The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(53)

Mal replied in placating tones and sat down on the bench next to Raleigh. The captain glowered at first, but his expression softened at every word and eventually he smiled and nodded. They shook hands and Mal came over to Ned's shady corner.

"You persuaded him to go with us?" Ned said as they headed up to their chamber.

"I reminded him that the Queen herself had commanded this service. I also suggested that, when we get to Venice, he puts it about that he captured the Hayreddin in a mighty sea-battle. There are enough Christians in Youssef's crew to make it look like the truth, if we have them all manning the ship when we arrive."

Ned chuckled.

"You've turned quite the cunning rascal, you know that?"

"I learned from the best," Mal replied with a grin.

Ned hid his delight at this compliment with an elaborate bow. If only some of that persuasive power could be his, the remainder of this voyage would be a lot more enjoyable.

"Monsieur Catlyn! Monsieur Catlyn!"

Mal levered himself up on his elbow and squinted at the door.

"Who is it?"

He got to his feet and gingerly crossed the rough floor. The voice came again. Mal wrenched the door open and was almost hit in the face by a frantic sailor.

"What is it?"

"Monsieur! Captain Youssef sent me to fetch you. The Spanish have been sighted, four galleons flying the royal ensign."

"We'll be right there." He went back inside and woke Ned. "Come on, lazy bones! Time to go."

As soon as Ned was on his feet, Mal went to find Raleigh. The rest of the crew were soon roused and sent to rejoin their fellows on the Falcon, and the three Englishmen headed for the Hayreddin. The harbour lay in shadow still, and a chill breeze blew down off the hills.

"Take my ship back to Marseille," Raleigh told Warburton, "then come to Venice as soon as she's fully repaired."

"Aye, captain."

They boarded the galleass, and Mal and Ned went to change back into their familiar English garb. They had been assigned a tiny cabin in the fo'c's'le with no bunks, only three paillasses that covered most of the floor. The sturdy lock on the door suggested this was normally used as a storeroom for valuable cargo.

"Damned uncomfortable way to spend the rest of our journey," Raleigh muttered.

He gestured for Mal and Ned to place his sea chest on the only remaining piece of bare floor, and stumped back out on deck.

"This is going to be cosy," Ned said, throwing down his own small knapsack.

"We can spend most of the day on deck," Mal replied. "At least the weather is better than in the Atlantic."

They went back up to find the oars shipped and the crew preparing to row out of the harbour. Mal shaded his eyes and gazed southwards. Four white sails in the distance, though he could not make out their flags. Youssef's lookouts must have the eyes of hawks.

"We'll tow the Falcon out to sea," the captain said as the Hayreddin began to move. "This land breeze is too feeble to get her going fast enough to outrun the Spanish."

"Can we help?" Mal said, looking down at the men straining at the oars.

Youssef shook his head. "My men know the rhythm; you would only break it and slow us down. Do you know how to work the sheets?"

"A little."

He sent Mal and Ned to help unfurl the sails, and they hauled on the ropes until their hands were blistered. The Hayreddin slipped past the Falcon and threw her a line, then the two ships moved out of the harbour together, veering eastwards out of the path of the oncoming galleons. The Spanish changed course to intercept, fanning out in a line that spanned the bay.

"Do you think they'll fire on us?" Ned asked when they paused for breath.

"Probably," Mal replied, wiping his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve. His left shoulder ached and his palms felt like they'd been burned with brands. "They have more sail as well."

"And that's bad, is it?"

"They're faster, but less manoeuvrable. It's going to be close."

The westerly wind caught the Falcon's sails at last, and she slipped her cable and drew alongside the Hayreddin.

"The sooner we split up," Raleigh yelled across to Warburton, "the harder it'll be for the Spanish to catch us both. Run before the wind, then turn back north as soon as you can."

"Aye, my lord. I'll see ye in Venice – or take a few Spaniards down with me to Hell!"

The Falcon, true to her name, sped eastwards. Her transom was still a patchwork of salvaged timbers, but she was otherwise sound and fled the confrontation without further damage. Youssef steered the Hayreddin to starboard, on a heading that would take them between two of the Spanish galleons.

"Is that wise?" Mal said, joining him on the poop deck.

"They will have to turn to fire on us," he replied, "and they risk hitting their own ships if they do so."

"And if they don't turn and we time it wrong, the starboard one could ram us amidships."

Youssef nodded. "And we could rake the other in the stern."

The Spanish had clearly come to the same conclusion, for the more easterly of the two began to turn north whilst its companion continued on its course. Mal and Ned could only watch anxiously from the rail as the Hayreddin drew closer to the galleons.