The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(10)

Drawing his rapier he adopted a seconda guardia stance, blade at chest height and horizontal with the ground, left hand raised defensively, weight on his forward foot. Footwork first: forward, then back. Again. Now with the blade: forward and lunge – and back. As formal and controlled as a courtly dance, and as well-practised. One should be free to study one's partner, without having to give a thought to the steps…

A rattle of stones to his left sent him whirling about, sword raised, but was only Sandy coming up from the beach with a string of brown eel-like fish. Mal quickly sheathed his blade.

"Breakfast," Sandy said, grinning.

He knelt and gutted the fish and threaded them on sticks, whilst Mal fetched dried bracken from the canvascovered store behind the tent and laid a fire. Coby emerged a few minutes later, yawning and combing her fingers through her pale hair.

"Did someone mention breakfast?"
Soon the fish were giving off a mouthwatering aroma. Sandy left them to keep an eye on the cooking and returned after a few minutes with cornbread and a jug of aniig. Mal couldn't help but notice that Sandy had now put aside his skrayling garb and was dressed in his old clothes, the ones he had been wearing when Mal rescued him from Suffolk. The faded doublet was tight across the shoulders where Sandy had filled out in the past year and a half.

"Is that a good idea?" Mal asked him. "Kiiren won't be happy if he thinks I put you up to this."

"I am the elder by many lifetimes. I go where I will."

Mal had no answer to that. It was too easy to forget he was talking to an ancient skrayling, not the brother he had known since childhood.

"I should warn you," he said slowly, "when we get to England, we'll be staying in Ned Faulkner's house."

Sandy's eyes narrowed.

"I know that name." His expression hardened. "He delivered me into the hands of our enemy."

"He was forced into it," Mal said.

"So many men claim."

"Do you remember the others who took you from Bedlam? It was they who forced him."

"My memories of that time are unclear," Sandy replied.

"But you remember me."

"We share a soul. I cannot forget that."

"Then you know you can trust me," Mal said. "And I trust Ned."

Sandy bent his head to his breakfast, though Mal could tell from the set of his brother's shoulders that the discussion was not over yet. He looked over at Coby, but she was licking the fish grease from her fingers and studiously ignoring both of them. Perhaps they should take lodgings elsewhere, despite the expense. He wondered if he could persuade Walsingham that news of the skraylings' voyage was worth a pound or two of the Queen's money. Probably not.

They were just tidying away the remains of breakfast when Kiiren appeared at the lip of the dell. His expression was as guarded and inscrutable as Mal had ever seen it. Mal braced himself for an argument over Sandy's leaving.

"I have spoken with kin of those who died," Kiiren said, when he had joined them by the hearth. "They have sung mourning, and will take news back to our homeland."

"And the bodies?" Coby asked.

Kiiren sighed. "It is unfortunate. But many die far from home; it is our fate." He glanced at Sandy, and his brow furrowed.

It was something Mal had never considered before. What had happened to Erishen's previous body, or to the unfortunate skrayling he and Sandy had seen murdered that night over a decade ago? Was Europe strewn with the lost bones of Kiiren's people?

"Sandy has asked to come to London with me," he said, wanting to get this over with.

"Very well," Kiiren replied.

Mal stared at him, all arguments dying on his lips.

"Mourning is private time," Kiiren went on. "It is best if you leave as soon as possible. One of our ships will take you over to France; we cannot spare time for journey to England."

Sandy hugged the skrayling, grinning at Mal. "Of course. Thank you, amayi."

Mal quickly retrieved his and Coby's packs from the tent.

"Let's leave them to say their farewells," he said, and ushered her up the path out of the dell.

"Lord Kiiren gave in very easily," Coby said when they were out of earshot.

"Too easily. If I were of a suspicious turn of mind, I'd think he wants to be rid of us for reasons of his own."

"Such as?"
"Now that is the question. And unfortunately, on an island inhabited by none but skraylings, we have no means of spying on him to find out."

"What if Kiiren changes his mind about Sandy coming with us?"

"Then I will go back down there and beat some sense into him."

Coby broke into a grin and he smiled back, not certain how seriously he meant it. To come this close to getting Sandy back, and then fail? No, he would not accept that. His left hand strayed to his sword hilt, thumb rubbing the pommel absentmindedly as they walked back towards the main camp.

Erishen ducked into the tent and scanned its contents. Apart from his clothes, everything here belonged to Kiiren, or was shared between them.

"You must take silver, to buy new garments," Kiiren said, entering the tent behind him. "The less the humans notice you, the better. And you must remember to call yourself by your English name."