Ocean Without End (9 page)

The sentries halted, confused, just in front of the gate. One of them, a sergeant of the city watch, stepped forward, eyeing us suspiciously. ‘Who goes there?'

‘It is I, Carlo St Angelo de Santiago. I am returned!'

The soldiers clustered before the city gates and looked at each other as if the bedraggled young man before them was crazed from too much wine. Carlo took one step forward.

‘You know my father, of course? My great-uncle was a Knight Grand Cross.'

The sergeant appeared sceptical. ‘Who'd you say you were again?'

‘I am Carlo, son of the Duke de Santiago. If you would kindly escort us home, my father will remember your kindness, I am sure.' At this, he bowed deeply. ‘Let us proceed.'

At a signal from the sergeant, the guards raised their muskets.

‘You can come, but not those two.'

Carlo glanced around at us. I held my breath and stared at him steadily and meaningfully. This was his chance to escape and save his father the ransom money. Jem and the others could do nothing now. I wouldn't have blamed Carlo for running for the gate. One shout of ‘Pirates, help me!' and the patrol would protect him and shoot us down where we
stood. Jem was standing firm, so I did too. I didn't know whether it was scarier to go forward or run and take my chances of getting a musket ball in the back.

‘These are my servants,' Carlo said in an even, almost relieved tone. ‘They have protected me through many dangers. They must accompany me to my father's house.'

I let go in a rush the breath I'd been holding, and heard Jem swear quietly beside me.

‘All right then, I'll escort you myself,' the sergeant announced, ‘and no nonsense, or you'll march straight into the dungeons.'

Jem grunted something unintelligible and probably very rude as we trudged forward and finally passed through the grand archway into the Old City. Six guards appeared from nowhere to clatter along behind us, swords drawn, as we entered the ancient city. Carlo strode ahead, chatting to the sergeant as if he'd known him all his life.

‘The dungeons!' he called out to us, pointing to a grim-looking staircase descending into darkness just inside the gate. He flashed a wicked smile.

‘This all part of the plan, I suppose?' said Jem, scarcely bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

But I couldn't speak. Before us was the city, quiet in the moonlight. Massive, wondrous buildings lined the streets, pale limestone, with balconies of woven iron and carved wood. I had never seen such palaces. I'd never seen so many big buildings all at once — they formed a tunnel through which we marched, Jem shuffling behind the guards with his hand firmly around his dagger. At each corner, he peered down
the twisting alleys as if expecting an ambush. At least someone was paying attention — I was too awestruck to worry about what might happen next.

Our steps echoed off the smooth walls, and each
palazzo
we passed revealed a beauty and life of its own. At a window, behind half-open shutters, a lamp had been lit, and a golden pool of light spilled out onto the road. From another house, a delicate white curtain billowed in the breeze like a fairy ship's sail. There was music, someone playing a cello very softly, and a woman's voice calling goodnight to an unseen child.

We passed the
piazza
, and there, towering over all the houses, stood the greatest building I'd ever seen. I must have gasped, for Carlo turned and grinned.

‘The cathedral,' he explained. ‘San Paulo.'

‘It's beautiful,' I whispered, almost to myself.

‘Hurry along,' grumbled the sergeant, ‘this isn't a bleedin' Grand Tour.'

‘Have you ever seen such glory?' Carlo cried, skipping across the cobblestones.

‘This way!' He led us down an alleyway which twisted left, then right, and stopped before the enormous carved doors of a house that towered above our heads. ‘Now, Cygno, welcome to my home.'

He banged hard on the door with its mighty bronze knocker, calling out in a language I did not understand. The door opened a crack, and we heard a gasp.

‘
Señor
Carlo!'

A dishevelled old man was standing in the doorway, his arms open. Carlo ran to him, and in an instant they were both laughing and kissing each other's cheeks.
The old man wiped a tear from his eye.

As we stood watching, I felt an awful ache, of emptiness, of loneliness. Carlo was reunited with his family, and I … well, I still had to get out of here alive. I took a step forward.

‘Carlo, you must introduce us to your father.'

He stared at me a moment, before bursting into laughter.

‘No, no, no,' he said, ‘this is not my father. This is Alfredo, our manservant.'

