The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(4)
Though Mal could not understand the words, the frightened, pleading tone was unmistakable.
"Hush!" Coby replied. "Friend, no hurt you."
As Mal's eyes adjusted to the faint moonlight, he realised she had hold of a young skrayling, probably no older than herself though his hair was already striped with silver like his elders. When he caught sight of Mal, the boy froze and stared.
"Erishen-tuur?"
"In a manner of speaking," Mal replied, sheathing the rapier. Seeing the boy's confusion, he racked his brains for what little Vinlandic he knew, and inclined his head in greeting. "Kaal-an rrish."
"Kaal-an rrish, Erishen-tuur," the boy replied, bowing back. "Nejanaa Ruviq."
"Ruviq-tuur." Mal guessed it was the boy's name.
Ruviq grinned, revealing his eye-teeth, then looked guiltily back at his dead comrades. Coby said something to him in an undertone and put her arm around his shoulder.
"Come on, we'd better get back to the ship." A thought struck Mal. "Wait. Help me collect the necklaces from all the bodies."
"What? Why?"
"Just do it. Quickly."
It was a grisly task, but Mal's instincts were correct. After a few moments the boy Ruviq began to help, and they quickly gathered them all into Coby's satchel.
"I can manage," Coby said as Mal took the satchel from her and slung it over his shoulder. "It's not that heavy."
"It will be if you fall in the sea with it weighing you down. Look to the boy."
He led them back round the tower and signalled to Youssef. The Moor raised a steel-grey eyebrow at the lone skrayling youth but did not ask for an explanation. Mal's respect for the man's professionalism increased, and he wondered if he should bring Youssef into his cadre of regular informants. Perhaps later, when this business was dealt with. He helped Ruviq into the jolly-boat and sat beside him; the boy seemed to take comfort from the presence of a familiar face. Mal smiled to himself. Sometimes being mistaken for his twin brother had unexpected benefits.
At that moment a bell tolled somewhere in the citadel high above them. Rapid footsteps echoed down the long stair leading to the quay, along with shouted Italian. Youssef pushed off as muskets popped and flashed in the dark and bullets whistled overhead. Mal scrambled to help the rowers, whilst Coby pulled the boy down behind the flimsy shelter of the bulwarks. The jolly-boat lurched against the tide, moving agonisingly slowly into the lee of a fishing boat. Soldiers were pouring out onto the quay and boarding the boats. Bleary-eyed fisherman trailed in their wake, swearing at everyone indiscriminately.
As the jolly-boat pulled steadily out of the harbour, the soldiers appeared to be squabbling with the fishermen over who was in charge of putting to sea in pursuit. A few musketeers lined up in the sterns; the rising wind had scattered the clouds and the fleeing rescuers were an easy target. Youssef yelled at his men to row faster as the first fusillade peppered the water around them.
The fishing boats cast off at last, but the wind was in the west and they would have to tack hard to get round to the Hayreddin. Youssef's men laughed until a lucky shot caught one of their number in the head, sending him sprawling back against the gunwales. Coby pulled Ruviq close, not letting him see the man's body; she looked as if she was going to throw up herself. The rest of the crew bent to the oars and pulled as if the Devil himself were after them.
They reached the Hayreddin without further casualties, and climbed the rope ladder one by one. Ruviq moved slowly as if in a dream, or a nightmare. Mal beckoned to Coby, and together they took the boy into the small sidecabin in the stern.
Mal could tell she was eager to question the boy, but he stalled her with a gesture. She took the hint and with signs and a little Tradetalk encouraged Ruviq to lie down and rest. When he was settled, she followed Mal back out onto deck and they stood at the rail, staring out across the moon-limned waves.
"You needn't have killed him," she said. "The harbour watchman."
And here he was, thinking she was worried about the boy.
"Perhaps not," he said. "But you well know how chancy a business it is, to knock a man senseless. Too hard, and you may kill him anyway; too soft, and you might as well not bother. Would you rather I had taken that chance, and he had raised the alarm before we could rescue the boy?"
"No, of course not."
He put an arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him, though as much, he suspected, for warmth as any other reason. Still, it eased his own heart a little.
"So what do we do with the boy, sir?"
The note of formality in her voice brought him back to the present, and his duty to his masters in England.
"We take him back to Sark," he said. "And then we try and find out why the skraylings were here in the first place."
CHAPTER II
They sailed back to Marseille with Youssef then rode to Mal's estate near Aix with the boy. At this time of year the roads were so empty of traffic that three travellers on horseback attracted curiosity, so Coby used a little of her stage makeup to cover the tattoo lines on Ruviq's brow and cheeks and hid the rest of his face with a hood and scarf. Only his amber eyes threatened to give him away, and he kept those fixed on his hands where they rested on the pommel of his saddle.
Concealing Ruviq's identity from the servants was a different matter. They were only just coming to terms with having an English-born master, and Mal did not trust them to keep quiet about a skrayling visitor, however well-disguised. He therefore rode ahead and ensured the entire household were too busy lighting fires and preparing supper to notice Coby smuggling Ruviq into the house as dusk was falling. She had her own apartments with a lock on the door to keep out prying eyes when she was undressing, so hiding the boy for a short time would be little problem. There were however a few suspicious glances when she appeared later that evening, and not a few mutterings when she asked to eat in her room.