The Merchant of Dreams (39 page)

“She is not what you think.” He put his own glass down more carefully. “You told me to expect monsters, wicked corrupt creatures like Suffolk who would do anything–”

“Including lying and seducing?” Sandy replied. “Listen to yourself, brother. You have been led astray. The guisers are renegades and outcasts for a good reason–”

“Then so are we.”

Silence fell, broken only by the drip-drip of
aniig
from the broken glass onto the floor.

“
Amayi
, Catlyn-tuur…” Kiiren stood and placed himself between them. “We are all friends here. No one is cast out for that which is not their fault.”

“Tell that to Hennaq,” Sandy muttered.

Mal looked at Coby. “You tried to warn me about a skrayling called Hennaq. Who is he?”

Coby explained about their attempted voyage from England to Provence and how it had been diverted by Hennaq. Mal listened in silence, torn between anger at Sandy for nearly getting himself shipped off to the New World, overwhelming gratitude to Coby for her resourcefulness, and shame at his own betrayal of her loyalty. At least that part of it was over. He would strive to be worthy of her from now on.

“Is this true, what Hennaq say?” Kiiren asked him when the story was done. “It was his heart-mate Tanijeel whom you and your brothers killed?”

“We – Sandy and I – didn’t kill him,” Mal said, staring at his hands clasped in his lap. “They smeared my face with his blood, as part of the initiation. But I did not lay a hand on him, nor did Sandy.”

“And your brother Charles. What of him?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to say not but… I was trying to protect Sandy. I didn’t want to see, didn’t want to hear…”

Coby put her hand on his, and he squeezed it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered. “I should have taken more care in our choice of captain.”

“You weren’t to know.” He looked up. “And this Hennaq is in Venice?”

“Not yet,” Coby said, “or so we hope. But he is likely to come. He knows you are here, and is bound to suspect that we will seek you out and warn you.”

“What will you do?” Mal asked Kiiren. “If Hennaq turns up demanding us both.”

“I will not hand you over to him,” Kiiren replied. “But I cannot speak for elders. They will want to examine your memories–”

“Then they will discover we are innocent,” Sandy said.

Kiiren sighed. “Of murder, perhaps. But your brother speaks truth. You too are guisers, in eyes of many of our people, and for that alone you are subject to our laws.”

“Which are?” Mal asked.

“If you wish forgiveness, you must be reborn into our people.”

“They would take us back to the New World and kill us.”

“No,” Kiiren said. “Your own hand must do it. There are herbs–”

“Oh yes, there are always herbs.” He smiled bitterly to himself. “I am not ready to die yet.”

Coby squeezed his hand, and his heart lurched. No, he would not die yet, not for anyone.

“Why did Hennaq not bring his case when you were on Sark?” he said after a few moments.

“I do not know,” Kiiren said. “Perhaps he feared my word would carry more weight with elders than his. Or perhaps he knew Erishen was not fully healed.”

“Nor is he yet,” Coby put in. “He became very ill on Hennaq’s ship when he had the spirit-guard on all the time.”

“And I will tell elders so.” He looked from one brother to the other, his amber eyes grave. “I do not wish to lose either of you.”

Sandy excused himself, saying he wanted to speak to the players before they left. As soon as he had left the room, Mal seized his chance.

“I… I have a very great favour to ask of you, sir. One which I hope you will grant, in light of our past friendship.” He paused, searching for the right words.

“Go on,” Kiiren said.

He cleared his throat. “Our people have been allies for many years. Our ships harry the Spanish when they threaten your shores, and ofttimes escort your trade vessels across the Atlantic to England.”

“This is true.”

“And our Queen welcomed you into her realm, giving you the island of Sark for your sole use.”

“For how much longer?” Kiiren asked.

Mal stared at him for a long moment. “You think the Crown will withdraw the lease?”

“You have been back to London. Are my people still welcome?”

Mal had no reply to that. When had England ever truly welcomed the skraylings? It had always been an uneasy alliance at best.

“Why Venice?” he said at last.

“They are great merchant nation, like us, and we hear they are no friends of Great Father in Rome.”

