The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(107)

The problem was, what to do if Hennaq did not come to Venice. What was he going to do about Olivia then? He could not communicate with Kiiren in secret with her still around. Unless… Cinquedea had offered his services before. And since Ned had confirmed it was Jameson who had betrayed them to the sbirri, not Cinquedea, perhaps he could persuade the man to resume their arrangement. It was certainly worth a try.

The Mercerie bustled with activity in preparation for the morning's customers. Servants swept the pavement outside each shop and shook tapestries from upper windows, whilst others swabbed the glass panes of the shopfronts and swore at their neighbours above for ruining their work. Men with delivery barrows hurried back and forth before the streets became too crowded, shouting Permesso! or the more brusque Attentione! as their humour took them. Mal dodged around them all and emerged at last in St Mark's Square. It was a relief to be in the open after the narrow streets of the city, and he whistled a old song as he crossed in front of the basilica. Even the sight of the Doge's Palace was not enough to dampen his spirits. Then he saw the ship.

It was a skrayling carrack, much like the one he had seen at anchor when he arrived. For a moment he convinced himself it was the same vessel, but a glance along the quay confirmed that there were now two of them. It might not be Hennaq, he told himself. Skrayling ships were hard to tell apart, since they bore no banners, nor were they even named. The skraylings seem to regard them as one would an oxcart: useful but unremarkable.

On the other hand if it really were Hennaq, this was an opportunity unlooked-for. Once the skraylings landed, they would no doubt be escorted to the fondaco, and if he wanted to negotiate for his own and Sandy's freedom, he'd have to find another way in. Cinquedea might still be able to help, but if he couldn't or wouldn't… Pulling his hood closer about his face Mal ran to the waterfront and hailed the nearest gondolier.

"Take me to that ship!"

The gondolier looked curiously at him but waved him aboard. The gondola had no cabin, only seats either side of its centre section. Mal sat down, clinging to the edge of the bench.

Upon reaching the ship, Mal did not climb aboard. Instead, he hailed one of the crewmen and asked to speak to the captain. A few minutes later a middle-aged skrayling with beads in his silvered hair appeared at the rail.

"Captain Hennaq?" Mal called up.

"Erishen?" Hennaq's eyes narrowed in suspicion and he said something in Vinlandic.

"No, not Sandy. I am his brother, Maliverny."

"And what is your purpose here, half-a-man?" Hennaq said, switching to Tradetalk.

Mal bridled at the insult, but swallowed his pride. "To offer you a far greater prize than myself and my brother."

"A prize? What prize?"

"I do not think you want it shouted across the water."

"Then come aboard." Hennaq gestured towards his cabin. "We can talk over a glass of aniig, like civilised men."

"You'll forgive me if I do not trust you," Mal said with a laugh. "Come down to the boat, and we can talk."

Hennaq hesitated. "Very well," he said at last. "But I warn you, I will tell my men to shoot if you try to row away."

Mal inclined his head in acquiescence and instructed the awestruck gondolier to row close to the ship. Skrayling bows did not have the range of European crossbows, but he knew he had no chance of getting away before they turned him into a porcupine.

Hennaq climbed gingerly down the rope ladder and stepped into the gondola. "Well?"

"I am not the only guiser in Venice. There is another, far older, whose return to our homeland would bring you great glory. Songs and stories would be written about you and spread throughout the clans."

Hennaq licked his lips. "Go on."

Mal told him. Hennaq's eyes widened, and his hand strayed upwards to touch his clan-beads.

"One of the Lost Ones?"

"Perhaps the last of the Lost Ones. The man who returned her to her people would win great fame. Women will vie amongst themselves to bear your daughters, and give you sons too."

"Why me? Why not claim this glory for yourself, if you know who she is and believe you can capture her?"

"Because we have wronged you, my brother and I. This is our recompense. I hope it is equal to our debt."

Hennaq nodded, his eyes unfocusing as if looking deep into memory.

"Nothing I do can bring back Tanijeel," Mal went on. "But I can make a sacrifice of my own, to balance his. I humbly ask that you accept."

For a long moment the captain did not reply, and Mal began to fear the skrayling would reject the offer. And what then?

"It is good trade," Hennaq said at last.

Mal drew in a slow breath and let it out again, hoping the skrayling did not guess how anxious he had been to secure this agreement. He held out his hand, palm up, and Hennaq placed his own hand over it. After a moment they both withdrew their hands and bowed as best they could, the boat rocking gently at the movement.

"Bring the human woman to me at the great house rented to our elders," Hennaq said. "All should see her and know what she has done, before I take her back to Vinland."

"To the fondaco? I'm not sure that will be possible–"

"You try to go back on our bargain?" Hennaq bared his teeth.

"No, it is the Venetian law. No visitors are allowed into the great house, as you call it." At least, not without a good disguise. Smuggling Olivia in there against her will was not something he wished to try in a hurry.