The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(137)

"We're going to have to get nearer to the barge," Ned said, pointing to the next bend in the river. "We're going to be all over the place at this rate."

Fortunately Parrish had had the same idea, and had enlisted one of the skraylings to help him haul the skiff in. They picked up speed, slowly edging closer to the barge's stern. Mal seemed to be rallying now they were getting away, though his face was still pale and drawn. She clutched his good hand and talked to him in a low voice.

"We did it, sir. We found you both and got away. See, we're nearly to the barge."

"And then what?" he rasped. "What happens when we get back to London?"

"Don't worry about it. Your brother is safe. That's all that matters, right?"

He nodded. "Aye."

She looked back upstream. The prince and his men were already leaving the jetty, heading back into Ferrymead House.

"What will they do?" she asked Mal.

"Ride ahead," he replied. "There are no bridges between here and London, so unless they commandeer a vessel…"

"You think they would try to stop us?"

"I don't know. A diversion to Bartholomew Fair is one thing; assaulting the Prince of Wales' mentor is a touch more serious."

He started to laugh, but it turned into a grimace. Just then the skiff's prow bumped against the stern of the barge, knocking them all aftwards. Strong hands reached down to haul them aboard, and for a moment all was a confusion of greetings in English and Vinlandic.

"Catlyn-tuur!" the ambassador cried, rushing to his former bodyguard's side. "Come, sit down and let me tend your hurt."

"That's all you seem to do," Mal muttered, but allowed himself to be led away.

Faulkner and Parrish were likewise reunited, entangled in a passion embrace in a corner of the barge's stern. Coby found herself alone once more. No, not alone. Sandy was staring at her, his brow furrowed. Then to her surprise he bowed in the skrayling fashion.

"H?sea."

It sounded more like a sneeze than a greeting, but she bowed politely in return.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced, sir," she said. She sounded idiotic in her own ears, but what else was one to say? "I am Jacob Hendricks, of Suffolk's Men."

"Erishen."

"That's your name? Erishen?"

He nodded. Well, if the madman wanted to pretend he was a skrayling, Coby was not going to argue.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go and see how your brother is doing."

Mal drained the cup Kiiren handed him, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"What the hell do you put in this brew?"

"Many herbs," the ambassador replied. "I shall not bore you with names."

He had stripped off his robes and wore a plain brown tunic like a skrayling servant. By his side was a multi-tiered wooden box full of glass bottles and strange implements. Mal unbuttoned his doublet and shrugged out of it, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Tsh, let me do that," Kiiren said. "You will make bleed worse."

"How did you come to be here?" Mal asked as Kiiren examined the bullet wound with professional detachment.

"Your friend Gabriel came to me and told me your friends had gone to house of Lord Suffolk near palace. I think perhaps you might need my help, so I tell Leland-tuur Lord Suffolk sends for me."

"And he believed you?"

Kiiren smiled. "Lie down now. You will soon feel… strange."

"I feel fine," Mal lied. Either the boat had started to fly through the air, or something was very wrong with his sense of balance.

As he began to sway on his feet, Kiiren eased him onto the bench and propped him up on pillows.

"Close eyes and sleep," the skrayling said. "When you wake, all will be mended and we will be back in London."

Mal opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn't feel his tongue any more.

"Nnnnh…"

Coby knelt at Mal's side, clutching his cold hand. Ambassador Kiiren had said the coldness was normal, but that she could warm Mal's hand with her own if she wished. She scanned Mal's pale features, wondering what torments he had been through during his brief captivity. Apart from the clotted blood on his lower lip, there was no sign of outward hurt. Ambassador Kiiren had cleaned up Mal's left earlobe and reinserted the pearl earring; he seemed to think it important, though she couldn't for the life of her imagine why.

She was vaguely aware of the ambassador and Sandy sitting on cushions nearby, murmuring together in the strange language. All this magic made her uncomfortable, now she had seen it up close. She would never forget that scene in the cellar, everyone frozen as if time itself had stopped. And yet if she and Ned had not intruded, perhaps Blaise would have killed both brothers. Why was Suffolk behind all this, anyway? Surely he did not want to see the ambassador harmed? It made no sense for him to sponsor a theatre company and then conspire against the judge of the contest. Too exhausted to think straight any more, she retreated into the memory of Mal pulling her close in the little boat and half-dozed, half-daydreamed most of the way back to London.

She roused when his hand tightened on hers and she realised he was awake. He opened his eyes, squinted up at her, mumbled something, then coughed.