Read The Merchant of Dreams Online
Authors: Anne Lyle
Tags: #Action, #Elizabethan adventure, #Intrigue, #Espionage
The Merchant of Dreams (53 page)
“‘Them’ being the guisers, I suppose?”
“Who else? Suffolk must have had accomplices, allies…” An
amayi
. He swallowed, remembering the nightmare at Hampton Court.
“Will we be safe in Provence?”
“I don’t know.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I hope so. Safer than England, at any rate.”
“What will you tell the servants back in France? They’re bound to be curious.”
“I’ll tell them that my valet Jacob introduced me to his pretty cousin Mina, and that I dismissed him from my service now that I have a wife to look after me.”
“They won’t believe you.”
“What are they going to do about it? You are a woman, after all. I have proof on’t.” He grinned at her.
“You’re as bad as Ned,” she muttered, but she let him kiss her anyway.
“So,” he said, “we shall all go back to Provence and make a home there together. You, me, and Kit.”
“And Sandy.”
To her surprise, Mal pulled a face. “Aye. And Sandy.”
“What’s wrong? I thought your brother meant the world to you?”
“He did. He does. But Kiiren was right.” He sighed and shook his head. “Sandy isn’t the brother I knew. He’s Erishen now. A stranger.”
“I’m so sorry.” She laid her head on his chest.
“So am I. But I made my decision, that day in Southwark, and there is no going back. Our fates were decided before we were born, Sandy and me. And so it will be with this little one.” He looked down at Kit and shook his head. “That’s what so wrong. About the guisers. It’s not that they pretend to be other than what they are, although that’s bad enough. But they steal people’s lives. Like this boy’s. He’ll never know his real family.”
“He’ll be an English gentleman, instead of a poor Venetian. Isn’t that better?”
“I don’t know. My head says yes, but my heart…” He kissed her forehead and released her. “Get your belongings together. I’ll go and tell Ned and Gabriel. If there’s a boat leaving for England tonight, we’ll be on it.”
Venice shrank into the distance as the
Hayreddin
made its way out of the lagoon. Despite his determination to leave as soon as possible, Mal had let his wife talk him into waiting for Youssef’s return. The Moor was going back to Marseille, after all, and it would be good to travel with someone they knew and trusted.
He turned away from the rail and went down to the weather deck to where his friends were waiting.
“Don’t be a fool, Ned,” Gabriel was saying. “You cannot possibly climb the rigging with that false hand, you’ll fall and kill yourself.”
“Then what am I to do with myself all voyage?” Ned scowled and folded the brass arm awkwardly under his unmaimed one.
“You can help me with my play,” Gabriel said, taking his elbow. “I shall not be happy with it until I have heard the speeches read aloud, and I can hardly do them all myself.”
“Sometimes I think they make a better couple than you and I,” Coby said, watching them disappear into the cabin.
“Ned is probably a more obedient wife,” Mal replied with a grin.
“Have I not always been obedient?” she asked, her attempt at innocence belied by the twinkle in her eyes.
“You didn’t manage to keep my brother out of trouble whilst he was in London.”
She looked crestfallen. “You have me there. But if we had not fled England in a rush, we would not have ended up in Venice, and none of this would have happened.”
“Or it might,” Mal said. “What happened, happened; it is all one.”
“Did you love her?”
Mal paused. What answer to give to such a question? If he said yes, she would be angry; if he said no, he would be lying.
“Then you did love her.”
He sighed. “I admired her. She was a clever, charming woman, but misguided. No one should hold power for centuries on end. Each generation must make its own way.”
“You want to expel the guisers from England.” It was not a question.
“Yes.”
“They are many, and powerful. How can we hope to prevail against them?”
“We have Suffolk’s book; perhaps some secrets can yet be gleaned from that.”
“At least we won’t have any of the ancients to deal with,” she said. “If… If that woman did not lie about them all coming to Venice.”
He smiled down at her. “I hope not. But whatever the truth of it, first we must make a safe home for Kit, so that he can return to his people when the time is right.”
