The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(120)

"They aren't demons," Charles said. "Not really. I don't know what they are. God knows they're as unholy as anything I can imagine, and yet…"

"Perhaps they answer to the gods or devils of the skraylings," Parrish said.

"They don't have any, as far as I've heard," Coby said. "Did you see any temples, sir, when you were in the skrayling compound?"

Mal shook his head. "I don't know what the skraylings believe in, but it's not gods or devils."

"In any case," Parrish said, "we are not wholly friendless. Surely the skraylings will help, if we can get a message to them?"

"Perhaps. But if Kiiren tells them how this happened, they may wash their hands of us."

"We must at least try," Coby said.

"What about your friend, Chinky-whatever-his-nameis?" Ned put in.

"Cinquedea?" Mal frowned. "I suppose we are allies of a sort, though I would not trust him further than I could throw him."

"You know Cinquedea?" Charles said with a laugh. "Well, well, little brother, you are full of surprises today."

"Oh? You know him?"

"I know of him. Nasty piece of work. They say he's one of the Lacemaker's lieutenants. And no one messes with her."

Mal picked up an abandoned gambling chip and turned it over and over in his fingers.

"We will hold that possibility in reserve," he said. "For now, we need to work out a stratagem for dealing with the devourers. What do you know of them, Charles? What are their habits, their weaknesses?"

"I know little enough," Charles replied. "They have few weaknesses, and their only habit is to kill without mercy."

"You must know something." Mal resisted the urge to slap his brother again.

Charles shrugged. "I only know what I've seen."

"Which is?"

"They don't like daylight. It weakens them, makes them… less real."

"There's no shortage of sunshine here," Ned said.

"But the streets are narrow, and the buildings tall," Coby said. "They may be able to find somewhere to hole up during the day."

"Then we must find these shadowy places and bring light to them."

"How?"

"That's one thing the skraylings are good at," Mal said. "I think we need to send a message to the skrayling merchants, find out if any of them can sell us a barrel or two of lightwater."

"Why lightwater?" Ned asked. "Wouldn't torches do as well?"

"Torches are too dangerous. The last thing we need is to save the city by burning it to the ground." He turned to Coby. "As soon as it's light, you and Parrish go to the skraylings' palazzo."

"What if the Venetians see us?" Gabriel asked.

"I think the Venetians have other things to worry about than someone talking to the skraylings," Mal replied. "Though if you can think of a ruse to get you in there, all the better."

"Sir?" Coby left her station at the window and drew him aside. "Do we even know if Lord Kiiren and the elders survived the attacks?"

Mal shook his head. "That's my other reason for sending you. Please, bring back news of Kiiren… and my brother."

She nodded, and after a moment's hesitation embraced him.

"I won't fail you," she whispered into his chest.

He kissed her hair, wondering what he had done to deserve such loyalty. If they survived the next few hours, he would find a way to make it up to her. Olivia was gone, and he had to deal with the consequences. All of them.

As dawn broke, Coby and Gabriel ventured out of the Turk's Head into a city more deserted than they'd ever seen it. Every window was shuttered, every door closed and bolted. Ranks of gondolas bobbed against their mooring posts, their elaborately carved oarlocks empty.

"Do we go on foot, or find a gondolier?" Coby asked.

"By water would seem the safest," Gabriel replied. "I for one would not willingly risk the city's alleyways this morning, certainly not until it is full light."

Coby could not disagree, but it chafed her to wait. Every minute that passed was a minute later in returning to Master Catlyn with news. It felt like an age until the rising sun burned away the morning mists and the citizens began venturing out of doors again. She pounced upon the first gondolier to set foot on the quay, and promised him twice his usual fee if he would take them via the Grand Canal instead of cutting through San Marco. He was more than happy to do so, and soon they were gliding westwards across the broad sun-dappled waters, safe – or so she hoped – from shadow-lurking monsters.

Closer to the Fondaco dei Sanuti, the silence of the cowed city gave way to an ominous rumble of voices. Dozens of gondolas were moored along the Grand Canal in front of the skraylings' palazzo, and a mob of angry citizens filled the portico, hammering on the bronze doors and shouting what sounded like demands for the skraylings to come out.

"Take the side-canal," Coby told the gondolier. "There's no chance of us getting in past that mob."

The gondolier hauled on his oar, and soon they were slipping down the small canal that formed the southern boundary of the skrayling compound. A narrow fondamenta ran along below the palazzo wall, and a few of the more intrepid protestors had made their way to the side entrance, where they were trying unsuccessfully to break the door down. A little further along, the fondamenta widened into the street that ran behind the palazzo, and this too was choked with a mob of Venetians, chanting and throwing stones at the windows. Coby caught only a brief glimpse, however, before they were past and heading deep into Santa Croce.