rings.
Tawl groaned. “I hope you were careful, the penalty for pickpocketing in Toolay is castration.” Tawl had no idea of the real penalty—he just wanted to come up with something that sounded painful enough to put the boy off.
“Telling me to be careful is like telling the fish how to swim. Besides, I heard the penalty was a swift lashing.” The boy grinned. “Anyway, what do you propose we do with all this loot?”
“I propose we take a
room for a night at a discreet inn, enjoy a simple midday meal, and then go and purchase two horses. We’ll also need saddles and grain and some more dry food.”
“Sounds good to me. Just one thing, though. I can’t stand any more of those sea biscuits—I’m too young to lose my teeth.”
“Very well, we’ll buy some dried fish instead.” It was the boy’s turn to groan. Tawl continued, a twinkle in his eye. “No use protesting, Nabber, there isn’t anything better for you than dried fish.”
They made their way through the town. Tawl asked an old flower-seller the name of a decent inn. She looked rather affronted at the question. “Sir, all the inns of Toolay are decent. For the likes of travelers such as yourselves, the Shrimp Coddler will suffice.”
“Ma’am, where is the Shrimp Coddler to be found?”
“Why, on the dock road of course, where all the inns are.” She was off, toddling down the street before she could be asked where the dock road was.
“We’ll have to find it on our own. Come on.”
“Tawl, I was just wondering. Do you think we’ll have enough money to buy two fine horses? I could always do a spot more prospecting.”
“We won’t need two fine horses, Nabber. One fine horse will be enough for me, and you can ride a pony.”
“A pony! I haven’t worked my fingers to the bone, putting myself at risk, for a pony.”
“Have you ever ridden before?”
“Well, no, but . . .”
“You will ride a pony and that’s final.”
They eventually found the dock road. It was a hive of activity; men were gaming in the streets, prostitutes plied their trade, and dock workers carried large crates heavy with fish to warehouses. A distance up the road Tawl spied a brightly colored sign emblazoned with depictions of shrimp.
They went inside. Tawl was pleasantly surprised; the inn was clean and well appointed. The decor consisted of polished wood and brass, vying with pictures of shrimp and shrimping. A demurely dressed girl approached.
“How can I help you gentlemen?” She curtsied to Tawl and smiled at Nabber.
“I’d like a room for the night for me and my boy, and for now we’d like some food. What is good here?”
“Why, the coddled shrimp, of course. I’ll bring you a bowl of them and some nice shrimp pie, too. Anything else?”
“Don’t you do anything beside shrimp?” asked Nabber. Tawl swiftly kicked his shin.
“The shrimp will be fine. I’ll take a mug of ale.” Tawl smiled slyly. “Water for the boy.”
Once they had finished their meal, they went off in search of a horse trader. They found one not far from the dock road. As they walked in a bell rang, and a man jumped up, obviously surprised.
“We need to buy a horse and a pony.”
“Oh my, this is unexpected. Folks around here don’t have much call for horses.” The man peered closely at them, as if he were a little shortsighted.
“Have you any to sell?”
“Sell, why yes, of course. I am a horse dealer. Follow me.” He led them to the stables at the back; most of the stalls were empty. “You’ll be wanting a stallion, I presume, sir.”
“I will take the best of what you have.”
“I do have a fine stallion, sir, once owned by Lord Flayharkel himself . . .” The man droned on but Tawl was not listening; he had spied a beautiful chestnut mare. He went over to get a better look at her. Her legs were lean and powerful, her flank amply muscled. Her coat needed some grooming but was not in bad condition. When the man realized Tawl’s interest, he quickly moved in. “Oh, sir, I see you have a fine eye. A beautiful mare, once owned by the illustrious Lady Daranda.” Tawl ignored what he was saying—horse traders were notorious liars.
“How much?”
“Ten golds.” Tawl turned and walked away. “Eight golds,” the man cried.
“Seven golds and throw in a pony for the boy.”
“I couldn’t possibly, I might as well give it away. I paid twice that for it.”
“Take it or leave it.” Tawl took a gamble. “You are not the only horse merchant in town.”
“Very well, you have a deal, though you rob the food off my plate.”
“Good. I will need two saddles and some grain. I will pay you when I pick them up in the morning. Good day, sir.”
“Well, Grift, I have to admit there’s more truth in what you say than I thought.”
“What d’you mean, Bodger?”
“Well, remember what you were saying about high and mighty ladies liking a bit of rough?”
“Aye, Bodger.”
“Well, I saw it with my own eyes. Just the other night I was patrolling the grounds. I heard a bit of noise coming from the direction of the woodshed. Well, I goes over there to investigate, and what do I see.”