“And Sandy?”
“And Sandy. I will reconcile with Erishen, somehow. We are one and the same, after all.”
EPILOGUE
Ilianwe woke from an uneasy sleep, memories of dreams fleeing even as she tried to grasp them. Was this what it felt like to be merely human? If so, she did not like it. Bad enough that she be chained like a slave, unable to stand or ease her aching limbs, but the iron that encircled her flesh caged her very soul. No wonder her dreams were full of panic and fear. No wonder she woke in cold sweats, her head pounding.
No, it was not her head. Heavy wheels rumbled overhead like thunder, then an answering boom shook the entire ship. Her captors were under attack. She scrambled across the deck to the full extent of her chains, trying to see up through the hatch. Shadows moved to and fro, orders were shouted, but the language of these sailors was strange to her: the speech of a clan distant in both space and time from her own kin.
Ilianwe was flung back against the mast as the ship took another hit. As she lay there, breathing shallowly to spare her battered ribs, she could hear the trickle of water coming through a breach in the hull. For the first time on this voyage she considered the very real possibility that she might drown whilst still chained and never be reborn. She twisted her hands in the manacles, wondering how much damage she would have to do to the bones to work them free. The seawater was swirling across the deck now, back and forth like the incoming tide as the ship rocked under fire. She spat on the iron, hoping saliva might provide enough lubrication to pull free, but her mouth was dry and only a few miserable drops spattered her flesh. Perhaps seawater would suffice?
Footstep sounded on the deck above, and other voices. Human voices, speaking… Arabic?
“Help!” she called out in that same language. “For the love of Allah, help me!”
The hatch creaked open and a man looked down into the hold. She could not make out his features, silhouetted as he was against the light.
“Who is that?”
“I am Islah bint Mehmed, a captive of these godless creatures.” It was her mother’s name, but would gain her more respect from these men than if they thought her a Christian.
Two men descended the ladder, dragging a skrayling with them. The skrayling unlocked Ilianwe’s shackles, and one of the men helped her to her feet. She stretched her cramped limbs and allowed them to escort her up onto the main deck, blinking against the harsh sunlight. She smoothed her skirts, hoping she did not look too disreputable after so many days of captivity.
A tall, be-turbaned figure strode up and down before the captive skraylings who knelt in a line before him. One of Ilianwe’s escort spoke to him, and he looked round in evident surprise. When he caught sight of her he lowered his gaze respectfully.
“Madam? My men tell me they found you chained in the hold.”
“That is correct. Thank merciful Allah you rescued me.”
He glanced up briefly, but did not meet her eye. “You give a Muslim name and call upon God, yet you dress as a Christian.”
“They stole my hijab and forced me to dress like this,” she said, letting her voice quaver a little. It was not hard, after the privations of the past few weeks. “I think they wanted to sell me as a slave in Christian lands.”
“How did you come to be a captive of these demons?” he asked.
“I…” She thought quickly. “I am a widow, sir. My husband was a captain in the army of Telli Hasan Pasha, but was sadly killed in the retreat from Senj. I was making my way to Constantinople to rejoin my family when the ship I travelled on was attacked by these creatures.”
The corsair captain muttered a lengthy curse on the skraylings and their descendants, then gestured towards his own ship.
“Please, madam, allow me to escort you to my vessel. I would be happy to set you ashore, perhaps in al-Jaza’ir?”
“Thank you. I am afraid I have no money with which to pay for my passage–”
“I do not need your money, madam.” He grinned. “The price I will get for these painted demons will make me richer than the pasha himself.”
Ilianwe ventured a coy smile in return. A rich corsair who had no idea who or what she was, and a new start in a country halfway to England. Catalin might have succeeded in betraying her, but he had been so intent on guarding his plans that he had not noticed her more subtle intrusions into his memories. There were others of his kind in England, other young upstarts from whom she could take her pick. If she could not rule her beloved republic, she would have a kingdom in its place.
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