The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(27)

"Is there something wrong?" Coby asked as they made their way back to Southwark.

"It is in a language I do not recognise," Sandy replied.

"What?" Coby halted, heart sinking. "You can't translate it?"

"I can transcribe it, and then perhaps someone else can be found to translate it."

"I don't understand."
"The document is written in the Aiyaluran script, but the language is not Aiyalura as I had thought. There are many languages in the New World, and I know only a few of them."

"And if we can't find anyone else who knows this tongue?"

Sandy shook his head. "There must be a solution. I did not come all this way for nothing."

Sewing a coif and hemming other pieces of linen for kerchiefs took Coby until well after nightfall, and she fell into her bed too exhausted to worry about the morrow. It was full light when she woke, and she dressed hurriedly and ran down to the kitchen, fearing that Sandy might have left without her. Instead he was stirring a pot of barley gruel over the fire and whistling a strange melody.

"You're cheerful this morning, sir."

Sandy put down his spoon and straightened up.

"Last night, whilst I slept, I remembered," he said. "I remembered where I had seen the language in the duke's book."

"Where?"

"It is Latin."

"Latin? But why Latin?"

"I think it is intended as a cipher; a cipher within a cipher, in fact." He passed her a sheet of paper, which she recognised as the copy of Grey's notes she had made from memory to show Mal. "Imagine for a moment that you are a scholar well-versed in Latin. What would you make of that?"

"It's nonsense," she said. "Just squiggles."

"Indeed. And whilst the 'squiggles', as you call them, mean something to me, the words do not."

"But you and Mal both went to school," she said. "Do you not remember your Latin?"

He took the sheet of paper back, looked at it, and sighed.
"Kiiren could not heal me completely. I am… in two pieces. As I am now, I am Erishen, and can read this script, but not the language. And if I were to put on a spirit-guard again, I would forget how to read the script. Now do you see why it is a double cipher?"

"No one can read it," she said, with a shiver of excitement. "Not Christians, and not skraylings. Only guisers. If they've been to school, of course."

"Exactly. And being drawn to power, they will seek out any opportunity to gain knowledge. Latin is essential for any learned man, is it not?"

"So what do we do?"

"We will have to transcribe the original, of which this is but a crude imitation. I will read out the words to you, as best I can, and you will write them down."

"But I don't know Latin."

"Just do your best to represent the sounds in your English letters, and we will hope to make sense of them later."

"I'll try."

She made her way back upstairs, deep in thought. If they were to go back to Suffolk House, perhaps she could turn the situation to her own advantage. Grey might not be willing to confess to a liaison with Lady Frances, but there were other ways to glean intelligence. Time to put her skills to good use.

This time they were shown into a book-lined room on the ground floor of Suffolk House and Grey was not present, only a middle-aged man in dark blue servant's garb with a gilded unicorn badge on a chain about his neck. Coby's heart sank.

"Master Dunfell," she said, bowing. She turned to Sandy. Please let him remember he's supposed to be Mal. "Sir, I don't think you were introduced to the late duke's secretary, were you?"

"We met at the theatre," Dunfell said with a sniff. "Briefly."

To her relief Sandy inclined his head in acknowledgement and managed a polite bow.

Dunfell went over to the desk and opened an unlocked cupboard, from whence he took a sheaf of blank paper and some uncut quills. He set them down next to the enciphered book and fussed with the inkwells.

"His Grace instructed me to provide you with all the materials you may need," he said. "Dinner will also be provided, in the servants' hall. I will send someone to fetch you at 1 o'clock."

"Of course, sir," Coby said. "Thank you, sir."

Dunfell favoured her with a brief, icy look and left without another word.

"He doesn't like you," Sandy said.

"He asked me to spy on Mal, back when I worked at the theatre. I'm afraid I disappointed him." She picked up a quill and searched on the desk for a pen knife. "What are we going to do about the book, sir? Lord Grey expects a translation."

"We will make the true transliteration first," Sandy replied, "then if need be I will invent something to satisfy Grey."

It took them a good hour to transcribe the first page, by which time Coby's head was aching. This was more difficult than any cipher Mal had taught her.

"May we rest a while?" she asked Sandy, flexing her cramped hand. "I have business of my own here."

"Oh?"

"Your brother's business." It was enough of the truth for now. "Please, stand watch at the door, will you?"

"What are you doing?"