The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(117)

Alas, he could see no sign of his quarry, though it was early yet. Perhaps she had been delayed, or decided not to come after all. Mal cursed under his breath. He should have forced his brother to renegotiate with the skrayling captain.

The crowds parted for a moment, revealing a cluster of guests looking out of place amongst all this splendour. The skraylings. Only Kiiren in his azure silk robe seemed at ease; his companions, a handful of elders in patterned tunics and loose breeches, stood with folded arms, eyeing the humans uncertainly. None of the skraylings wore masks, though with their tattooed faces they might as well have been. Mal paused on the edge of the space surrounding the skraylings and bowed. Kiiren bowed back, but did not make a move to speak. Mal wondered if the ruling still held, that no one was permitted to speak to them, and if so, why they had been invited. The Venetians' approach to diplomacy was most perplexing.

He continued on his way, stopping now and again to exchange a few sentences with guests whom he thought he recognised from Olivia's house. At last he spotted the courtesan on the arm of a well-dressed man. Venier. The question was, how to get her alone?

"Signore Catalin, isn't it?" Venier said, leading Olivia towards him. "I thought I recognised you by your height. Perhaps you would be so kind as to look after my lovely companion for a short while? I have a mind to talk business with Dandolo, and I do not like to bore a lady."

"Of course, signore."

Mal bowed and held out his arm, paying more attention to Venier's departure than to Olivia. That had been a little too easy.

"Poor Lorenzo," Olivia said, her laugh muffled slightly by her full-face mask. "He really is too easy to manipulate."

"You wanted to get me alone?"

"What do you think?"

He could hear the wicked smile in her voice, even if he could not see it, and wondered if she had noticed he wasn't wearing his earring.

They discussed music for a while, then Olivia showed him round the room pointing out the more interesting paintings.

"This whole chamber was ravaged by fire, some twenty years ago," Olivia said. "Of course it was restored to even greater splendour than before, as you can see. Nothing but the finest artists in Italy for our greatest palazzo."

Mal nodded politely. He had never been terribly interested in painting, and it seemed to him that coating the interior of a building with canvas and thick layers of oil paint was just asking to have it burned down.

They were just approaching the far wall with its enormous frieze representing Paradise, when a murmur ran through the assembled guests. Fireworks. This was his chance. He took Olivia aside as the guests began to assemble around the windows overlooking the square.

"Let us leave them to their tawdry spectacles," he murmured. "Tell me more about the palace. You must have been here many times over the centuries."

She led him in the opposite direction to the crowd, through the antechamber and down the stair onto the gallery overlooking the courtyard.

"What is there to tell?" Olivia said, taking off her mask. "You have already visited the dark heart of the Venetian Republic."

Mal pushed his own mask onto the top of his head and took her in his arms. "There is only one heart I care for."

He brushed a stray curl back from her brow and kissed her. On the far side of the building, the first of the fireworks began to fizz and whine, and the crowds breathed out a great sigh of admiration. Now.

He closed his eyes, letting himself sink into that waking dream he had first experienced in the skrayling pavilion back in Southwark. The gilded splendour of the palace gave way to the twilit realm of the dreamworld, the woman in his arms at once translucent, made of violet light, and yet more real than ever. He looked over her shoulder into the darkness where Sandy was waiting. Should be waiting.

"My love?" Her voice was more hesitant now. She drew back, staring at him in panic. Silver light flashed overhead, then expanded into the mouth of a tunnel, green and gold like a tree-lined lane in summer.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and taking hold of her wrists pulled her into the tunnel.

"No!" She writhed in his grasp, spat curses.

Shadows stirred In the darkness, circling. Mal hesitated and Olivia pulled one wrist from his grasp, pivoting away. He seized her elbow with his free hand, and pulled her across the slippery black grass, towards the waiting figure of Sandy. Olivia – Ilianwe – looked from one to the other.

"Two of you?" she whispered.

"We are Erishen," Sandy said, "of Shajiilrekhurrnasheth. By the law of our people we command you to submit to the authority of the elders."

She only laughed. "You are not my clan-fathers, you cannot command me. Abominations!"

"If you will not surrender, you leave us no choice." Mal gestured towards the far end of the tunnel. "Come with us, and we will return to your clan, to be reborn in our true form. A ship awaits us–"

"You think they will give me the choice?" She backed away, shaking her head. "They will throw me in the ocean to die rather than risk me returning to spread dissent."

"No."

"You are young, you do not know what they are like."

He hesitated. Images formed around them, stern figures pointing at Ilianwe in condemnation. Was this some illusion she was conjuring to sway him, or Erishen's own memories? Sandy pushed him aside and took hold of her.