The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(125)

"And you think they're in there?" Coby stared up at the building, imagining dead eyes staring back at her from the leaf-framed darkness.

"The gate is rusted up," Gabriel said. "Doesn't look like it's been opened in years."

"They wouldn't go in that way. See, along the wall?"

At the far end of the wall where it turned a corner to run alongside the canal, some of the stone coping was missing, and on either side of the gap fresh white score-marks stood out like wounds. The marks of enormous claws.

Several of Cinquedea's men had joined them in the square. Two started filling empty bottles with lightwater, and the rest went from house to house with these makeshift lanterns, offering them to any householder who dared to answer their knock, and hanging them up outside the doors and windows that remained shut. Soon the little square was as brightly lit as the skrayling compound, though the blue and yellow lanterns combined to cast an eerie underwater light on the fa?ade of the palazzo.

Cinquedea came over and bowed to Mal. "We have fulfilled our side of the bargain, and more. Now, if you will excuse us, we have to return to our families, before…"

He jerked his head towards the darkened building.

"I understand," Mal said. "Thank you."

Cinquedea snorted. "You can thank me in the morning. Good luck, and may the saints watch over you this night."

He beckoned to his men, and they departed without a backward glance. Coby swallowed past the lump in her throat. They were alone now, with a dozen deadly creatures just waiting to come out and slaughter them all.

"Charles and I will go inside," Mal said. "Ned: you, Hendricks and Parrish will wait here and pick off any that try to flee back into the city."

"No!" Coby grabbed his sleeve. "You can't, not just two of you. It's too dangerous."

He took her in his arms. "This is my fault, love. I have to mend it."

He kissed her forehead, and she swallowed against the tears pricking her eyes. She clung to him for a long moment, not wanting it to end.

"One last thing," he said. "Wear this for me."

He held out Sandy's old spirit-guard.

"No, I cannot–"

"Please. I don't know what those creatures can do in this world, but you need this protection more than I." He looped the necklace behind her head and fastened the catch. "Be sure to wear it under your shirt, next to your skin."

She nodded, quite unable to speak. He bent and kissed her lips, and she melted into the embrace, cursing herself for all the times she had pushed him away. At last he withdrew, and wiped her tears away with a rough thumb.

"Go then," she whispered. "And may God be with you."

"And with thee."

CHAPTER XXXIV

Once Coby had retreated to a safe distance Mal prepared to enter the palazzo. He checked both his blades, and then removed his earring and stowed it in his pocket. Tonight he would need all his faculties, more than he needed the lodestone's protection. At least if the devourers ate his soul he would be spared the torments of Hell. A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"What's so funny?" Ned asked.

Mal shook his head. "Give us a boost over the wall, will you?"

Ned crouched and laced his hands together.

"Just like old times," he said with a grin.

Mal vaulted onto the coping, sitting astride the wall, and Ned handed him up a lightwater lantern. What had once been an elegant paved courtyard surrounded by evergreen shrubs was now waist deep in weeds, its topiary outgrown and curtained in tangles of wild rose and woodbine. He scanned the shadows for movement. Nothing, not even a pigeon or rat disturbed by the light. He transferred the lantern to his left hand, swung his other leg over the wall and jumped down. Still nothing. He drew his rapier, slow and silent, then glanced back through the gate. Charles stood frozen, his face pale as the stucco'd wall.

"Art craven, brother?" Mal said quietly.

Charles pulled a face. "Don't teach thy grandame to suck eggs. I were hunting these creatures before you were breeched."

"Then come on over. And be quick about it."

Two hands appeared on the stone coping, then Charles hauled himself over the wall to land with a crunch on a frost-shattered flowerpot.

"Jesu–!"

"Quiet!" Mal glared at him. "Or would you fight them all at once?"

His brother gave him a sour look and drew his own sword. "After you."

Mal picked his way through the weeds and toppled statuary towards the palazzo entrance.

"Door's shut," Charles whispered. "Perhaps they climbed up the vine and went in through a window."

Mal followed his gaze.

"I don't think so. Take another look at the door. No–" he barred Charles' way with an arm. "Don't go any closer. Just look."

"It's slightly askew," his brother said. "And there are scrapes along one edge."

"Torn off its hinges by clawed hands," Mal said, "and put clumsily back in place to keep out the light. It'll be a bastard to open quietly."

"It's the only way in. Unless you fancy climbing that vine?"

"I think the time for stealth is over. Let's announce ourselves, shall we?"