The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(32)

But the would-be assassin had already fled through the other door.

"He won't get far." Raleigh crossed the cabin and was out of the door after him with scarcely a glance at Mal. "Master Warburton! Belay that miscreant!"

Mal followed him, blinking against the lantern's afterimages that danced before his eyes.

Out on deck, his assailant had already been apprehended by three of Raleigh's men. He cowered back from the captain but did not struggle to break free. There was little point, unless he preferred drowning.

"Who is this man?" Raleigh asked Warburton as the first mate clumped down from the poop deck.

Warburton looked the man up and down, his white eyebrows twitching.

"Smith, isn't it?" he said to the man. "Tom Smith."

Smith said nothing.

"Why were you attacking my passenger?" Smith looked pointedly away, and Raleigh cuffed him round the temple. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, man. Who are you, and what is your purpose on my vessel?"

Smith spat at Raleigh's feet.

"Take him away," Raleigh said, gesturing to his men. "He hangs at dawn."

As the prisoner was led towards the hatch down to the lower decks, the door of the forward cabin opened and Ned limped out. His clothing was torn and half undone, and he sported a split lip and several bruises.

"Dear God in Heaven!" Mal crossed the deck to his friend and slipped an arm under his shoulder to support him. "Who did this?"

Ned shook his head. Mal looked around at the crew, but no one would meet his eye.

"Seems our friend there had accomplices, distracting your manservant so you could be attacked with ease," Raleigh said. "Master Warburton, half rations for all the men in the third watch until we find out who it was."

Hansford glowered at the captain.

"I heard Smith whispering and joking with some of the crew," he said slowly. "Mocking the lad here for being a mite too fond of his master, if you know what I mean, sir."

"I hope you're not insinuating anything unseemly about my passengers, Master Hansford."

"Nay, sir, not I. I'm just saying what I heard."

"Do you know who these men were?"

Hansford shook his head. "'Twere dark, cap'n."

"I see."

"As for allies, I couldn't rightly say. We took a few new men on, just afore we sailed."

"Very well, we'll look into it further in the morning." Raleigh looked around at his crew. "Well, what are you waiting for, ye lubbers? Back to work."

Seeing there was no chance of further progress tonight, Mal helped Ned back inside. They sat on one of the benches in silence until Raleigh had retreated to his own cabin, then Ned began stripping off his soiled clothing. Mal found flint and tinder and lit one of the lanterns, then hung it from a beam where he could get a better look at Ned's injuries. His friend stood naked and shivering, not meeting Mal's eye. Dark fingertip-sized bruises were already blooming on his arms where his assailants had seized him, and larger ones marred his back and chest.

Mal retrieved some clean under-linens from his own knapsack and handed them to Ned.

"I should bind your chest," he said as Ned pulled on the drawers. "You've likely cracked a rib or two."

He took one of the sheets and began ripping it into strips with his dagger.

"You don't have to–"

"Yes I do. I asked you on this expedition, and if it wasn't for that assassin wanting to get me alone, you wouldn't be in this state."

"Don't be too sure of that. Hansford was just looking for an excuse–" Ned winced as Mal wound the first bandage around his chest. "I've come across his kind before."

"It was Hansford? The lying bastard."

"Aye, and a couple of his mates."

Mal recalled some of the rougher sorts he'd met on campaign, men who took out their frustrations on anyone weaker than them, by any means that amused them. He swallowed.

"Did they…?"

Ned shook his head. "Just roughed me up a bit."

"I'd like to rough them up. With the edge of my blade." He tucked in the loose end, and tore off another strip of linen. "Hansford will get off scot-free, I suppose. No man is like to betray his superior or his comrades, not for a stranger."

Ned grunted his agreement.

"Still," Mal went on, "as Raleigh said, it's too much of a coincidence that we were attacked at the same time."

"Perhaps yon assassin did egg them on, then took advantage of the distraction."

"Perhaps."

He finished up the bandages, then helped Ned back into his shirt. On impulse, he leaned in to kiss his friend's temple.

"Don't," Ned muttered, pulling away.

Mal nodded in understanding. The last thing Ned wanted to think about was the suspected sin that had earned him this beating. He sheathed the dagger and laid both weapons along the outside edge of the bunk, between him and the door, then settled down next to them.

He lay there for hours, listening to Ned's breathing slow into sleep, wondering who had sent the assassin aboard. Plenty of people knew he was leaving with Raleigh: Jos Percy, the astronomer Harriot and his friend Shawe, indeed everyone at Raleigh's supper. Then there was Walsingham and his daughter, and perhaps through her, Grey. Dammit, it could hardly have been more public if he had printed a broadsheet and had it cried through the streets of London. There were too many connections at Court, too many threads linking him to his enemies. Perhaps exile was the only answer after all.