“True enough, but their ships seldom venture outside the Mediterranean. If you want an alliance with a seafaring nation, the Dutch would be a better choice.” He glanced at Coby, but his companion was staring at the skrayling books as if trying to decipher them by force of will alone.

“With respect to your friends,” Kiiren said, “followers of Luther do not like my people either. They call us demons. No, we need friends who put profit before your God.”

Mal laughed. “Then you’ve come to the right place after all.”

“I wonder.” Kiiren shook his head sadly.

“You must know why I was sent here,” Mal said. “The Privy Council wishes to know what trade agreements have been made with the Venetians.”

“Has not your Queen an ambassador for such things?”

“She does, but how much can he find out without endangering his position here? The truth may come out in due course, but the Council desires swifter news.”

“And so you want me to tell you.”

“Yes.”

“There is little to tell,” Kiiren said with a sigh. “We do not go forward as well as I hope.”

“As well as
you
hope? This is not your clan’s business.”

“It is my people’s business. Clans may vie for repute, but their successes benefit us all.”

Mal frowned. None of this got him any further forward in his own mission.

“Will you at least tell me, sir, if you do make progress?”

“That will not be easy,” Kiiren said. “Your game with actors cannot be repeated, I think.”

“Can you not write to Master Catlyn, perhaps via a go-between?” Coby put in. She gestured to the sheets of skrayling writing. “These letters would be as good as any cipher, if you could but teach me their meaning.”

“That would hide the contents, but declare the sender as clearly as if Kiiren had raised a signal flag from the roof of the
fondaco
.” He smiled fondly at her. “But it is a good idea for a future cipher, in less troubled circumstances.”

They sat in silence for long moments, each deep in thought.

“There is one way,” Mal said at last. “In my dealings with the guiser, I learnt how to dreamwalk, or at least how to control it. You and I could talk at will, and the Venetians would be none the wiser.”

“Apart from your guiser friend,” Kiiren said. “She has sold others’ secrets; can you trust her not to betray you?”

“Aye, there’s the rub.” He still did not know for certain that it was she who had saved him from the
strappado
. Sandy was right. He could have been deceived – or had deceived himself.

“If you were to be rid of her…” Kiiren spread his hands.

“That could be difficult,” Mal said. “I told her I would get rid of the skraylings first.”

“What?” Coby stared at him.

“She wants to be reborn here in Venice; start a new life, free of the Bragadin scandal. As a babe, she would not be able to eavesdrop on us. But…” He could not meet their eyes. “She wants me to be her
amayi
.”

“
Amayi
to one of the ancients?” Sandy – or rather, Erishen – leant on the door jamb. Mal hadn’t even heard him approach. “You have come on since we last met.”

Mal ignored him. “If you could persuade the elders to leave the city, just for a while…”

“Alas, I cannot,” Kiiren said. “I am but–”

“–a vessel for words. Yes, I know.”

“There is a solution to both our problems,” Sandy said.

“Oh?”

“Hennaq’s case against us is not strong. He may be open to an alternative, one that will enhance his reputation far beyond anything he currently dreams of. To be the first among us to return one of the Lost Ones to her homeland…”

“You want to give him Olivia? No.”

“Why not? Do you want to be her
amayi
?”

“No.” He gave Coby a reassuring look, and she smiled wanly. “No, I do not.”

“Then you leave her to die, alone and friendless. That is not a kindness, even to your enemy.”

The argument was difficult to gainsay. “I should ask her–”

“And if she refuses? What then?” Sandy sighed, and came over to crouch by Mal, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, brother, it is for the best. For everyone.”

Mal looked round at them all. Three against one, and two of them his elder by generations. How could he say no?

“Very well. But you must let me assist in her capture, and make Hennaq swear not to harm her. And we make no move unless he comes here and demands that Sandy and I go back to Vinland with him.”

Kiiren nodded. “Then it is agreed.”

Coby left the menfolk to discuss their next move. She did not want to hear any more about this Olivia woman, even though Mal had agreed to help be rid of her. It still meant he had to see her again.

