A Man Betrayed (77 page)

Jack's blood ran
cold. Was there no end to his crimes? A deep pit opened up in his thoughts, but
he refused to look into it. Lined with his own guilt, it threatened to take him
downward to prophecy and torment. He would not go there. He spoke to distract
his thoughts, and then found he had not distracted them at all, rather refined
them. "Kylock will win the war." Intended as a question, it turned to
a statement upon his lips.

Stillfox's hand
came back down upon his arm. "Come with me. I swear no harm will befall
you whilst you stay under my roof."

There seemed to be
more than pressure in the old man's grip. Jack drew strength and calmness from
it. The pit closed and he was no longer afraid, just confused. "Why would you
help me?" he asked.

Even as he
answered, Stillfox began to guide him toward the road. "I help you because
I recognize my own."

The lilt returned
to the man's voice, and Jack wondered for an instant if it was to disguise the
trace of ambiguity in his words.

"Ssh!"
hissed Stillfox, before he could speak. There were riders on the road, and they
crouched down in the bushes until they had passed. Once the road was clear,
Still fox urged him forward. Heading for the back of the cart, he pulled up the
oil cloth. "Under here. Quick." Jack slid under the oil cloth. The
cart smelled of mold. Stillfox tucked him in and then made his way to the
front. Taking up the reins, he whispered, "Feel free to eat the mushrooms.
I was lying when I said they were poisonous."

Tawl watched as
the duke approached. His Grace had originally wanted to meet in Melli's
chambers, but Tawl did not want to risk Melli overhearing what he had to say.
So they had arranged to meet here, in the ladies' courtyard.

"Well met,
friend," said the duke, coming forward to clasp his hand. "Last night
went well, did it not?"

"Mel-"
Tawl stopped himself. "Your lady conducted herself with strength and
grace."

The duke nodded.
"She was magnificent, wasn't she?" He paused a moment, obviously well
pleased. "Her father was brilliant, too. He won more hearts by dashing
over to his daughter and weeping, than he could ever have done by giving away
his gold. I couldn't have planned it better."

For some reason,
what the duke said annoyed Tawl. "Have you heard the news from Helch
yet?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject.

"No. I've
been spending all morning seeing lord after relieved lord. Last night's
announcement has certainly made the court rest easier in their beds."

"Kylock has
broken Helch's defenses. He's made it inside the city, and now there're only
the castle walls between him and certain victory."

The duke drew a
quick breath. His hand fell to his sword. "Damn him! When did this
happen?"

"Two days
back."

"Castle Helch
is a mighty fortress. A decent army could defend it for months."

"You forget
that Kylock has inside knowledge. The knights have been feeding him information
about Helch's defenses. That's probably how he managed to break through the
city walls so fast."

The duke grunted.
"This is ill news indeed." He turned his back on Tawl and began to
pace around the courtyard. After a few moments, he spun around. "The
sooner I marry Melliandra, the better. I told the court I intended to marry her
within a month, but I can't risk waiting that long. I must disassociate both
Bren and myself from what Kylock is doing to Helch. The moment that city falls,
Highwall and Annis will be up in arms, and if they think, even for one instant,
that Kylock will one day rule this city, they won't hesitate to move against
us."

"By tonight
they will all know of your intentions to marryg."

"Intentions
are no longer enough. Right now I need Melliandra wedded and pregnant. Only
then will Bren be safe."

Tawl knew the duke
was right. He didn't like the way he spoke of Melli, though. "The lady
herself may be in danger."

"What d'you
mean?"

"I think Lord
Baralis will make an attempt on Melliandra's life in the next few days. Last
night I watched him at the banquet. He did not look pleased." As he spoke,
Tawl wondered what, if anything, he should say about Catherine. "I have
reason to believe he might try an attempt on her life." He found he
couldn't bring himself to tell the duke that his daughter could be plotting
against him. He hurried on, not giving the man a chance to question his
reasoning. "So the quicker you marry the lady, the better. It will be a
lot easier to keep her safe once she takes up residence in your chambers."

