The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(52)

They both looked over at Ned, who was licking the last crumbs of pastry from his fingers. Glutton, Mal mouthed at him. Ned had the grace to look sheepish, and put down his empty plate with an apology.

"Tell him he may have as many pieces as he wishes," Youssef said. "He looks as though he needs a good meal."

Mal translated the first part, and after a moment Ned loaded his plate and settled back to enjoy this rare luxury. Mal turned back to Youssef and cleared his throat.

"We have not known one another long, sir," he said, "and yet I feel I can call you a friend."

Youssef inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"And, as a friend," Mal went on, "I hope you will consider a humble request. You do owe me a favour, after all."

Youssef leaned forward, but it was only to pour more tea.

"Was helping you rescue the child of the painted ones not enough?"

"I thought it more of a… down payment. After all, I did save your life that one time. Or was it twice? Anyway, surely that's worth more than one skrayling boy?"

"It was once. The second time was by Allah's blessing. And it was your manservant's doing, in any case."

"It was a lucky shot," Mal conceded. "Though I had to buy Madame Félice a new warming-pan."

"I doubt she needs you to warm her bed, my friend. So." He leaned back in his seat. "What is this great favour that will wipe out my debt?"

"Will you take me back to Sardinia on the Hayreddin, and if the Falcon cannot be repaired soon enough for my needs, would you take me on to Venice?"

Youssef appeared to consider the request for a moment.

"To the first part, yes. I was going to leave port in a day or so in any case."

Mal began to smile, but Youssef held up his hand.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I am bound for al-Jaza'ir. I have a cargo of pitch and timber in my hold, and a buyer waiting."

"You could take it to Venice instead," Mal replied. He sipped the scalding tea. "The Republic always has need of shipbuilding materials."

Youssef spat on the deck. "I would as soon sell my cargo to the Spanish."

"That would make a pleasant change. As I recall you stole your last cargo from them."

Youssef's eyes narrowed, then he burst out laughing.

"Very true. But I still don't see why I should help you."

Mal lowered his voice. One never knew who was listening.

"I am on a mission to discover the Venetians' plans for regaining influence in the Mediterranean," he said. "Is that not worth a little of your time?"

Youssef shrugged. "The empire has been at peace with Venice for a generation. Who am I to stick my oar in those waters?"

Mal raised his tea glass to the light, admiring the delicate pattern of gilding around its waist. Only the Venetians made glass this fine.

"Peace has its benefits," he said. "Trade with old enemies, for one."

"You do not give up easily, do you, Englishman?"

Mal suppressed a smile. The tide turns.

"And then of course there is Raleigh's ship, the Falcon," he added. "Even now, the Spanish may be closing in on Cagliari."

Youssef grinned, his dark eyes glinting like Sandy's obsidian blade.

"Now you are talking, my friend. It will be my pleasure to snatch such a prize from the grasp of my old enemy – and yours."

As they neared Cagliari, Youssef sent all his lookouts aloft to keep an eye out for the Spanish. Ned half-expected to find the Falcon taken, but as they entered the harbour he spotted the galleon at anchor where they had left it. Still, it would not do to be seen coming to Raleigh's rescue, so he and Mal disguised themselves as members of Youssef's crew in baggy calf-length breeches and canvas shirts, barefoot and with kerchiefs tied about their heads. Mal even removed his earring and stowed it in his discarded boot; the black pearl was too distinctive and valuable a bauble to be worn by a lowly sailor.

Captain Youssef chose a berth not too far from the Falcon, from which vantage point they were able to see Raleigh's crew at work on the repairs. There was no sign of Spanish soldiers on board.

"A pity," Ned muttered. "I should have liked to see that bastard Hansford taken by the Spanish. With any luck they'd hang him, like his assassin friend."

"You'd rather travel with Youssef, then?" Mal said with a smile as they disembarked.

Ned shrugged. "He's all right, for a foreigner."
They blended into a group of sailors leaving one of the other ships, then slipped down a side-alley and headed for the inn where Raleigh was staying.

Ned trailed after Mal, still feeling a little queasy. The rich pastries had sat like a stone in his stomach on the journey back from Marseille, and it had taken all his self-control not to throw them up again. To make matters worse, when they found Raleigh in the inn's courtyard he was smoking his foul pipe and playing cards with Warburton and Hansford. Ned wasn't sure which of the two made his stomach curdle the most. He wandered over to stand in the shade by a potted olive tree whilst Mal told Raleigh about their business in Marseille.

Raleigh's face darkened, and the two sailors put down their cards.

"A damned Turk?" Raleigh bellowed. "You may go with him if you will, but I shall stay with the Falcon – and have my gold back."