The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(129)

"Amayiii!"

Sandy pushed past him, heading for the bridge.

"Sandy, no!" Mal dashed after him. "Sandy!"

Two figures staggered from the street onto the bridge, locked in a deadly embrace: Kiiren with fists raised as though wielding a garrotte, and a nightmare beast, writhing in agony and clawing at its prey-turned-killer. Before anyone could reach them it had slashed open Kiiren's belly, even as it breathed its last and was gone. Kiiren's spiritguard snapped between his hands, scattering jade and lodestone beads down the steps into the square.

Mal stumbled to a halt, all will seeming to drain from his limbs. Sandy ran up the steps and held his dying lover in his arms, crooning in the ancient tongue of the skraylings.

"Amayi'o anosennowe, amayi'o anodirowe, ded?hami anolessowe, acorro, accoro!"

Mal's hand went to his left shoulder, to the hawthorn tattoo Kiiren had given him when they first met. These were the same words Erishen spoke when he said farewell to Kiiren the last time the last time he died, in the hawthorn grove sacred to their clan. For remembering, Kiiren had said. And only now did he remember.

His own lips moved in time with the words. It was either that or scream Erishen's grief to the uncaring marble walls around them.

CHAPTER XXXV

Gloom had descended on the house, a melancholy wrought not by fashion but by real loss and grief. Gabriel refused to leave Ned's side, so Coby spent a lot of her time running up and down the stairs with jugs of hot water, or food for both patient and nurse. Meanwhile Mal sat bowed over a lute he had found somewhere in the embassy, playing the same few songs over and over, his face set like stone. Coby brought food for him too, but it sat ignored until, cold and congealed, it had to be taken back down to the kitchens, much to Jameson's disgust. Sandy just lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling in silence. After a few hours of this, Coby retreated to the relative congeniality of Berowne's parlour.

"An ill business altogether," Berowne muttered, leaning back in his chair and drawing on his pipe. "Though to fret so over the death of a foreigner… Doesn't seem right, if you ask me."

"No, sir."

Coby picked up a book lying on the table and began leafing through it, for want of anything better to do. It began as an interesting enough account of the travels of Marco Polo, but some of the pictures of fabulous beasts of the Orient reminded her far too much of the creatures they had fought outside Ca' Dario. She shuddered, and closed the book with a thud that caused Berowne to start.

"I suppose you will all be going back to England now," Berowne said, "what with the skrayling ambassador dead and the rest expelled from the city. Your master has done our country a great service."

"I suppose he has. Though at what cost?"

Berowne didn't seem to have heard, thankfully. She excused herself and went back up to the attic to see if Gabriel needed anything. Mal had put aside the lute and was staring at his hands as if they were a stranger's. Coby cleared her throat.

"I thought I'd go for a walk, to clear my head," she said. "If there's anything you need–"

Mal looked up. "I'll come with you."

She halted in the doorway, surprised but delighted at this evident improvement in his mood. They went down to the atrium in silence, and Mal opened the door to usher her out. Coby realised with a flush of pleasure that he was treating her like a woman despite her boy's garb. Still, she would have given anything to have the old Mal back. His present black humour tore at her heart.

As they crossed the little bridge heading towards San Toma, she ventured to break the silence.

"Sir Geoffrey is wondering when we will return to England."

"I dare say he is. We cannot outstay our welcome, and yet…" Mal sighed heavily. "For Sandy's sake, we cannot leave for a while yet."

She halted. "You think… Lord Kiiren…?"

Mal glanced around the street and lowered his voice.

"We have to allow that he may have been reborn, yes. And if so, we can hardly leave him here, to suffer the same fate as…"

The courtesan's name hung unspoken in the air.
"No, of course not," Coby said hurriedly, and walked on. "But how will you find him?"

"Sandy is looking, even now. But there are hundreds of women with child, and the trail gets fainter with every day that passes."

"What if he doesn't find him?"

"Then we must assume that he is dead in truth, and go home."

They walked on in silence for a while.

"It's not your fault," Coby said at last.

"No? If I had listened to your advice and not interfered, Kiiren would still be alive. Ned would still have his hand… " He shook his head. "Dear God, what is he to do? I have deprived my friend of his livelihood."

Coby had no answer to that.

"Do you suppose anyone else in Venice knows what really happened that night?" she said. "There must surely be rumours flying about the city by now."

"I don't doubt it. And none will contain more than a grain of truth, which is all to the good. I would rather not be suspected of causing trouble in Dorsoduro, would you?"

She grinned back at him. That was more like the old Mal. A moment later, however, his expression grew grave.

"There is something we needs must talk about," he said. "Something I have been meaning to say for a long time."