She wandered along the gallery until she found a floor-length window that opened out onto a balcony. If only she could go out there! But someone would surely see her and report back to the mysterious Ten who kept the peace in Venice. True, Zancani’s presence here would be reported anyway, but the less anyone knew of their activities inside the palazzo, the better.

“Time passes,” Lord Kiiren said, getting to his feet. “You must leave, or Venetian guard will wonder what we do here. At least, Sandy must go now. You stay.”

“Now wait a minute.” Mal said. “Surely Sandy is safer here with you.”

“I do not wish Hennaq to find either of you here, but you cannot leave together. The guard is certain to have counted you as you came in, in case someone tries to stay behind. He will be very suspicious if more humans come out than went in.”

Mal grumbled something under his breath.

“I have to leave,” Sandy said. “Now that I know Charles is in the city, I will not rest until I have found him.”

“Why? Do you want revenge on him?”

“He has something of mine. Of ours, I should say. Something he stole long ago.”

Coby turned around, intrigued now.

“If anyone goes chasing after Charles, it should be me,” Mal said, “though I think it a good idea in any case. It will lend weight to what I told the chancellor.”

“No.” Kiiren held up his hands. “You are too hurt… No, do not deny. I study you all afternoon. You are still in much pain from trial.”

“I am perfectly well, I assure you.”

“Then hold out your hand.”

Glowering, Mal stretched out his arm at chest height, but after only a few heartbeats his hand began to tremble. Cursing his disloyal flesh, he let his arm fall to his side.

“Lord Kiiren is right, sir,” Coby said. “Sandy knows Charles as well as you, and he can even stand in for you at the embassy; with a haircut and a bit of barbering, you can be made so alike that even your mother could not tell you apart.”

“No, it is not safe for him. Berowne is not that stupid.”

“At least let me give something for pain,” Kiiren said. “I would not have you leave here as you are.”

“Very well.”

Kiiren disappeared through a door at the far end of the room. They stood in awkward silence for several minutes, until the ambassador reappeared carrying a small cup.

“Drink this,” he said, handing it to Mal.

Mal sniffed it and pulled a face. “Another of your evil brews?”

“Just drink quickly, and you may have some
aniig
to take taste away.”

Mal drained the cup, then handed it back to Kiiren with a shaking hand.

“That tasted just as bad as the last…” He blinked, and stared down at Kiiren. “You false-dealing whoresss–”

Sandy caught him as he keeled over.

“You drugged him?” Coby stepped between her master and the skrayling.

“It was only way; he needs rest. Worry not, he will wake in few hours. Go now with your friends, and find this other brother. I will look after Catlyn-tuur.”

Leaving Mal in Kiiren’s care, Coby went back down to the chamber where the players were waiting. Benetto and Valerio were playing dice together, and Valentina was sprawled on the floor with her head in Stefano’s lap. The air was thick with the smell of wine and something else, an acrid woody scent that Coby remembered from the ambassador’s quarters at the Tower of London.

“Ah, Signorina Giacomiiina!” Zancani cried out as she entered. “What a wonderful performance today.
Bellissima! Bellissima!
”

Coby shot a glance at Gabriel, but the actor looked as cupshot as the rest of them. What had happened here?

“Ah yes, the performance,” Sandy said in a loud voice. He winked at Coby. “Yes, the ambassador was very pleased with the show, and regrets he has no time for another. Sadly we must return to the inn.”

“What are you talking about?” Coby whispered as the players prepared to leave.

“I, ah, convinced them that we put on a show for the skraylings, to much applause,” Sandy replied. “I thought it best if they were not to suspect anything.”

“You mean you’ve been poking around in people’s heads again.”

“You make it sound so sordid. I merely got them a little… befuddled and pushed their thoughts in a happy direction.”

Coby rolled her eyes at him. It probably was for the best, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

They returned to the inn with the players, where Sandy explained to Zancani that they were leaving the troupe and would not be able to perform with them after the Doge’s ceremony the next day. The maestro was surprisingly unmoved by this announcement, and Coby wondered what other ideas Sandy had planted in his head before leaving the skraylings’ palazzo. She made a note never to get drunk in Sandy’s presence, and resolved to procure one of the protective necklaces at the earliest opportunity.