The Baker's Boy Read Online Free PDF Page A

hauled the meat
up from the cellar, sprinkled it with salt and spices, wrapped it in large dock
leaves, and buried it amongst the glowing embers of the huge fireplace.
Roasting beef was a lot more trouble than greased duck. He hoped his guest
appreciated it.
    When the visitor
finally arrived, it was dark outside. Bevlin's kitchen was warm and bright, and
fragrant cooking smells filled the air. "Come in, friend," croaked
Bevlin in response to the knock on the door. "It's open."
    The man who
entered was much younger than the wiseman had expected. He was tall and
handsome; gold strands in his hair caught the firelight in defiance of the dirt
from the road. His clothes, however, had little fight in them. They were an
unremarkable gray; even the leathers that had once been black or tan bore
testament to the persistence of the dirt. The only bright spot was a
handkerchief tied about his neck. Bevlin fancied there was something touching
about its faded scarlet glory.
    The stranger
looked a little saddle weary to the wiseman, but then that was to be expected;
after all, Bevlin lived in a very remote spot-two days ride from the nearest
village, and even then the village was no more than three farms and a middens.
    "Welcome,
stranger. I wish you joy of the night; come share my food and hearth." Bevlin
smiled: the young man was surprised to find himself expected, but he covered it
well.
    "Thank you,
sir. Is this the home of the wiseman Bevlin?" The stranger's voice was
deep and pleasant, a trace of country accent went unconcealed.
    "I am Bevlin,
wiseman is not for me to say."
    "I am Tawl,
Knight of Valdis." He bowed with grace. Bevlin knew all about bowing; he
had stayed at the greatest courts in the Known Lands, bowed to the greatest
leaders. The young man's bow was an act of newly learned beauty. "A knight
of Valdis! I might have guessed it. But why have I been sent a mere novice? I
expected someone older." Bevlin was well aware that he had insulted the
young man, but he did so without malice, to test the temper and bearing of his
visitor. He was not disappointed with the young man's reply: "I expected
someone younger, sir," he said, smiling gently, "but I will not hold
your old age against you."
    "Well spoken,
young man. You must call me Bevlinall this `sir' nonsense makes me a little
nervous. Come, let us feast first and talk later. Tell me, would you prefer
saltroasted beef or a nice greased duck?"
    "I think I
would prefer the beef, sir, er, Bevlin."
    "Excellent,"
replied Bevlin, moving into the kitchen. "I think I'll have the duck
myself!"
    "Here, drink
some of this lacus. It will calm the rage in your belly." The wiseman
poured a silvery liquid into a cup, and offered it to his companion. They had
eaten and supped in silence-the knight had resisted Bevlin's attempts to draw
him into casual conversation. Bevlin was willing to overlook the young man's
reticence, as it could conceivably be due to gut sickness. Looking decidedly
pale and sickly, the knight tasted the proffered drink. He drank reluctantly at
first, but as the liquid found favor on his tongue, he drained the cup empty.
Like so many men, in so many ages, he held his cup out for more.
    "What in
creation is this stuff? It tastes like-like nothing I've ever had before."
    "Oh, it's
quite common in some parts of the world, I assure you. It's made by gently
squeezing the lining of a goat's stomach." The visitor's face was a blank,
and so Bevlin elaborated. "Surely you have heard of the nomads who roam
the great plains?" Tawl nodded. "Well, the plains goats are the
tribes' livelihood; they provide the nomads with milk and coarse wool, and when
they are killed, they provide meat and this rather unusual liquid. It's a rare
goat that favors the plain. A most useful creature to have around, don't you
agree?" The young man nodded reluctantly, but Bevlin could see he was
already beginning to feel much better.
    "The most
interesting thing about the lacus is that served cold it cures