“What did you see, Bodger?”
“Only a couple going at it.”
“Rollickin’?”
“Just about. So, I moves closer and it’s some fine lady with a right rough type. She tells me to hop along quickish.”
“Who was the lady, Bodger?”
“Well, I couldn’t be sure, Grift, but it looked like Lord Maybor’s daughter, the Lady Melliandra.”
“Well, I’ll be damned! You know she’s supposed to have run off.” Bodger looked blank, so Grift continued, “Who do you think the Royal Guard have been looking for all this time? Of course the official version is that she’s sick with a fever, but I don’t believe that for a minute. Did you get a look at who she was with?”
“No, Grift, his head was buried in her shoulder the whole time.”
“My, my, my.” Grift took a deep drink from his cup. “I got lucky myself last night, Bodger.”
“Oh, really, Grift. Who was the fortunate wench?”
“Old widow Harpit. She finally succumbed to my charms.”
“I saw the Widow Harpit at dinner last night, Grift. She looked as drunk as a newt.”
“Well, she sobered up considerably by the time I got through with her.” The two men laughed raucously and downed more ale.
“Seems like quite a few people were a-tumblin last night, Grift. Even Prince Kylock was doing some courtin’.”
“Oh, aye?”
“I saw him taking a young girl to his room. Way after midnight it was.”
“Who was the girl, Bodger?”
“Findra the tablemaid.”
Grift sucked in his breath. “I saw Findra this morning, Bodger. Her face is badly bruised and her right arm’s been broken.”
“That’s funny, Grift. She looked fine to me last night.” Both men downed the rest of their ale in silence. They both knew better than to say any more.
Baralis was on his way to see the queen. He walked noiselessly down the castle corridors, leaving the dust undisturbed in his wake. His skin was pale and drawn, and beneath his cloak his hands curled up like those of an old women.
When he had first heard of the girl’s escape he had been wild with fury, and Crope and the mercenaries were afraid to come near him. He had spent the whole night searching the tunnels and passageways, but the labyrinth beneath the castle was too complex and extensive for any one man to cover. Why, he himself could only guess where some of the passages led. He knew there were places that even he could not gain access to: dark, furtive passageways and slyly cloaked rooms, built for purposes long forgotten, their contents untouched for centuries.
Once it had become obvious they would find neither the girl nor the boy that night, Baralis gradually became calm. Rage was a useful but dangerous emotion—logic and cunning were lost to brute force.
Baralis began to think more clearly. There must be a way for him to locate the girl before the Royal Guard found her. There was some comfort to be gained in the fact that at least Maybor and his men were conveniently out of the way in the Eastlands.
He would still have to be more discreet, though; a band of mercenaries roaming the woods would surely catch the eye of the Royal Guard. He would order
the mercenaries to keep a low profile. He would rely upon his own resources to hunt down the girl.
They would not have gone far, he thought. The weather had been particularly foul these past days and incessant rain and high winds were not the ideal conditions for travel. When he found the girl this time, he would take no chances that she escaped again.
Baralis reached the queen’s chamber and was bid enter. The queen came forward, her jewels dazzling in the candlelight. She inclined her head graciously but made no move to offer her hand. “Ah, Lord Baralis, I am pleased you could come at such short notice.” The queen tried to be more civil to him of late; however, she could never quite disguise her distaste.
“I am always at Your Highness’ service.” Baralis bowed, observing the rules of the game. The queen was silent and so he was forced to speak again. “Tell me, Your Highness, what is required of me. Surely the king has enough medicine for the time being?”
“You know to the exact drop how much medicine is left, Lord Baralis, since you mete it out with such meticulous precision.” The queen elegantly arched her eyebrow. “I am no fool, sir. I have observed that the medicine you last gave me is weaker than the initial dose.” Baralis raised his hand to protest, but the queen continued, “Nay, sir, do not deny it. That is not the reason why I brought you here.”
“What exactly did you bring me here for, Your Highness?” There was a hint of impatience in Baralis’ voice. He did not care for her tone of subtle reprimand.
“I wonder if you can help me, Lord Baralis.” The queen spoke with studied innocence. “Something rather worrying has reached my ears. It appears that the Royal Guard have spotted mercenaries in the woods and the commander of the guard has asked if I desire the disposal of these men. I said to him that if the mercenaries were not gone by the morrow, then the guard could go ahead and dispatch them.” The queen drew her lips back in the tiniest of smiles. “Tell me, Lord Baralis, did I do the right thing?”