CHAPTER XXVIII
"Ah, just the young fellow I wanted to see!"
Coby froze at the foot of the attic stairs. Raleigh was the last person she wanted to see right now. However she forced a polite smile and a bow.
"How may I help you, Sir Walter?"
Raleigh leant on the newel post, the sudden movement making the pearl pendant in his earlobe swing wildly. Coby was reminded of Mal's similar earring, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. Now was not the time to break down in tears.
"I'm told you're a dab hand with all things mechanical," Raleigh said. "Is that true?"
"Well, I'm certainly interested…"
"Excellent, excellent. Then you can help me choose a gift for Northumberland."
"Me, my lord?"
"Certainly you. I know a little about astronomy and navigation, of course, but these new-fangled mechanical devices are beyond my ken." He took her by the arm and led her back through the antechamber. "Did you know that there are clocks so small, one can wear them on a bracelet, so you know the time wherever you are?"
"Really?" She was intrigued despite herself. "Have you seen such a device, sir?"
"More than one," Raleigh replied, looking pleased with himself. "So, will you accompany me to Quirin's shop this afternoon, and give me the benefit of your wisdom?"
"I would be honoured, my lord."
"Excellent. Be ready in an hour; I have engaged Berowne's boatman to take us there."
Ned took the stairs up to the attic two at a time. As he had expected Gabriel was back in their room, labouring away over his manuscript in the light from the little window overlooking the canal.
"You'll ruin your eyesight," Ned said, resting his chin on Gabe's shoulder and slipping his arms around his waist.
Gabriel put his pen down and got to his feet, turning to face Ned but still in his embrace.
"If I lose my sight, you can be my amanuensis," he murmured in Ned's ear. "As long as I can touch you and hear your voice, I will be content."
"You say the prettiest things," Ned replied, struggling to rein in his desire as Gabriel nibbled round the edge of his ear and down the side of his neck. "I have to go out. Sorry."
Gabriel pulled away, an expression of mock surprise on his delicate features.
"What's this? Ned Faulkner, turning down an afternoon of exquisite fuckery? Methinks thou hast been bewitched, love, or I am in a nightmare."
Ned sighed. "Believe me, Angel, I'd gladly stay here with you. But someone has to accompany Sandy on this hunt of his, and I seem to have drawn the short straw. Besides, you have a play to finish before we get back to England."
"True enough. I can't wait to see the look on Shakespeare's face." His smile faded. "Or perhaps I shall sell it to Henslowe under a false name and see how it fares, before laying claim to it."
"Is it not going well?"
"Not well at all." Gabriel waved a hand at the pile of paper. Most of the lines were crossed out, written over and crossed out again. "Setting up all these obstacles and misunderstandings is easy enough, it's the resolving of them that's the tricky part."
"Sounds like real life." He pulled Gabriel close and kissed him. "I'm sure you'll work it all out in the end."
"You're probably right."
"Of course I'm right. Now, back to work!"
He released Gabriel and gave him a parting slap on the arse, then retreated before he could change his mind. Business first, pleasure later.
"It will not be easy to find my brother in a such a crowded city," Sandy said. "Especially when neither of us can speak the language."
"We can try the Mermaid again," Ned said. "Though after last time…"
"Who is this mermaid? I thought they were just stories."
"It's not a who, it's a what," Ned sighed. "A tavern, not far from the Doge's Palace. I think I can find my way there again."
"Very well. Take me to it."
Ned set off down Salizada San Pantalon, tracing the one familiar route that he knew would bring them to the ferry stop near San Toma. Although he was meant to be leading the way, Sandy often pulled ahead, his long strides eating up the ground.
"Slow down," Ned hissed, when Sandy paused to give way to a man pushing a barrow-load of vegetables. "We're no help to Mal if we lose anyone trying to follow us."
"You are right. I have waited many years for this; another hour or two makes little difference."
"Waited for what?" Ned asked, but Sandy was off again.
They crossed the Grand Canal by ferry, and from there it was only a short walk through San Marco to the quayside in front of the Doge's Palace. Ned scurried past, head hunched down, hoping none of the guards recognised him. He didn't trust these Venetians not to change their mind.
Though the sun had not yet set the lantern above the Mermaid's gilded sign was already lit, and the homely fug of beer fumes and tobacco smoke enveloped them as they entered the tavern.
"You have been here before?" Sandy asked.
"Yes." Ned dodged one of the tavern doxies before she could opportune him. "When we first came to Venice."
"You think Charles is here?"
"I doubt it, to be honest. We probably scared him away after Mal's performance last time. But there are usually plenty of Englishmen about. Perhaps someone will know him."
They found an empty table in a shadowy corner where they could watch the door. Ned waved one of the girls over and ordered two pints.
"Keep your eyes peeled," he said to Sandy, leaning across the table. He lowered his voice, so that he could only just be heard above the hubbub. "But don't stare at anyone. Keep it casual, all right?"
"You think there will be trouble."
Ned scanned the crowd.
"Mal told me Charles fled England with a great many debts. If I were such a man, I'd be worried right now. And if he's been here several years he must have money, or friends. Or perhaps both."
The crowd was little different from the last time they had been here, though perhaps fewer Venetians mingled with the foreigners tonight. Had rumour got out about his and Mal's arrest, or were the locals merely having an early night in preparation for tomorrow's festivities? He saw no sign of Cinquedea's boy-whore, nor the crow-like Venetian Mal had been talking to on their previous visit.
"So what does this brother of yours look like?"
Sandy shrugged. "About my height, perhaps a little less. Brown hair, though it may be going grey by now, like our father's."
