CHAPTER XXXI
Coby slept badly that night, haunted by nightmares in which Mal burned on a pyre studded with fireworks whilst an unseen woman laughed and laughed. As dawn came she lay staring up at the rafters, watching their now-familiar lines coalesce out of the darkness, and wrestled with her conscience. There was no getting away from it; she had to at least try to persuade Mal not to go through with this idiotic plan, otherwise she would never forgive herself.
As soon as it was full light, she got out of bed, washed and dressed, then flung open the shutters. The street outside was quiet apart from a man with a handcart delivering sacks of flour to the nearby bakery. The city seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of its greatest day of the year: the celebration of its independence as a self-ruled republic.
She could hear the men on the way down to breakfast. Opening the door she caught Mal's eye.
"May I have a word, sir?"
"Of course."
He waved the others ahead of him. Coby caught Ned winking at Mal, who shook his head. She pretended not to notice. Let them play their foolish games.
Mal closed the door at the top of the stairs.
"Well?"
She cleared her throat, summoning all her courage to say what she knew he did not want to hear.
"I know you know far more of these things than I do, sir, but I don't think this is a good idea. You only just prevailed against Suffolk, and if Master Alexander is to be believed, he was nothing compared to one of the ancients."
Mal put his hand on her shoulder.
"I know you're afraid for me," he said softly. "But I have to do this."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why? If I don't, Hennaq will take Sandy and me back to the New World. Is that what you want?"
"Of course not. But surely there's another way? Why do you have to risk your life – your soul – to capture this guiser? Venice has managed perfectly well for centuries without our interference."
"I agree."
"You do?"
"Of course. But it is not my role to decide these things. I was sent here by Sir Francis to spy on the negotiations, and I can do that best with Olivia out of the way. Nor will it hurt to show the skraylings that I respect their ways, beginning with helping one of their lost sheep find her way home."
She shook her head. "I think you have become obsessed with this woman."
"I? I am not the one who blushes at every mention of her name."
Coby stared at him for a moment, then wrenched open the door and ran down the stairs, heedless of the tears streaming down her face. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She had let her jealousy derail her reasoned argument, and now he would never listen to her.
? ? ? ?
After breakfast they dispersed to their chambers and reassembled half an hour later in the atrium. Berowne wore a heavily embroidered peascod doublet and an enormous ruff edged with Venetian lace, whilst Raleigh was dressed in the latest English fashion, in an oyster-coloured silk doublet with a simple collar of near-transparent lawn, and black-and-white striped trunk hose. Mal's borrowed finery was not unlike his former livery as Kiiren's bodyguard, all sable velvet discreetly slashed with matching silk, and the others were likewise dressed in traditional Venetian black. Coby's doing, no doubt; none of them wanted to attract attention tonight.
Berowne handed out masks.
"Damned foolish custom, if you ask me," he said, "but we'll look the fools for showing our bare faces on a festival day."
A sudden knock at the front door made Mal start. Sbirri? His heart pounded as Jameson shuffled over to the door, painfully slowly, and unfastened the locks and bolts.
"May I help you, sir?" he quavered through the gap.
"I damn well hope so," a half-familiar voice said. "I'm here to see my brothers."
Jameson opened the door a little further.
"Alexander! Maliverny! How good to see you again!"
Charles pushed past Jameson, beaming, but froze when he saw how many others were gathered in the atrium. To Mal's surprise his brother looked far less disreputable than Ned's description of him; evidently he had smartened himself up for the occasion.
"Sir Geoffrey, Sir Walter." Mal turned to his hosts. "This is my elder brother Charles, whom you mentioned when we arrived. Charles, this is Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Warden of the Stannaries, and His Excellency Sir Geoffrey Berowne, the English Ambassador."
Charles swept a low bow, muttering apologies.
"You're very welcome here, Catlyn," Berowne replied. "Won't you join us in the gondola?"
"Delighted, Your Excellency, delighted!"
Mal forced a smile. "It's good to see you too, Charles."
Berowne led the way to the gondola dock and took his place in the cabin with Raleigh. The three brothers perched on side-benches in the prow of the gondola, whilst Coby, Ned and Gabriel sat in the stern. Fortunately two gondoliers had been hired today, one at the front and one at the back, otherwise the heavily laden craft would never have made it to the lagoon in time for the ceremony.
"Well, this is a happy day," Charles said as they set off. "All the family, together again at last."
"All that's left," Mal replied softly. "What brings you here so unexpectedly?"
"Your man Faulkner. He convinced me that you would be open to a reconciliation."
Mal frowned. What was Ned up to? "Well, I confess to being curious as to what you have to say."
"You shall know all in due course. But perhaps not here, eh?"
"Agreed." The last thing he wanted was for Charles to say something incriminating in front of Berowne. Or Raleigh. "Tomorrow, perhaps. We shall all be much occupied today."
Crouched in the back of an overladen gondola, Coby was reminded of the skrayling ambassador's arrival in London. Every boat in Venice, it appeared, was out on the lagoon, following the ducal galley as it rowed out to sea.
The Bucentaur was magnificent even by Venetian standards. Gilded carving covered every inch of the galley, so that it shone in the May sunlight like a new-minted angel. A scarlet canopy ran the length of the deck, shading its occupants from the heat of the sun, and an enormous banner bearing the lion of Saint Mark adorned its single mast. Coby could just make out the tiny figure of the Doge himself, seated on a throne in the stern.
"The new Doge, Marino Grimani," Gabriel said, "The election was so tightly contested after the death of his predecessor, there almost wasn't a Doge in time for the ceremony."
"So what happened?"