"Yes."
The duke nodded slowly. "Just this morning I received the blessing from
the clergy. They have no objection, so I am free to marry her when I choose. Of
course everyone will expect me to wait a couple of weeks."

"It would be
better if the marriage ceremony was a discreet one," said Tawl.

"You are
right." The duke pulled his sword from his belt. He began to inspect the
blade, holding it up to catch the sunlight. "Perhaps it would be better if
we kept the ceremony secret and only announced it the following day, by which
time it would be too late for anyone's objections." Finding the blade sound,
he slipped it back in its loop. "And there will be nothing that Lord
Baralis or the court can do about it."

Although Tawl knew
it was for the best, there was a part of him that didn't want the wedding to go
ahead too soon. Perhaps not even at all. He had started to care about Melli,
and it angered him to see how casually the duke manipulated her for his own
political ends. Tawl had no choice but to keep these feelings well hidden; his
first loyalty was to the duke.

"Can any
legitimate objections be raised to a secret wedding?"

"Not if all
the proper clergy, the archbishop, and enough respected witnesses are in
place," replied the duke. "My great-grandfather wed a girl in secret.
She was a lowly lord's daughter and he, by that time, was well into his dotage.
Everyone protested. The whole city was up in arms for months, but no one could
annul the marriage because it was done with the Church's blessing."

"So there is
a precedent?"

"Yes."
The duke smiled thinly. "Just to make sure of legitimacy, I will order
Catherine to attend."

This was the last
thing Tawl wanted. The moment Catherine knew about the wedding, she would go
running to Baralis. Tawl chose his words carefully. "Your daughter was
very upset last night. She might do something irrational."

The duke made a
dismissive gesture with his arm. "Do not be worried about her girlish
tantrum. It was nothinghurt pride, that's all. It was to be her evening and I
stole her thunder." He turned his back on Tawl. "I can hardly blame
her, really."

"So you
intend to tell her of your marriage plans?"

"The moment I
have finalized them. Last night proved that I have already kept too much from
my daughter. If I include her in the ceremony, she will no longer feel left
out."

Tawl kept his face
impassive. "Very well. When will the marriage go ahead?"

"I will
arrange it for two days hence." The duke was thinking out loud. "Yes.
That should give the old archbishop plenty of time to dust off his robes. The
ceremony can be held in the ladies' chapel here, in the palace."

"The one
belowstairs?"

"No. That is
for the servants' use. The ladies' chapel is more fitting, and more
discreet."

Tawl nodded. The
servants' chapel was too public a place. Anyone could smuggle themselves in
there; it was guarded by two men who were half drunk all the time. "I will
see to the security. Tell no one today except the archbishop. Inform everyone
else the morning of the wedding." Tawl's thoughts were on Catherine.

"Very
well." Now that the decision was made, the duke looked eager to be off.
"I will go to the archbishop first, then to Melliandra, then to
Catherine."

"But "

"No,
Tawl," interrupted the duke, "I cannot tell my daughter of my wedding
only a few hours before it's due to go ahead. It will look as if I don't trust
her." The hard look he gave Tawl put an end to the subject. "Now, I
will send Bailor to you, and you can coordinate everything with him. There must
be flowers and so forth in the chapel. I do not want Melliandra disappointed in
any way."

Tawl bowed.
"I will make sure that everything is in place."

"Good. I will
be counting on you." With that the duke turned on his heel and walked off
across the courtyard. Tawl stood where he was for some time. The midday sun
shone down upon his back, casting a small but dark shadow in front of him.

Crope hurried down
the market streets. He hated being out in the daylight, especially when the sun
was shining. People would stare, men would laugh, and children would throw
stick and stones. He had tried keeping his hood up, but on a bright warm day
like this, it just drew more attention to himself. He looked like an
executioner. If only the people weren't there, then he could spend as long as
he wanted looking at all the animals in cages: the partridges, the piglets, the
owls. As it was, he barely risked slowing down at allexcept for the owls-for he
was afraid the stallholders would curse him for scaring away paying customers.
He'd been cursed a lot in the past for that.

