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

footsteps.
    "Here comes
young Jack. Jack, lad, do you fancy a sup of ale?"
    "I can't,
Bodger, I haven't got time."
    "If you're
off wooing, Jack," said Grift, "you'd better brush the flour from
your hair."
    Jack smiled
broadly. "It's there for a purpose, Grift. I want the girls to think I'm
old enough to be gray just like you!"
    Jack didn't wait
around to hear the guard's reply. He was on his way to Baralis' chambers and
was late as usual. The king's chancellor had been making him work long hours
recently, and he was often scribing into the early hours of the morning. Jack
suspected that the library he was copying would soon be due back to its owner,
and that Baralis was eager to have what was left copied down to the last page
as quickly as possible. In consequence, Jack now spent his days baking and his
nights scribing. There was little time left for rest, and he had been close to
falling asleep at his copying desk on more than one occasion.
    Jack found that
scribing became easier with practice. At first he could barely copy a page a
day, but over time he'd grown better at his job, managing to complete as many
as ten pages in one session.
    Jack now had a
guilty secret. For the past few years he had been able to read every word that
he copied. Five summers had passed since Baralis had first recruited him to be
a blind scribe, only Jack was no longer blind.
    It had begun after
the passing of three moons. Jack had started to notice patterns in the words
and symbols. His main breakthrough had taken place over a year later when
Baralis had asked him to copy a book full of drawings of animals. Each drawing
was meticulously labeled, and Jack recognized many of the creatures in the
book: bats, bears, mice. He began to understand that the letters underneath the
drawings corresponded to the animals' names, and gradually he became able to
comprehend simple words: the names of birds or flowers or animals.
    Eventually Jack
had learnt other words-connecting words, describing words, words that made up
the basis of language. Once he had started he raced ahead, eager for knowledge.
He found a book in Baralis' collection that did nothing but list the meanings
of words. Oh, how he would have loved to have taken that precious volume to the
kitchens with him. Baralis was not a man to grant favors lightly and Jack had
never dared ask.
    Over the past
years he had read whatever he copied, stories from far lands, tales of ancient
peoples, lives of great heroes. Much of what he copied he couldn't understand,
and nearly half of it was written in foreign languages or strange symbols that
he could never hope to decipher. All that he could understand made him
restless.
    Reading about
faraway places made Jack yearn to visit them. He dreamt of exploring the
caverns of Isro, sailing down the great River Silbur, fighting in the streets
of Bren.
    He dreamt so
vividly he could smell the incense, feel the cool spray of water on his cheek,
and see defeat in the eyes of his opponents. Some nights, when the sky was
brilliant with stars and the world seemed impossibly large, Jack had to fight
the urge to be off. Desire to leave the castle was so great that it became a
physical sensation-a pressure within that demanded release.
    Usually by morning
the pressure had lost its push. But more and more these days, Jack's gaze would
wander to the map pinned to the study wall. He scanned the length of the Known
Lands and wondered where he'd visit first: should it be to the north, over the
mountains and into the frozen waste; should it be to the south, through the
plains and into territories exotic and forbidden; or should it be to the east,
where the power lay? He needed a place to head for, and eyes following the
contours of the map, he cursed not knowing where his mother had come from, for
he surely would have headed there.
    Why had she kept
so much from him? What was there in her past that she needed to hide? When he
was younger,
    Jack had assumed
it was shame that held