The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(58)

Mal peered in through the shop window as if admiring the clock and Ned leant against the nearby wall, hands in pockets, chewing the lower edge of his moustache. A trip to the barber's was in order and soon, unless he wanted to look like a beggar. Or a sailor on shore leave. Much as he longed to go home, he wasn't looking forward to another month at sea.

To distracted himself from his ill humour he turned his attention to the passing crowds. Most of the men were dressed in sombre black, and practically all the women were of the lower sort: suntanned peasant women in brightly coloured skirts, or whores with bare breasts and painted faces, their yellow hair piled high on their heads. He had heard Berowne say that the Venetian nobles kept their womenfolk locked up like virgins in a brothel, but had discounted it as exaggeration. Perhaps the bumbling old maltworm was not entirely ignorant after all.

Raleigh appeared at the shop doorway.

"Ah, Catlyn! I shall be dining with Signore Quirin today, so you are free to go about your own business."

Mal bowed and thanked him, then beckoned to Ned.

"Come," he said in a loud voice, "let us stroll around this magnificent city a while and enjoy its sights."

Ned detached himself from the wall and trotted after him.

"So where are we going?"

"I thought we might take in the Rialto Bridge and buy dinner at the fish market." Mal replied with a wink.

Ned grinned. According to Berowne, the skraylings' lodgings were along the Grand Canal from the fish market. Time for a bit of intelligence work after all.

CHAPTER XVI

Like the Thames, Venice's main waterway had only one bridge, lined with shops on either side to catch the ever-flowing foot traffic. But whereas London Bridge was a long level street supported on massive piers, the Rialto Bridge leapt the Grand Canal in a single arch of dazzling white stone.

"Is it not splendid?" Mal said, as they climbed the broad, shallow steps to its summit. "Berowne says it was only completed a handful of years ago."

Ned had to admit that it was very grand. After the oppressive narrowness of the Venetian streets it felt good not to be hemmed in by strangers, if only for a short while.

"I thought Raleigh wanted to buy lace for the Queen," he said. They paused to take in the view of the Grand Canal, glittering in the mid-morning sun. "He seemed a lot more interested in those clocks, though."

"I think it is not only Her Majesty he plans a gift for," Mal replied with a smile.

"No?"

"There is much in Venice to interest a man of scholarship, and a gift like that astronomical clock would be well received by Northumberland, I think."

Ned shrugged. He cared little for the doings of the high and mighty, although somehow he always managed to get entangled in them anyway. Another hazard of keeping company with Mal.

It wasn't hard to find the fish market. Not because it stank like Billingsgate; on the contrary, the cobbles were as clean as any in Venice and the fish looked fresh-caught that morning, their scales glinting in the sun and their eyes plump and clear. Rather it was the cooking smells that alerted the nose; the scent of fish fried over charcoal with onions and spices. Ned's mouth began to water.

"Dinner?" Mal said, grinning down at him.

"Dinner."

Mal bought two plates of fried sardines and they ate them standing a short distance from the stall.

"We could always send a letter," Ned said after a while.

He inclined his head towards a large red brick building across a side canal from the market, which had a sign bearing the word "Poste" hung over the door. When Berowne had told them about the city's public postal service over supper the night before, Ned's first thought had been to send a letter to Gabriel back in London.

Mal gave him a sarcastic look.

"All right," Ned muttered. "It was just an idea."

"And not a very good one." Mal's eyes narrowed as he stared across the Grand Canal. "And yet it is not wholly without merit…"

"What are you thinking?"

"Later. I need to mull it over. Let us continue with our tour of the city for now."

Ned finished off the last of his fish and licked his fingers clean, then took Mal's plate and his own back to the stall-holder.

"We should take a gondola," Mal said. "We'll get a much better view of the palaces from the water."

? ? ? ?
For an extra lira, the gondolier was happy to give them a tour of the Grand Canal and point out all the places of interest.

"And there, signori," he said, gesturing somewhat dismissively to a marble-fronted palazzo on the lefthand bank, "is the Fondaco dei Sanuti, residence of the ambassador from the New World."

Mal made no reply. The swaying of the gondola was making him feel seasick again. However it was a far less conspicuous way of reconnoitring the skraylings' residence than on foot, and there was no chance of getting lost either.

He fixed his eyes on the palazzo fa?ade in the hope that it would quell his nausea a little. The prospects for getting into the fondaco unseen were not good. Like most grand buildings in Venice its main entrance opened onto the canal bank, where a short flight of steps led up from the water to its colonnaded porch. A smaller canal ran down the lefthand side of the building, and a broad street along the right. As they passed the latter, Mal caught a glimpse of another, narrower street running directly behind the fondaco. No chance of getting in over the roofs, then.