"That's not much to go on," Ned grumbled.
"I'm sorry. It's been over ten years since last I saw him, and I was not exactly myself at the time."
And who are you now?
The beer arrived, and Ned looked pointedly at Sandy. "Money?"
Sandy dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, which he held out to the girl.
"Here, let me," Ned said, and seizing Sandy's wrist he picked through the silver looking for smaller denominations. "She'll have you paying porter prices for small ale."
He handed over a couple of gazzette to the girl, who eyed both men with evident disappointment. Ned was suddenly aware of Sandy's pulse under his fingertips, and he turned back to find the older man gazing at him intently with dark brown eyes, so like Mal's it never ceased to unnerve him. For a moment Ned wondered if Sandy was trying to bewitch him, then he saw him flick his gaze over Ned's shoulder and back.
"Charles?" He gently released Sandy's wrist.
He turned just in time to see a tall dark-haired man of about forty stare at them in horror before bolting for the tavern door. Ned was after him in an instant.
Their footfalls rang out as they crossed the square, echoing from the hard stone surfaces. Before Ned had got halfway across the square Sandy passed him, long strides eating up the ground. Charles disappeared under a low archway between a printer's shop and a cordwainer's, Sandy hard on his heels. Ned panted in their wake. What they were going to do when they caught up with Charles, he had no idea. Surely they couldn't get away with dragging him through the streets to the embassy?
By the time Ned entered the alley, Sandy was gone. Ned swore and redoubled his efforts, pounding around the corner just in time to see both men cross a bridge about fifty yards down the canal bank. He wondered if there was a shortcut he could take to head them off, but didn't trust his sense of direction in the labyrinth of Venetian streets. It was Charles who knew the lay of the land, far better than either of them, and Ned did not doubt he would evade them somehow.
He ran up the steps of the bridge, dodged around a waterseller in her brightly coloured skirts, and leapt down the other side, pelting down the street as if his life depended on it. His quarry came within sight again; what Sandy gained in length of leg, Ned made up for in long practice and dogged endurance. Nor was Charles likely to keep up a good pace for long. By all accounts the twins' elder brother was a drunkard and a gambler, and a good fifteen years older than either of them to boot. Ned grinned, anticipating that the chase would soon be over. He followed Sandy round a corner – and found himself teetering on the brink of slimy steps running down to another canal.
"Where is he?"
Sandy pointed to a gondola moving erratically down the canal. Charles stood in the stern heaving on the oar, his face scarlet with effort.
"God's teeth!"
Ned ran back out into the street and past the shops, until he found another alley leading towards the canal, this time with a bridge. He raced down the alley and onto the bridge, just in time to see the gondola's prow emerge from the far side. With a cry Ned dropped into the little craft, causing it to rock alarmingly. Charles cursed, let go of his oar and fell into the water. Ned looked on helplessly, clutching the gondola's sides; he could barely swim himself, never mind rescue a man of Charles' height and bulk.
"Rehi!"
Ned looked up to see Sandy dive from the bridge like a cormorant into the turbid green water.
"Sandy?" Christ's balls, Mal would have his guts for lute-strings if anything happened to his brother.
A few moments later two dark heads resurfaced, one towing the other towards the canal-side. Ned paddled the gondola towards the bank as best he could with his bare hands. A small crowd had gathered, and they helped Sandy heave Charles' inert body out of the water. Ned scrambled ashore.
"Is he dead?"
Sandy hauled his elder brother up by the back of his doublet, and Charles coughed up a little canal water. The bystanders, disappointed that the accident had ended without tragedy, began to drift away. Charles coughed again, looked around, and realised he had been caught. He scrabbled backwards until he fetched up against the wall of the nearest building.
"Mal?" He peered up at Sandy, blinking through the water that trickled down his forehead.
Sandy hunkered down, just out of arm's reach. "Guess again, brother."
"Alexander?" Charles made the sign of the cross. "Did you come all this way just to hunt me down?"
"It is no more than you deserve, after what you did to me."
"It was for your own safety, boy. Your brother was gone abroad, and I could not look after you–"
"Funny, that's exactly what Mal said."
"You've seen him? He's alive?"
"How many others did you murder, you and your friends?" Sandy asked in a low voice.
Ned looked around nervously. "Should we be having this conversation in the street?"
"Who are you?" Charles asked him.
"None of your business. Come on, Sandy, let's take him somewhere private."
Charles looked wildly from one to the other. "For the love of God, Alexander, I was trying to protect you. You don't know what's out there. Terrible things, in the darkness…"
Sandy paused, one hand on his brother's arm. "What do you mean?"
"Don't listen to him," Ned said. "He's probably just stalling for time."
"What do you mean?"
"Come with me to my house," Charles said, "and I'll tell you everything."
Mal awoke with a buzzing head and a mouth that tasted like he'd been drinking canal water laced with grappa. Or grappa laced with canal water. Kiiren. The devious little whoreson had drugged him, and Mal had taken the bait like a hawk pouncing on the lure. Strangers betraying him was bad enough, only to be expected really, but now he had to watch out for his so-called friends?
On the other hand his shoulders and arms were far less stiff and painful than they had any right to be, so perhaps he should thank Kiiren after all. He struggled upright and realised he was in bed. Naked. God's teeth! Did the skraylings have no decency at all? He shuddered at the thought of them pawing over him.
A soft golden light seeped through the gauze curtains that enclosed the bed. Dusk, or dawn?
Footsteps sounded on the tiles, and a shadow moved beyond the curtains.
"Good evening, Catlyn-tuur. Are you rested?"