The Merchant of Dreams (50 page)

Mal ran through the main chambers of the
piano nobile
, but there was no sign of the devourers. Had they really killed them all? He leaned out of the window, hoping to get a good view of the square, and stopped, heart in mouth. Someone lay by the bridge steps, a pale-haired figure crouching over him… Blessed Lady, one down already? He ran back down the stairs and out into the garden.

“Master Catlyn, look out! Above you!”

Mal looked up, just in time to see a dark shape launch itself from the uppermost floor. It floated to the ground as if underwater, landing light as thistledown about halfway between Mal and the garden wall.

“Duck!” Coby shouted at him.

A moment later a pistol snapped and a bullet whistled overhead, far too close for comfort. The creature, undaunted, loped towards the wall. Mal ran after it, but as it leapt onto the coping a second pistol shot rang out around the square and the creature screamed and dissolved into smoke.

“Got it!”

Coby grinned at him through the gate. Her face was pale and smeared with grime, but she had never looked so beautiful to him.

“You’re hurt,” she said as he clambered awkwardly up the gate and dropped down beside her.

“Just a scratch. Looks worse than it is. At least I got out alive.”

“Charles?”

Mal shook his head. “What about the… Sweet Jesu! Ned!”

Parrish was helping a white-faced Ned to his feet. Blood dripped onto the cobbles from Ned’s mangled right arm, splinters of bones poking out of the raw mess. Mal had seen a few injuries like that on the battlefield, and there was only one treatment.

“Get him out of here,” Mal called out to Gabriel. “Find Cinquedea, find a surgeon to–”

“I know,” Parrish said quietly. He turned back to Ned, murmuring to him like a mother with her child, and together they limped up the steps of the bridge.

“Is that all of them?” Coby asked, looking up from reloading her pistols.

“We killed four inside, and yours makes five.”

“Eight, then. Ned accounted for two, then Gabriel finished the one that…” She grimaced.

“We don’t know for sure how many there were to begin with, though,” he said, scanning the building. “There could still be some left, hiding in the shadows. The only way to be certain is to wait. If none emerge between now and dawn…”

“There is another way,” a voice said behind them.

Mal looked round. “Sandy!”

“We came as fast as we could,” his brother said.

“We?”

“Kiiren is here as well. He is fetching a sleeping draught for Ned.”

“Lucky Ned.” Mal pulled a face. “You said something about there being another way. You know how to destroy these creatures?”

“You already know that part. No, I meant that I can find out if there are any left here.”

“How?”

“They cast shadows in the dreamworld, just as we cast light.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Assuming I still can
.

Sandy sat down with his back to the wall. “I need you to protect my earthly body; I cannot see into both places at once.”

“Nothing will get past me, I swear.”

Sandy closed his eyes, and within a few moments his eyelids began to twitch as if he were asleep and dreaming. Mal peered through the gate, trying to ignore the returning ache in his shoulders. As soon as this was over, he would press Kiiren for another draught of that foul-tasting potion. Or get drunk. He hefted his rapier, and hissed through clenched teeth at the sudden movement.
Perhaps both
.

All was still within at first, then he heard a dry rattle, as of clawed feet on stone. Shadows pooled in the doorway. At least two of the beasts, perhaps three, it was impossible to tell. Mal hefted his rapier and stepped closer to Sandy. Coby cocked her pistol.

Two of the creatures rushed them in a smoky blur. One was felled by a pistol shot halfway across the garden, but the other reached the wall before Coby could fire again. Out of the corner of his eye Mal saw the third leap the wall in a single bound, heading for the bridge, but he had no time to pay it any further mind. A triangular head snaked down at him, jaws clashing, too close for blade-work. Mal turned his wrist and slammed the pommel of his rapier into the creature’s snout. It hissed and snapped at him, dead-white eyes rolling in their sockets. He drew his dagger and thrust upwards into its soft under-jaw until the steel blade grated on the inside of its brainpan. The creature gave an inhuman scream and was gone. But the scream continued.

“
Amayiii!
”

Sandy pushed past him, heading for the bridge.