At last the soldiers dropped their weapons. ‘If you don't mind, young sir, we'll be getting along now.'

‘Of course.' Carlo waved them away. ‘Thank you for your services. We will send some reward to the guardhouse tomorrow.'

‘As you will, sir,' said the sergeant with a nod. ‘If you're sure these ruffians are welcome in your house?'

‘Indeed. They are like family to me.' Carlo was laying on all the charm he could muster.

The sergeant barked at his men, and they clattered along the narrow street and back towards the gate. I relaxed a little. One problem out of the way.

‘Come, come,' cried Carlo, taking my arm and dragging me into the hallway. ‘We must go find my father at once. Alfredo says he's in his library.'

Inside the house, the walls were smoothed stone and hung with cloth, rich and glorious. Our bare feet seemed even dirtier than usual on the tiled floor. I looked up. Painted scenes of ships in battle and the clash of great armies swirled around the ceiling. Mounted above the door were broadswords, the
weapons of the crusaders, and a shield, red with a white cross.

‘No time for gawking, Cyg,' said Jem, roughly, as he paced down the hallway behind Carlo and the old man, who led the way with a tall candle. Jem turned around to whisper to me.

‘I don't know what we do now, but you just keep your hatch shut and leave the figuring to me for once.'

‘Yes, Jem,' I nodded, obediently.

Alfredo knocked gently on a door and opened it slowly. There was a harsh voice from inside the room. ‘What is it now?'

I stole a glance at Carlo. He was straightening his dirty clothes and smoothing down his rumpled hair. He took a deep breath and stepped into the candle-lit room. Jem and I squeezed through the door behind him.

I gasped. So did Carlo.

His father was standing by an enormous fireplace, staring straight at us. With him was Hussein Reis, one hand on the scimitar in his belt.

There was not a word from Jem, but I could feel his body stiffen in readiness to attack. I quickly studied the layout of the room: two high windows behind the desk, an open door into the next room. There was no one else here.

We all stood in silence. Alfredo bowed out quietly and closed the door behind him.

Hussein, as always, was the first to speak. ‘My friends, I didn't expect you here so soon. You've made good time.'

Carlo took a few steps forward. ‘Papa?'

‘My son!' spat the Duke. There was no pleasure in his face. ‘What do you mean, coming here in the dark, like a criminal, with these …?'

‘But, Papa —'

‘Enough! Get upstairs. Go to your mother. She has been crying for you these last weeks and I can't bear the noise a moment longer.'

Carlo's head sagged down on his chest, as if all the air had gone from his lungs.

‘Go now, boy!'

When Carlo turned to face us, there were tears in his eyes.

‘Farewell, Carlo,' I said gently. ‘The bravest swordsman of the high seas.'

He nodded, and tried to smile, but it didn't work.

The door clicked softly behind him, like a sprung trap. Jem and I exchanged glances, he winked ever so slightly, and we turned towards the two men by the fire.

‘You said you were sending word to the family,' Jem said to Hussein. ‘Very kind of you to bring the news yourself.'

‘Pure coincidence, I assure you,' Hussein said, airily. As he spoke, he walked towards us, slowly and purposefully, until his back was to the Duke. ‘I had other business here in the Old City, and thought to pay my respects. A great deal of money is owed to El Capitán de Diablo for the safe return of the boy. I am simply protecting his interests. As you know, he and I are old friends.'

‘Pity you didn't just deliver the boy yourself and save us the walk.'

Jem and Hussein were staring into each other's eyes, as if some silent battle was raging between them. I couldn't tell what it was, but it felt dangerous. The Duke was watching them, transfixed.

‘Now that we're here,' I piped up, stepping across nearer the Duke, ‘I'm very pleased to meet you, sir. Carlo talks about you all the time.'

All three of them switched their gaze to me, and the spell was broken.

The Duke snorted. ‘The boy's a fool, and a damned expensive one at that.'

‘Speaking of which,' I said, ‘if you don't mind too much, we'll be taking the ransom and be on our way. I'm sorry we've interrupted your pleasant evening.'

‘Quite.'

