CHAPTER VIII
Ned ducked into the cabin, kicking the door shut behind him to keep the weather out. Rain sluiced down the diamond-paned windows and seeped through the gaps around the frames, adding to the perpetual dampness of the ship's interior. Shaking the water from his hair he made his way to the far end of the dining table, where he set down the covered plates he had brought up from the galley.
"There you go," he said, removing the pewter lids to reveal mounds of pinkish grey mash. "Sir."
Mal looked up from the map he had been studying and gave him a wan smile.
"Where's that?" Ned asked.
"Venice."
Ned pushed the unwanted plate aside and leant over Mal's shoulder. The details of the map were hard to make out in the gloom. "Looks like a fish to me."
"It's a fanciful map of the city," Mal replied, "but I'm told the island is more or less this shape." He traced a broad blue line that curved like an S, cutting the island into two unequal halves. "See, that's the Grand Canal, and there's the Piazza San Marco, Saint Mark's Square. They say the basilica is beyond compare."
"What's this place?" Ned pointed to an over-large building south of the basilica with rows of round-topped arches drawn across its fa?ade.
"It says…" Mal referred to the numbered key in the corner of the map. "Palazzo Ducale. The Doge's Palace."
"What's a 'doge' when he's at home? Some sort of duke?"
"Not exactly. The Doge is of noble birth but is elected by his fellow citizens, like the Lord Mayor of London."
"Huh. Is that why it's called a republic?"
He listened with half an ear whilst Mal described the workings of the Roman senate and speculated on the similarities with modern Venice. It seemed to take Mal's mind off his seasickness; now, if only he could be persuaded to eat. Perhaps if he were set an example? Ned straightened up and went round to the other side of the table.
"Do you reckon the skraylings are there yet?" he said, sitting down.
Mal looked off into the distance, his fingers twitching as he did the reckoning in his head. "No. They cannot be many days ahead of us, even if they left Sark when we did."
"I can't wait to see Lord Kiiren's face when you turn up hot on his heels. He's bound to know you're up to something."
"It's not him I'm worried about."
"Oh?" Ned scooped up a spoonful of the salt-beef-andchunny mash. It was plain fare, but filling, and at least there was some meat in it.