"Only my dignity." She drew a ragged breath, let it out again. "I've been in fights before, you know. Dozens."
"So I see. That poor fellow had no chance."
They ducked back into the tent.
"He underestimated me," she said quietly. "Fighting in male guise is much harder, in a way. No quarter asked or given."
"So why not adopt women's guise all the time?" Gabriel said. "If it's easier."
"It's not really easier. Just different." She sat down on a crate. "And scarier. Fighting as a man, you know your opponent only wants to scare you, hurt you a bit, not…"
She swallowed, unable to say the words. Gabriel put an arm around her shoulders.
"Being a man is no protection, believe me," he murmured. "That's why I always warned you to be careful around men, even before I knew your true sex."
"I know. But it's not every man who has such intent towards boys. Sometimes it seems they all do towards women."
"Not all," Gabriel replied with a chuckle.
"No," she said, thinking of Mal. She smiled back. "Not all. Thank you."
"Come on, I'll walk you back to the inn and you can change into more suitable clothes, if that will make you feel better."
"No," she said. "I need to get used to it." Or try to.
Next morning Erishen left the inn early again, but instead of going to the bathhouse he headed out of the city, away from the noise and stink of humankind. Only a few minutes' walk brought him to a rocky headland with fine views out to sea. He sat down on a rock, basking in the growing warmth like the green water-lizard he had once had as a pet. He tried to remember the creature's name, but it was lost to him, like so much else.
As if summoned by his thoughts, a freckled bronze lizard about the length of his hand scuttled across a nearby rock, obsidian eyes blinking in the sunlight. Erishen watched it for a moment, until a hawk flew overhead and it disappeared into a crack in the rocks in a blur of motion. Hide, little one. Perhaps I should be hiding too. Or at least keeping a better lookout.
He lifted his gaze to the horizon. The sun glittered on the Adriatic, catching the peak of each lapis blue wave with a spark of gold dust. Below and to his right, the city was laid out like a painted map, all creamy-yellow stone and red tiles. Human vision was so much richer than skraylings', at least by daylight, with so many more colours to delight the eye; he never tired of it.
The players' red-and-yellow tent was being set up in the marketplace once more. Another performance tonight, another opportunity to kiss the girl. Of course she would slap him again, as the story demanded, but she seemed to enjoy it despite her protests. He congratulated himself on a plan well executed. At this rate, she would fall into his brother's arms at the first chance, and all would be well again.
He briefly considered visiting her dreams as well, to reinforce her feelings towards Mal, perhaps even scare her into a conviction that she must abandon her male guise forever, but he feared that such a blatant manipulation might arouse her suspicions. She was clever, this one, and must be handled with cunning. Which of course made the game so much more fun.
He turned his attention back to the sea. In the distance a white-sailed ship headed south before the wind, and another to the northwest of his lookout tacked elegantly towards the harbour. Any ship coming up from the south would make little headway in this wind – and yet one was trying. A familiar, red-sailed ship.
Erishen leapt to his feet and ran down the path to the city, small stones scattering before him as he went.
Coby sat in the inn yard, hemming another of the squares of linen. She refused to wear her stage costume during the day, even though her English gown was too hot and heavy for this climate. She still felt horribly naked in skirts, with the air moving freely around her bare legs, but at least this way most of her skin was hidden from view. A sudden movement in the corner of the courtyard drew her attention, and she looked up to see Sandy, breathless and dusty, walking towards her. She hastily secured her needle in the fabric and leapt to her feet.
"What's happened?"
"He is coming. Hennaq."
She beckoned urgently to Gabriel, who was practising a new routine with the juggler, Benetto. He excused himself and came over to join them. Sandy sat down on the bench next to her and told them what he had seen. Gabriel swore, more colourfully than Coby had heard him in a long time. She looked around the yard to see if anyone had noticed, but the players had gone inside.
"Skraylings? Are you sure?"
"You think I cannot recognise the ships of my own people?"
"It might not be Hennaq," she said. "Kiiren's wasn't the first skrayling ship to come to Venice, was it?"
"No," Gabriel said, "but what are the chances of it being someone else?"
"Then we have to leave, as soon as possible. How long do you think it will take them to get here, Sandy?"
Sandy cocked his head on one side, his eyes darting back and forth as if calculating the route.
"Several hours, perhaps a whole day. The wind is not in their favour."
"But it is not in ours, either," Coby said. "Not if we want to sail north, to Venice."
"Perhaps we can get away overland," Gabriel said.
Coby shook her head. "It would take us weeks to get to Venice that way. And the lands between here and Venice are overrun with those same brigands who attacked Captain Youssef's ship."
"We have to get away from Spalato somehow. Perhaps go north on foot and then get a ship as soon as the wind turns?"
"How? We have hardly any money, and the Hayreddin isn't due back here until the end of the week. Zancani will not leave Spalato on our say-so, not when there is still money to be had here."
"Leave Zancani to me," Sandy said. "You two pack up your belongings, in case we have to leave in a hurry."
