The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(12)

"Aye. And order supper, if we're not too late."

After she had gone, Sandy rummaged around in his saddlebag and produced a small leather pouch. By the way he handled it, Mal guessed it contained something heavy and perhaps fragile. Sandy sat down on the end of the bed and stared at it, a frown creasing his brow.

Mal leant on the bedpost and cocked his head on one side in a silent question. Sandy looked up.

"A gift from Kiiren," he said, tipping the contents onto the worn coverlet beside him as if reluctant to touch whatever it was.

Kiiren's gift turned out to be a string of the same beads Mal had found beside the road on Corsica. Perhaps larger, and certainly rather more of them, enough to go right round a man's neck. A spirit-guard.

"I thought wearing iron made you soul-sick?" Mal forced the words out.

"It does, in time. But I must wear it, or leave myself defenceless." Sandy sighed and prodded the necklace with a fingertip. "I do not think Jathekkil was the only guiser in England, do you?"

It was something Mal had thought about a lot in the past year and a half. Particularly in the small hours, when he couldn't sleep.

"You didn't put it on when we landed."

"I doubt there are any guisers this far from London. Nor are there enough dreamers in these small towns to disturb my own sleep. But in the city… How soon will we be there?"

"At this pace? Perhaps the day after tomorrow, if we suffer no mishaps."

"Then I should get accustomed to the feel of it, at least when I sleep."

"You expect something… bad?"

"It has been a while. I really do not know." He unbuttoned his doublet and loosened the drawstring on the neck of his shirt. "Will you help me? I am afraid I…"

Mal picked up the necklace. The metal beads were ice cold after the journey, and he breathed on them to warm them a little. Sandy pulled the neck of his shirt open, and Mal knelt on the bed behind him and slipped the loop of beads over his head. His brother flinched and his breath caught.

"Sorry! Did that hurt?" Mal asked, fastening the catch.
"No," Sandy replied after a moment, and with a flush of joy Mal recognised something different in the timbre of his voice, something more like the brother he knew.

"Alexander?" He scrambled off the bed and moved round to get a clearer view of his brother's face. "Is that you?"

"Of course it's me," Sandy replied with a smile. "Who were you expecting?"

"But… Erishen…"

"He is still inside me. He… we are still me." He grinned at Mal's puzzled expression. "You remember when we were fourteen? We broke into the cellar and drank father's best muscat until we were sick."

"Do I ever!" Mal laughed. "Between the hangover and father's beating, I thought I was going to die."

"And you know how, when you're drunk, you say and do things… things you would never dream of when you were sober?"

"Aye." All too well.

"It's like that. I remember saying and doing things, but it doesn't feel like it was me who did them. And yet it was me. Well, that's what it's like. Being Erishen."

"And now?"

"Now I'm sober, for a while. Until I take the spiritguard off."

"Then he comes back."

"No. Then I am him again."

"How is that different?"

"I don't know. It just is."

"I don't understand, and I'm not sure I want to. As long as you're back…"

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and a moment later Coby came in, carrying a jug and three leather tankards.

"Supper is on its way, and hot water in about an hour." She rubbed her arms. "It's a bit cold in here, isn't it? Why don't we go back down to the common room?"

"No," Mal said, as she turned to leave. "Sandy's not in the humour for company. Are you, Sandy?"

Sandy appeared about to say something, but shook his head.

"Very well," Coby said, and set about filling the tankards.

"I suppose," Sandy said, when they were all settled on various corners of the bed, "you want to know what the skraylings were up to, on that ship you found?"

"You know?" Coby asked, leaning forward. "Why didn't you say sooner?"

Mal hushed her. "Go on."

"They were sailing to Venice."

"Venice? Why Venice?"

"I don't know. Something to do with a new alliance, I think."

"But the Vinlanders are allied with England," Coby said.

"Those you know as Vinlanders consist of many clans. Kiiren and the merchants in Southwark come from the same clan, the Shajiilrekhurrnasheth, but there are others on Sark now. Or hadn't you noticed?"

Mal snorted. "I can barely tell one skrayling from the next."

"Is that why there was another outspeaker there?" Coby asked. "The one we found–"

"Dead? Yes."

"And these other clans," Mal said. "They want an alliance with Venice?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"But their outspeaker is dead now, so there's nothing to worry about," Coby said. "Is there?"