The Baker's Boy by J. V. Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

you
have at least heard of me." He smiled. "You are probably a little
curious as to what I want of you. Well, I will prolong your wait no longer.
Have you heard of a blind scribe?"
    "No,
sir."
    "A blind
scribe is a contradiction in terms, for he is not blind, nor does he understand
what he sees. I can tell I am confusing you. Let me put it simply. I require
someone to spend several hours each day copying manuscripts word for word, sign
for sign. Could you do this?"
    "Sir, I have
no skill with pen. I have never even held one."
    "I would have
it no other way." The man who now had a name drew back into the shadows.
"Your job is merely to copy. The skill with pen is nothing. Frallit tells
me you are a clever boy-you will pick that up in a matter of days." Jack
did not know if he was more amazed at Baralis' offer or that Frallit had
actually spoken well of him.
    "So, Jack,
are you willing to do this?" Baralis' voice was a honeyed spoon.
    "Yes,
sir."
    "Excellent.
You will start today. Be at my chambers at two hours past noon. I will require
your presence for several hours every day. You will not give up your kitchen
duties."
    Jack could no
longer see Baralis; the shadows hooded the man's face. "One more thing,
Jack, and then you may go. I require your complete discretion. I trust you will
tell no one of what you do. The master baker will provide you with an alibi if
you need one." Baralis slipped away into the darkness between the brewing
vats. There was not a sound to be heard upon his departure.
    Jack was shaking
from head to foot. His knees were threatening a mutiny and his arm felt as if
it had been keelhauled. He sat down on the cellar floor, suddenly tired and
weak. The stone was damp, but the unpleasantness went unnoticed as he wondered
about what had happened. Why would the king's chancellor choose him?
    Coming to the
lofty conclusion that the world of grown men made little sense, Jack curled up
into a ball and drifted off to sleep.
    It was a perfect
morning for a hunt. The first frost of winter hardened the ground underfoot and
crisped the undergrowth. The sun provided light but not warmth, and the air was
still and clear.
    King Lesketh felt
the familiar knot of tension in his stomach that always accompanied the hunt.
He welcomed the feeling; it would keep an edge to his judgment and a keenness
to his eye. The small party had set off for the forest before dawn and now, as
they approached their destination, the horses grew skittish and the hounds
barked noisily, eager to begin. The king briefly looked over his companions.
They were good men, and the fear of the hunt was a bond between them on this
fine day: Lords Carvell, Travin, Rolack and Maybor, the houndsmen, and a
handful of archers.
    He did not miss
the presence of his son. The king had felt relief when Kylock had failed to
show at the predawn meet. The boy was turning out to be a brilliant sportsman,
but his cruelty toward his prey troubled the king. Kylock would toy with his
game, needlessly wounding and dismembering--trying to inflict as much pain as
possible before death. More disturbing than that was the effect his son had on
those around him. People were guarded and uneasy in the boy's presence. The
hunt would be more joyous in his absence.
    The party waited
as the hounds were loosed. Minutes passed as the dogs searched for quarry. The
king's hounds had been specially trained to ignore smaller game such as rabbit
and fox. They would only follow the bigger prize: the wild boar, the stag, and
the bristled bear. The hunting party waited, tension written on every man's
face, breath whitening in the cold air. Before too long, the baying of the
hounds changed and became a savage beckoning. All eyes were on the king. He let
out a fierce cry, "To the hunt!" and galloped deep into the forest,
his men following him. Sound blasted the air: the thunder of hooves, the blare
of horn, and the yelping of hounds.
    The hunt was long
and dangerous. It was difficult to maneuver