He moved to the desk and began shuffling some papers. I watched his hands. He had fine, pale fingers, delicate and long, and trembling. His greying hair was falling down across his forehead, in ringlets like his son's, but beneath his curls his eyes flickered, like blue flames, searching across the room, calculating and dangerous. For all his finery, he seemed like a greyhound, cornered and snarling. I watched as one hand moved towards the desk drawer.

‘I trust you're not thinking of doing anything extraordinarily heroic, sir,' I said. ‘We have men waiting outside ready to come to our aid.'

‘I'm not a fool, child.'

‘Nor am I, sir. You're a man of honour, who understands the way of the sea. Carlo has told me that. I do not believe you would renege on a hostage ransom. Please make it ready, in gold, and we'll take our leave.'

At this he simply grunted. ‘Gold?' He sneered at Hussein. ‘Did you hear the wretched child? Now she wants gold!'

Hussein spread his hands, as if in sympathy, deploring the manners of modern pirates.

‘She's smart enough,' he told the Duke. ‘The world grows more uncertain every day. She's right to place her trust in gold, not men.'

‘Pah!'

I watched them both closely. They bantered like old friends or business rivals. Something was happening beyond my ken — Jem and I were out of our depth, and the sooner we got clear of these two, the better.

A slight twitch of the Duke's left hand caught my eye.

‘Look out!'

He moved fast, like a snake, pulling a pistol from the folds of his gown and cocking it to aim at Jem. But Hussein was faster. In a heartbeat he had the Duke's arms pinned behind him. The pistol clattered to the floor and exploded in a fiery crash.

It seemed a thousand angel bells tinkled above us as the vast chandelier shattered in a cloud of crystal shards that floated and crackled across the room. I felt the tiny blades falling all over me, cutting and stabbing like a hundred needles.

‘Damn you to hell,' Jem snarled. His face was bloody. All of us were marked with fine red lines, dozens of small cuts on our faces and hands. I could feel them down my back.

The Duke was struggling to get free.

‘Run, you idiots,' Hussein shouted.

Jem grabbed my arm.

‘The window …' I gasped, ‘quickly, over the back wall.'

Jem took the lead, dragged me across the room and kicked open a window with one foot. As we ran over the carpet, more splinters of crystal embedded themselves in the tough soles of our bare feet. It felt like running over rose bushes.

The courtyard was deserted — a dark square of orange trees and paving. As we ran, I sneaked a glance back into the library. Hussein had let go of the Duke, who was slumped in a chair by the fireplace, head in hands. Hussein stood just inside the window, staring out into the night after us.

‘Here!' Jem scrambled up a tree and pulled himself up on top of the stone wall. He reached down to help me, both our hands slippery with blood. We dropped gently over the other side into an alley. Far off, we could hear sounds of alarm and clamour, as the city guards sought out the source of the gunshot. They'd be here any minute.

‘We'll hide somewhere and wait for daylight.' Jem squinted up at the stars to get his bearings.

‘This way!' I started running down the alley.

‘Hey!' he called after me. ‘Who's in charge here?' I smiled to myself, and kept running. He'd catch up soon enough.

‘Where do you think you're going?'

‘The city walls,' I panted. ‘If there's no way in, there's only one way out.'

‘Blackbeard's blood!' he muttered.

We raced down narrow lanes, dodged back across
the main street, passed palaces and old churches and a deserted marketplace. It was hard going. The rope around my shoulder blistered my skin, and I felt trickles of sweat or blood, or maybe both, on my face. The cuts from the chandelier crystal were starting to sting like jellyfish.

At last we came to a quiet corner of the massive wall, built to keep out the invaders of centuries, but not to keep in lost, desperate pirates. Jem peered about, checking for guards or soldiers. There was no one in sight. We worked our way silently along the base of the wall towards a bastion. A flight of steps led up to the ramparts.

We were both panting after our race across the city. ‘I hope you know what you're doing,' said Jem. I hoped the same thing. We ran noiselessly up the steps and squeezed behind a pillar to hide from the treacherous moonlight.

‘This'll do,' I said, with more confidence than I felt. ‘Tie a bowline.'

Jem grabbed the end of the rope from the coil around my shoulders, flung it around the pillar and knotted it quickly. ‘If you're going to start acting like a pirate bloody princess you can tie your own damn bowlines.'

‘You know I'm not good at knots.'