“Sandy, no!” Mal dashed after him. “Sandy!”

Two figures staggered from the street onto the bridge, locked in a deadly embrace: Kiiren with fists raised as though wielding a garrotte, and a nightmare beast, writhing in agony and clawing at its prey-turned-killer. Before anyone could reach them it had slashed open Kiiren’s belly, even as it breathed its last and was gone. Kiiren’s spirit-guard snapped between his hands, scattering jade and lodestone beads down the steps into the square.

Mal stumbled to a halt, all will seeming to drain from his limbs. Sandy ran up the steps and held his dying lover in his arms, crooning in the ancient tongue of the skraylings.

“
Amayi’o anosennowe, amayi’o anodirowe, dedëhami anolessowe, acorro, accoro!
”

Mal’s hand went to his left shoulder, to the hawthorn tattoo Kiiren had given him when they first met. These were the same words Erishen spoke when he said farewell to Kiiren the last time the last time he died, in the hawthorn grove sacred to their clan. For remembering, Kiiren had said. And only now did he remember.

His own lips moved in time with the words. It was either that or scream Erishen’s grief to the uncaring marble walls around them.

CHAPTER XXXV

Gloom had descended on the house, a melancholy wrought not by fashion but by real loss and grief. Gabriel refused to leave Ned’s side, so Coby spent a lot of her time running up and down the stairs with jugs of hot water, or food for both patient and nurse. Meanwhile Mal sat bowed over a lute he had found somewhere in the embassy, playing the same few songs over and over, his face set like stone. Coby brought food for him too, but it sat ignored until, cold and congealed, it had to be taken back down to the kitchens, much to Jameson’s disgust. Sandy just lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling in silence. After a few hours of this, Coby retreated to the relative congeniality of Berowne’s parlour.

“An ill business altogether,” Berowne muttered, leaning back in his chair and drawing on his pipe. “Though to fret so over the death of a foreigner… Doesn’t seem right, if you ask me.”

“No, sir.”

Coby picked up a book lying on the table and began leafing through it, for want of anything better to do. It began as an interesting enough account of the travels of Marco Polo, but some of the pictures of fabulous beasts of the Orient reminded her far too much of the creatures they had fought outside Ca’ Dario. She shuddered, and closed the book with a thud that caused Berowne to start.

“I suppose you will all be going back to England now,” Berowne said, “what with the skrayling ambassador dead and the rest expelled from the city. Your master has done our country a great service.”

“I suppose he has. Though at what cost?”

Berowne didn’t seem to have heard, thankfully. She excused herself and went back up to the attic to see if Gabriel needed anything. Mal had put aside the lute and was staring at his hands as if they were a stranger’s. Coby cleared her throat.

“I thought I’d go for a walk, to clear my head,” she said. “If there’s anything you need–”

Mal looked up. “I’ll come with you.”

She halted in the doorway, surprised but delighted at this evident improvement in his mood. They went down to the atrium in silence, and Mal opened the door to usher her out. Coby realised with a flush of pleasure that he was treating her like a woman despite her boy’s garb. Still, she would have given anything to have the old Mal back. His present black humour tore at her heart.

As they crossed the little bridge heading towards San Toma, she ventured to break the silence.

“Sir Geoffrey is wondering when we will return to England.”

“I dare say he is. We cannot outstay our welcome, and yet…” Mal sighed heavily. “For Sandy’s sake, we cannot leave for a while yet.”

She halted. “You think… Lord Kiiren…?”

Mal glanced around the street and lowered his voice.

“We have to allow that he may have been reborn, yes. And if so, we can hardly leave him here, to suffer the same fate as…”

The courtesan’s name hung unspoken in the air.

“No, of course not,” Coby said hurriedly, and walked on. “But how will you find him?”

“Sandy is looking, even now. But there are hundreds of women with child, and the trail gets fainter with every day that passes.”

“What if he doesn’t find him?”

“Then we must assume that he is dead in truth, and go home.”

They walked on in silence for a while.

“It’s not your fault,” Coby said at last.

