The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(24)
He caught Ned eyeing the vessel nervously.
"You've seen plenty of ships before, surely?" he said.
"Aye, but I never stepped aboard one in my life."
"Lucky you," Mal muttered, hoisting his knapsack higher onto his shoulder.
He left Ned to bid his farewells to Parrish, and turned to Coby, but there was nothing to say that they had not said already. The girl stood with hands clasped behind her back, her mouth tight with emotion. Sandy stepped into the awkward silence.
"Tell my amayi I long to see him again," he said to Mal.
"I shall," Mal replied, and embraced him. "Take care of my… companion."
"Ah, Catlyn!" Raleigh was striding along the riverside towards them, but came to an abrupt halt as Sandy turned to face him. "Two of ye? The letter said naught about that."
"I came only to bid my brother farewell," Sandy put in before Mal could explain. He bowed. "Alexander Catlyn, at your service, sir."
Raleigh returned the courtesy. "Your brother says you are a mathematician."
"It interests me, yes. Though I am no expert."
"You must call by Durham House and introduce yourself. My friend Thomas Harriot would be glad of another man of learning to talk to." He turned to Mal. "Well, we must be away, sirs. Time and tide wait for no man."
Mal beckoned to Ned, who was deep in conversation with Parrish. The lovers embraced and exchanged discreet kisses, then Ned picked up his knapsack. Mal said farewell to Sandy, then there was only time to clasp hands with Coby and kiss her on the cheek before Raleigh pressed them once more to join him in the skiff that would take them out to the Falcon.
They climbed into the boat, though there was scarce room aboard for three men in addition to the rowers. Ned perched on a barrel of salt beef whilst Mal tried to make himself comfortable on a sack that crunched slightly as he shifted on it.
"Chunny," Raleigh said, indicating the sack. "Keeps better than ship's biscuit, or so I'm told."
"Dried potato?" Mal peered down at the sack. A wooden plaque carved with a distinctly skrayling emblem had been tied to the string around its neck.
"You know of it?"
"I accompanied the Ambassador of Vinland to a meeting with the guild-masters once," he said with a grimace. Soldiery could be dull, but listening to merchants' discussions was enough to send any man to sleep at his post.
"I'm trying it out in the hope of using it on my next long voyage. I've begun growing potatoes on my own estates in Ireland, but the drying of it is an art my tenants are still mastering, so I've had to buy this lot from the skraylings."
"Since they are already experts in the craft, would it not be easier to leave it to them?" Mal asked.
Raleigh smiled. "And give them all the profit on't? Certainly not."
A few minutes later the skiff bumped against the hull of the Falcon and they climbed the rope ladder to the rail. The sailors paused in their work to touch their woollen caps in acknowledgement of Raleigh's arrival. Mal noticed a few of them surreptitiously studying him and Ned when they thought the captain wasn't looking.
Raleigh showed them into the poop, a long narrow cabin with a ceiling barely high enough for Mal to stand upright without scraping his scalp on the planks of the deck above. A row of bunks were built into each side of the cabin under small arched windows, and the rest of the space was taken up by a great table and benches.
"My officers of marines sleep here in times of war," Raleigh said. "You and your man may make free with it."
He disappeared through a door at the far end, which Mal guessed led to the captain's cabin.
The bunks' sides were built high enough to stop a man falling out as the ship rolled. Two had bedding piled on them: sheets, thin blankets and a bolster, all stained with long use. Mal unstrapped his rapier and stowed it between the mattress and the ship's side, where it wouldn't roll around, then set about exploring the confines of their new lodgings. There wasn't much to inventory: a small locker beneath each bunk, a barrel of what looked to be wine, several lamps hanging from hooks and a storage chest full of pewter tableware.
"This isn't so bad," Ned said, looking around. "You told me ships were wretched places."
"They are, for the most part. The rest of the crew will be crammed cheek-by-jowl belowdecks, sleeping in hammocks and breathing the stink of the bilges."
"What are hammocks?"
"I'll explain later. Come, let's go out on deck and wave farewell to our friends."
"Tide's turning, captain!" one of the sailors called out as they emerged from the cabin.
"Raise the anchor, Master Warburton!" Raleigh called up to the poop deck. "All hands, prepare to make sail!"
Canvas tumbled down from the yardarms and caught the wind, and the ship began to move downstream. Mal stood at the frost-rimed stern rail, watching Deptford shrink slowly into the distance. Before they were more than a hundred yards from the creek he saw Sandy put an arm around Coby's shoulder, and for a moment it was as if he was seeing himself, watching his old life recede into memory. He shivered, and not just from the cold. The two figures on the shore were the most dear to him in all the world; what if he never saw either of them again?
CHAPTER VII