Zancani always took a nap after dinner, a fact that Erishen was relying on. He instructed Coby and Gabriel to keep the other players occupied, then crept up to the maestro's chamber and silently let himself in. Zancani was lying on the bed fully clothed apart from his shoes, and snoring loudly. Erishen tiptoed over to the bed and drew up a stool. Placing one hand on the man's greasy curls he took a deep breath and let himself sink into that quiet place on the edge of sleep.
With physical contact the transfer was almost instantaneous. One moment he was crouched on a stool in an inn room; the next, he was in the darkened market square, sitting where the audience had been. Just in front of him stood Zancani in his nightshirt, watching the stage where the girl Hendricks danced alone. Round and round she spun, her skirts whirling higher and higher. Zancani drifted towards the stage, a rosy-pink erection peeping from the front hem of his nightshirt. Erishen snorted in disgust, but the maestro did not hear. Round and round the girl danced, showing the tops of her thighs now. This must stop. Erishen leaned over and whispered in Zancani's ear. At first nothing changed, except that the dance got faster and faster. The girl's skirts whirled up over her head to reveal a writhing knot of snakes, her legs now great pythons that twisted below. Zancani staggered back, whimpering, and the stage fell dark. Good. Now he had the man frightened. Malleable.
Erishen snapped his fingers, and torches flared all around them. Zancani seemed to notice Erishen at last.
"Wh…Who are you?" he quavered.
"Do you not know me? I am Il Capitano. And you are Pantalone."
Erishen gestured, and Zancani's nightgown lengthened and darkened until he was wearing Pantalone's costume of black gown, scarlet stockings and pointed yellow slippers.
"You are a wealthy merchant of Venice," Erishen went on. "In that city lies a fortune for the taking…"
A chest brimming with gold ducats appeared at Zancani's feet.
"Gold," the player whispered.
"But you must be swift!"
Zancani fell to his knees, but the chest of gold sprouted tiny oars and rowed away across the square.
"Summon your captain and sail after it!" Erishen told him. "Now, lest it fall into unworthy hands."
"Yes, yes!" Zancani scrabbled in the dust. "We must sail at once."
Erishen withdrew his presence, and a moment later blinked in the late afternoon sunlight. Zancani had rolled over and was cradling his pillow, smiling contentedly to himself and mumbling in his sleep. Erishen got to his feet and tiptoed from the room, confident that they would be away from Spalato by nightfall.
? ? ? ?
As Sandy had predicted, Zancani awoke from his nap in a fever of urgency to leave for Venice. Amid much grumbling Benetto, Stefano and Valerio took down the tent and dismantled the stage, whilst Coby helped Valerio's sister Valentina to pack the costumes. When they were done, the men loaded everything onto a couple of handcarts.
"We're not going to push them all the way to Venice, are we?" Coby said.
Stefano laughed. "Of course not. We only take things down to the ship."
"But the wind is in the north still. How are we to sail there in this weather?"
"Maestro Zancani's cousin is in the navy. He can get us to Venice, no problem."
Gabriel and Sandy went back up to their room to fetch the bags. Coby was about to go and help them, but Gabriel took her aside.
"You're a young lady now, remember? Try to behave like one. That means letting us menfolk do the hard work."
"Sorry," she whispered. This was going to take some getting used to.
Zancani led them down to the quayside. Coby walked at Gabriel's side, feeling very odd at having nothing to do except look decorative. Not that she had any illusions about that. Any man with sense would be looking at Valentina, who had curves in all the right places and a nose that wasn't red as a strawberry from the sun.
She scanned the sea nervously, but could see no sign of red sails. Perhaps Sandy was wrong and the skraylings had not been heading for Spalato at all. Not that she minded. The sooner they were in Venice, the sooner she would see Mal again. That thought alone was enough to make all her other worries melt away.
Zancani's cousin's ship turned out to be a fearsomelooking galley bristling with oars. There were far more of them than the Hayreddin sported, enough to move a ship at great speed by the looks of it. That at least accounted for Benetto's confidence that they could sail into the wind, or rather row into it. She did not envy the men whose task that would be.
The stern end of the galley was covered by a red awning like a wagon, and banners bearing the winged lion of St Mark flew from its two masts. The central yardarm, its white sail tightly furled, stretched almost the entire length of the vessel. The muzzles of three cannon protruded from a wooden structure just behind the beak-like prow.
"Welcome aboard the Bellerophon," Zancani's cousin said, ushering up the gangplank. He was taller than his kinsman but with the same dark eyes that lingered on Coby's face a little too long for courtesy. She was glad the voyage would be short.
As they stepped aboard she lifted her shawl to cover her nose and mouth. A stink like an open sewer rose from amidships, and she soon spotted the source. The men seated at the oars were chained in place, with nowhere to relieve themselves but the benches they sat on. Galley slaves.
"This way, signorina! You will be quite safe and comfortable back here."
They were soon settled under the awning, and within the hour the galley left harbour to the slow, steady beat of a drum. Coby sat hunched up by their luggage, torn between joy at finally being on her way to Venice, and pity for the poor wretches whose suffering would be the means of getting her there.