“No? If I had listened to your advice and not interfered, Kiiren would still be alive. Ned would still have his hand…” He shook his head. “Dear God, what is he to do? I have deprived my friend of his livelihood.”

Coby had no answer to that.

“Do you suppose anyone else in Venice knows what really happened that night?” she said. “There must surely be rumours flying about the city by now.”

“I don’t doubt it. And none will contain more than a grain of truth, which is all to the good. I would rather not be suspected of causing trouble in Dorsoduro, would you?”

She grinned back at him. That was more like the old Mal. A moment later, however, his expression grew grave.

“There is something we needs must talk about,” he said. “Something I have been meaning to say for a long time.”

“Oh?” Her heart sank. This did not sound good.

He gestured to a nearby taverna. “It is not too early in the day for a drink, I reckon.”

The taverna was empty of customers, though a delivery man sat talking to the landlord over a bowl of olives whilst his young assistant waited outside, ostensibly guarding the barrow but mostly flirting with any passing women. Mal ordered a flagon of wine and led Coby into the little courtyard out back. Strings of washing crisscrossed the sky above, and no doubt there were listeners up there, ears cocked for the latest gossip, but still it felt like they were alone.

“You are right,” Mal said, filling two glasses. “I should have listened to you. I meddled where it was not needed, because I thought I was right, and because I wanted to gain Kiiren’s approval.”

He pushed one of the glasses towards her.

“However, there is no use crying over shed milk,” he went on. “I must take responsibility for the outcome of my decision, as any commander must, as well as resolve to make better choices in future. And to do that, I need good advice. Your advice.”

“You have it. Always.”

“And shall make better use of it, I swear.” He took a sip of his wine. “But I have need of your service in another capacity. If… If Sandy is right, we will have to take the child home with us. And I want to raise it as my own. My son and heir, if it be a boy.”

“You are asking me to look after this child?” she said. “But I know nothing of infants. I helped my mother with Kees, true, but that was many years ago…”

“No. I’m not asking you to be a nursemaid. I can hire a woman for that. But… he will not be an ordinary child. And I fear he will not want to stay with us, once he remembers who he is.”

“You think he will want to go back to the New World and be reborn as a skrayling?”

“I’m certain of it. And Sandy will want to go with him. I… I might never see them again.”

Coby reached out her hand, and he took it, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb as if to assure himself of her solidity.

“But that won’t be for years, surely?”

“I hope not,” he whispered hoarsely.

They sat in silence for long moments, then Mal reached for his glass with his free hand and drained it in one go.

“The thing is…” He cleared his throat. “If he won’t stay, I need a real heir, one born of my own flesh. And for that I need a wife.”

He caught her gaze, held it. Realisation dawned, and she stared back at him, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.

“Jacomina Hendricksdochter, will you marry me?”

Coby nodded, her heart too full for words. Then the full implication of his offer struck her. To be a married woman, the respectable wife of a respectable gentleman, she would have to give everything up that she had worked for. Her life as Jacob Hendricks would be over.

“I know I ask a very great deal,” he said, as if guessing her thoughts. “If you would rather seek your fortune elsewhere, then so can I.” He looked more miserable than ever, if that were possible.

“No.” The thought of him marrying someone else was too much to bear. “I accept your offer. On one condition.”

“Anything.”

The look on his face, of hope renewed beyond expectation, was so adorable, she almost burst into tears of laughter.

“I will be your faithful wife at home and in sight of our neighbours,” she said carefully. “But if ever the Queen or Sir Francis Walsingham require your service, then I ask leave to become your servant Jacob for as long as you need me.”

He laughed, and raised both her hands to his lips to kiss them.

“Agreed.”

She got to her feet slowly and went round the other side of the table. For a moment she feared he would stop her, that he would remind her she was still dressed as a boy, but he only watched in silence. She sat down on the bench next to him, slipped her arm around his waist and pressed her forehead to his chin. His beard was scratchy on her skin, but she didn’t mind as long as she could be this close to him. After a moment he took her in his arms and kissed her brow, her nose, her lips…

“You’re not afraid someone will see us?” she murmured between kisses.

“This is Venice,” he replied, “where even the women wear breeches.”