"J. V. Jones - The Book Of Words 1 - The Baker's Boy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones J. V)

Baralis crept to the innermost section of the second cellar. The dampness was already affecting the joints
in his fingers and his hand trembled, but only partly from pain. The candle wavered and hot, liquid wax
fell onto his hands. A sharp spasm coursed through his fingers. He dropped the candle and it went out,
plunging Baralis into darkness. He hissed a curse; he had no flint to relight the flame and his hand was
throbbing violently. He could not risk drawing light on this night. He would have to proceed in darkness.

He felt his way to the far wall and, using his hands like an insect's antennae, carefully felt for
inconsistencies in the stone. He found them, manipulated them delicately with his fingertips, and stood
aside while the wall moved backward. He stepped into the breach. Once inside, he repeated the same
procedure on the wall of the passageway and the section fell back into place. Now he could begin to
move upward.

Baralis smiled. Everything was going to plan: the lack of light was only a minor problem and, after all,
what was a little darkness now compared with what was to come?

He felt his way through the passages with remarkable ease. He could not see openings and stairways,
but he felt their approach and knew which ones were for him. He loved the dank underbelly of the castle;
some knew it existed, but few knew how to enter it. Fewer still knew how to use it other than as a way
to surprise a buxom lady's maid on her chamberpot. With the use of this network of passages, he could
move around the castle undetected and find his way into many rooms. Rooms of both the lowly and the
exalted. One should never underestimate the lowly, he mused. Some of his best information came from
overhearing the casual gossip of a milkmaid or a cellar boy; who was plotting against whom, who was
sleeping where they should not, and who had more gold than was good for them.

Tonight, however, he was not concerned with the lowly, tonight he would gain access to the most
exalted room of all-the queen's bedroom.

He made his way upward, massaging his hand to ward off the cold. He was nervous, but then only a fool
would be otherwise. Tonight he would enter the queen's chamber for the first time. He had spent many
hours watching her, marking her routines, her womanly rhythms, recording every detail, every nuance.
Recently, though, his cool observations had been enriched by the delight of expectation.

He approached her room and peered inside to check that she was asleep. The queen was lying fully
clothed on the bed, her eyes closed. Baralis felt a tremor of anticipation run through his body. The queen
had drunk the drugged wine: Lusk had done his job. With the utmost caution he entered the room. He
decided to leave the gap in the wall open, in case of the need for quick escape. He immediately crossed
over to the door of the chamber and drew the bolt. Nobody beside himself would enter this room
tonight.

He approached the bed. The queen, normally so haughty and proud, looked impossibly vulnerable, and
of course she was. Baralis shook her arm lightly, and then harder; she was out cold. He glanced over to
the flagon of wine-it was empty, and so was the queen's golden cup. A ripple of anxiety showed on his
brow. Surely the queen would never drink a whole flagon of wine? One of her ladies-in-waiting must
have shared it. He was not unduly worried; the unfortunate girl would spend the night in an unusually
deep sleep and wake slightly groggy in the morning. Still, it was a slipup, and he didn't like those. He
made a mental note to check into it on the morrow.

Baralis regarded the queen with detachment for several minutes. Sleep suited her. It smoothed her brow
and softened the set of her arrogant mouth. He put his hands beneath her, rolling her onto her stomach