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to the present: there was something to remember about his mother. Jack was
almost certain of it.
The night Baralis had questioned him, he'd been on the brink of remembering.
There'd been a light and two figures; one was his mother. She'd been trying to
tell him something and then everything had gone blank. Each time Jack tried to
grasp at its meaning, the memory seemed to become less solid. At first he'd
thought it was a dream. But dreams didn't leave you feeling as if you'd
understand everything if only they'd go on for a few moments more. At least
none of his used to.
Jack had always slept soundly. Master Frallit had often said the only way to
wake him was a good kick to the shins. Since leaving the castle, though, his
dreams had given him no rest. They taunted him with glimpses of places he'd
never been and people he'd never met. Images flashed in his mind like fat on a
fire: men in torment, a city with high battlements, a man with golden hair. It
didn't seem to mean anything, and when he awoke in the mornings he was more
tired, more confused, more restless, than when he lay down his head the night
before.
One minute he was just plain Jack the baker's boy, the next he was running for
his life, being chased by guards and questioned about powers that he had no
control over.
Judging from what he'd overheard the mercenaries say, the king's chancellor
had not emerged from the questioning unscathed. What was in him that was
strong enough to repel Baralis' will? For there had been a fight, Jack was
certain of that, and somehow, although he hadn't emerged the victor, he had
managed to keep the man at bay. Like a boar on the scent of truffles, Baralis
had burrowed into his mind in search of the truth. He nearly found it, too.
They both had.
There were answers inside him, and Baralis' probing had brought them
tantalizingly close to the surface.
Walking through leagues of empty passageways had given Jack time to think.
Despite all that had happened since leaving the castle, he realized that he
wouldn't change a thing. If he hadn't burnt the loaves and left Harvell, he
would never have met Falk and Melli. Falk had given him the gentle gift of
understanding. He'd taught him to question his views on the world and
introduced ideas that challenged a lifetime of beliefs.
As for Melli: well, she was proud and beautiful, and somehow managed never to
be out of his thoughts.
He'd known girls and had kisses aplenty, but no one had made him feel the
peculiar mix of attraction and bewilderment that he felt in her presence. Jack
was glad the mercenaries had caught him; Melli might have died without someone
to tend her wounds. Capture seemed a fair exchange for her life.
Now all he had to do was free her. He'd read many books in Baralis' library
where heroes saved beautiful damsels. If they could do it, so could he. Skill
with a blade might be lacking, but lifting sacks of grain had made him strong,
and dodging Frallit's blows had made him fast on his feet.
He knew it would be better to lie low for a few days before returning to the
haven. Right now the mercenaries would be vigilant and anxious for revenge.
The longer he waited, the more chance there was
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of catching them unawares. Jack was under no illusions; if he was going to
free Melli, it would be by sneaking past the guards, not fighting his way
through them. Bakers had to live by more practical rules than heroes.
For the moment, food and water were his priority. He needed to find a way up
to the inhabited rooms of the castle. One of the strange things that he found
while searching for entry into the cellars was that many tunnels ended in
stone walls. It didn't make sense to Jack that someone would build an
elaborate tunnel only to deadend it. He thought back to the conversation
between the two mercenaries; they had mentioned Baralis opening up walls with
his hands. Jack attempted to find some sort of mechanism on the wall that
formed part of one dead end-perhaps Melli was being kept behind the
featureless stone. He found nothing and gave up. Why waste his time with
secret openings when there was so much that was not concealed to explore?
Finally, after some time, Jack came across a narrow flight of stairs. He
headed up them and found a low wooden door at the top. His heart beat heavily
as he turned the handle and looked out. He could not see much as his way was
blocked by a large object. There was something familiar to Jack about the
shape blocking his view. He brought the torch forward and was able to see
clearly what it was ... a huge copper brewing vat. He was in the beer cellar.
Jack decided to leave the torch in the tunnel-it would only serve to draw
unnecessary attention to him-so he quickly ran down the stairs and placed it
in the wall bracket.
Seconds later he crept through the door. He slipped down the side of the
copper vat, careful to stay in the shadows. There appeared to be no one
around. He realized that it must be sometime in the evening, maybe even in the
middle of the night.
The smell of hops and yeast pervaded the air, reminding Jack of the good times
he had spent there as a child, fetching ale for the castle guards-more often
than not taking an illicit tipple of his own. His youth seemed a long distance
behind him now, and he knew in his heart that he would never be a baker's boy
or kitchen help again.
He made his way up the cellar stairs and into the castle kitchens. They were
hooded in shadow, only an occasional candle burning. Jack knew he had to be
careful. Even late at night there were people in the kitchen: scullery maids
scouring the pots and damping fires, drunken guards looking for a bite to eat.
Jack heard whispering coming from the larder. He glanced around and was
surprised to see that the door which was usually kept locked was open. Lying
on the floor inside was a man with his britches pulled down around his knees
with a girl open-legged beneath him. Jack recognized the man at once. He was
about to withdraw when the man called out to him: "Who goes there?" Jack froze
on the spot, hoping the shadow was deep enough to conceal him. The man pulled
up his britches and the woman smoothed down her skirts. "I know there's
someone there," said the man, moving forward.
Jack took a chance and stepped into the light. "Master Frallit, it's me,
Jack."
"Jack, lad, what are you doing here? I thought you'd run away." Master Frallit
came out of the shadows.
He was short of breath and decidedly red in the face.
"I did." Jack hesitated. "It's a long story."
"Just a minute, lad." Frallit turned back to the girl and motioned for her to
go. The master baker waited for her to be out of earshot before he spoke
again. "I trust, Jack, that what you saw tonight won't go any
further?"
"I would ask the same of you, Master Frallit." The two men nodded in
understanding.
"Is there anything I can do for you, boy?" Frallit looked eager to be on his
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way.
"No, I don't think so, Master Frallit." There was no mistaking Frallit's sigh
of relief. "However," [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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