Still, he had his
comforts. In a small pouch in the side of his cloak nestled a large rat. Big
Tom, as Crope liked to call it, went everywhere with him. Big Tom had been one
of his master's 'speriments, and had been born one leg short of a foursome. His
master had ordered the creature to be drowned, but Crope didn't have the heart
to do it. Big Tom's beady little eyes reminded him of his mother's. He limped
good, too. So, for the past few months, Big Tom had been living with him; he
couldn't risk his master finding out he had disobeyed an order. Crope shook his
head vigorously. He wouldn't want that to happen.

As Crope made his
way to the herb stall, trying hard to remember his master's exact directions,
his hand stole into his tunic, feeling for the reassuring weight of his second
comfort: his painted box. Just to touch it made him feel better. It was his oldest
and most precious possession, given to him by a beautiful lady many years
before. The lady had been his friend. They had shared a love of animals,
especially birds. Painted on the box were her favorites: seagulls. She said
they reminded her of home.

Crope was
disturbed from his memories by someone rudely pushing past him. "Out of my
way, you lumbering simpleton," cried a small, bad-smelling man who was
carrying bolts of cloth in one hand and clutching pins and scissors in the
other. Obviously a tailor. Before Crope had time to say he was sorry, the
tailor was gone. Crope watched him dive in and out of the crowds and found some
satisfaction in the fact that
he
was not the only one who the tailor
pushed aside. Women, old men, and stallholders were all shoved out of the way.
Then, as Crope looked on, the tailor made the mistake of picking on the wrong
person. He elbowed a tall, dark man, and instead of moving out of the way, the
man turned around and punched him in the face. Bolts of cloth and pins went flying.
The tailor fell to the ground. The man kicked him once while he was down, spat
on him, and then carried on walking, oblivious to the hostile glare of the
crowds. Crope's heart was racing. He recognized the man: it was Traff, his
master's mercenary. As he watched, Traff slipped into the crowds. After a
moment Crope followed him. Feeling rather excited, Crope stroked Big Tom.
"Master will be pleased," he whispered to the rat, as he started
trailing Traff across the city.

"I am very
pleased, Crope," said Baralis. "You have done well."

Crope beamed.
"I spotted him with my own eyes, master."

"Where did he
end up?"

"A right nice
place, master. There were ladies leaning out from the windows."

"Hmm, a
brothel. Was it in Brotheling Street?" Seeing Crope's blank expression,
Baralis tried again. "Were there lots of other places nearby with ladies
leaning from windows?"

Crope nodded
vigorously. "Yes, master. Beautiful ladies-a whole street of them."

"And did
Traff spot you following him?"

"No, master,
but he might have heard the lady shoo me away."

"What
lady?"

"The lady
with no front teeth. She spotted me outside the house and told me to . .
." Crope searched for the exact words ". . . bugger off back to the
cave that I'd come from."

Baralis waved his
hands. "Enough. Go now." He waited until his servant had lurched out
of the room and then took a deep breath. Crope had just found someone who could
turn out to be very useful. Very useful, indeed.

The painkilling
drug, which he had been about to take when Crope returned, lay ready on his
desk. Baralis picked up the vial and threw it on the fire. It burned with a
pure white light. He wouldn't have need for it now.

A soft knock came
at his door. He knew who it was before the last rap sounded. Flinging back the
door, he said, "Catherine, I warned you not to come here." His voice
was not gentle. He checked to either side of the passageway before letting her
inside his chamber.

She noticed his
precautions. "I am not a fool, Lord Baralis," she said. "Do you
think I would come here without checking to see if I was followed first?"
The color of her cheeks was high. She had been drinking.

Closing the door,
Baralis crossed over to his desk and poured her a glass of wine. It suited him
to have her drink a little more. He handed her the glass. As he did so, he
traced the line of her wrist with his fingers. Making his voice as rich and
seductive as the wine he had just poured, he said, "Forgive me for
speaking so sharply, my sweet Catherine. I was worried for you, nothing more."