Master and Fool Read Online Free PDF Page B

was definitely pleasantly potted. It was good to be out. A fine tavern,
a blazing fire, and a buxom serving girl to flirt with; why, he hadn't enjoyed
himself so much in a long time. For the past nine weeks he'd been holed up like
a squirrel in ajar, and now, having managed to escape for a short while, he was
determined to enjoy himself.
    Still, enjoyment
took many forms and the best was yet to come.
    The ale arrived,
its fine head frothing over the brim. The girl who brought it took great pains
to place it carefully on the table. Her bodice was cut modestly enough, but
additional cleavage was revealed during the process of the slow bend. Maybor
liked women who played coy.
    "So, my
beauty," he said to the girl. "Does the tavernkeeper here have
strong-arms in the crowd?" He had intended to ask this question of the
tavern-keeper himself, but he rather liked appearing mysterious to the young
and comely girl.
    The girl giggled
foolishly. "Oh aye, he does that, sir. You can never be too careful when
it comes to the riffraff." Maybor ran his fingers down the plump arm of
the girl. When he reached her hand, he pressed a single gold coin into the
waiting palm. "A man in black will soon be coming here to visit me. Ask the
tavern-keeper to set a watch on the door, and if he is escorted by anyone other
than a young boy, I would appreciate it if they were held there, until I make
my escape." Maybor allowed his leather pouch to gape open. It was loaded
to the drawstring with the duke's own gold. "I trust this place has
another way out?"
    Greed improved the
girl's looks, brightening her eyes and bringing a flush to her cheeks. "Oh
yes, sir. There's more than one way to leave the Brimming Bucket."
    Well pleased,
Maybor nodded. "I trust I can count 'on you to let my wishes be
known?"
    The girl hesitated
a moment. "Well, sir, naturally I'd be glad to help such a fine gentleman
as yourself, but--"
    "You'll need
some extra coinage to ensure the word is well spread."
    "Well, I hate
to ask, sir, but you know what men are like. They hate to do anything on just
the promise of gold." Maybor handed her a fistful of coinage. He
knew exactly what men were like. "And when you've done that," he
said, "bring me a footstool for my feet. The floor is running with ale,
and I want to give my shoes chance to dry."
    As the girl cut
across the tavern to its keeper, Maybor's eyes flicked toward the candle on the
sill. Down a notch since he'd last looked. Damn! Where was the boy? What was
keeping him? Had Baralis decided to hold him in the palace and torture the
truth out of him? Maybor brought the second mug of ale to his lips. Somehow he
doubted that. He knew his enemy well, and Baralis would come, not just because
he was curious, but also because he was compelled to do so.
    Maybor downed a
throatful of the golden brew. He wasn't a superstitious man, indeed, hated any
mention of mystics and magic, but he and Baralis were connected in some way:
their fates were intertwined. They fed off each other. And it had been a long time
for both of them since their last meal.
    Nabber wasn't at
all sure that he liked being Baralis' escort. The man's presence had a distinct
effect on those around him: people scattered like rats in torchlight whenever
he walked by. Nabber shook his head grimly-the man would never make a pocket.
He had the feet for it, though. He and Baralis had been walking for
quarter of an hour now, and not once had Nabber heard a single footfall from
his black-robed companion. Swift would die for feet like that. The rain had
stopped the moment Baralis passed under the palace gate. The streets were damp,
steaming, fragrant with a variety of rainy smells. As they walked south the
district changed: fine stone buildings gave way to precarious wooden structures
that leant against each other for support. The fair offered by the street
hawkers changed accordingly. Near the palace they had sold fresh lampreys,
artichokes, and saffron. Here they sold meat pies, pease