The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(71)

After a moment's hesitation he took up the lamp and searched the credenza's drawers and cupboards, but found only a sewing basket and a few items of the sort that a lady might want before leaving the house: gloves, masks and so on. One was the cream silk half-face mask that Olivia had worn the previous evening. So, this was her suite.

Intrigued now, he went back to the nearer of the two doors. The small room beyond was spartan even by Venetian standards, with whitewashed walls, marble floor and for furniture only a close-stool, a wash stand and a hip bath in the shape of an oyster shell. A room just for washing? Perhaps it was a Moorish custom.

He was about to try the other door when he heard the key rattle in the lock. Quickly he returned to the credenza, put down the lamp and adopted a nonchalant pose.

"Ah, so you are still here," Olivia said, crossing to the window with a graceful swaying walk and closing the shutters. "I was afraid you might have been alarmed by Hafiz's… intervention."

"Who were those men? Are you an accomplice of Il Mercante?"

She closed the space between them and put a finger to his lips. "So many questions. But first I think you owe me some answers, Signore Inglese."

"Oh?"

"Who are you–" she reached up and removed his mask "–and why are you here?"

"My name you already know, and I am here because you invited me."

"Come, signore, the time for games is over." She ran a fingertip along the edge of his left ear and down to the lobe. "Put aside your pretty armour, and be your true self."

Mal prayed his surprise did not show in his face. She recognised the spirit-guard for what it was, which could mean only one thing.

"And what then?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"We are two of a kind, you and I," she said. "Outcasts, for reasons not of our choosing. Is that why the sanuti are here? To track you down?"

Is that what she thinks I am, a renegade guiser? Perhaps I should play along. It is not so very far from the truth, after all.

He forced a laugh. "I arrived in Venice but two days ago."

"So you say. But perhaps you have been in hiding all this time, until your Sir Walter Raleigh came along and gave you a reason to visit me."

"You are very astute, signorina."

"In this city, one learns to see behind the mask if one wants to survive." She removed her own, and set it down on the credenza next to his. "Come, let us make ourselves comfortable, and you can tell me all."

She led him through the other door. Into her bedchamber.

Mal hesitated on the threshold.

"What of Bragadin? Is he your partner? Is he Il Mercante?"

Olivia laughed. "He is naught but my puppet. A woman here has no station but that which a man gives her, so I must make the appearance of being a rich man's mistress." She turned and smiled. "As I told you before, I am no man's property."

Mal followed her inside, little reassured by this. If Bragadin were Il Mercante and she controlled him, what were her plans for himself?

An enormous canopied bed draped in crimson damask dominated the room, and a haphazard layer of Turkish rugs muffled Olivia's footfalls as she went about the room lighting candles. The window was his best chance for a hasty exit, since it opened onto the Grand Canal, though he was not a strong swimmer. Perhaps the door to the antechamber, then, and a climb down to the garden.

When all the candles were lit, Olivia blew out the taper and sat down on a couch by the window.

"Will you help me with these?"

She lifted her skirts to reveal the chopines. Mal knelt and unfastened the buckles and lacings that held them over her silk slippers, then eased them off her feet and put them aside. Olivia sighed and wiggled her toes, and patted the cushioned seat beside her. Mal sat down, arranging himself so that his hand was not too far from his dagger hilt.

"Who are you?" she whispered, twisting on the seat so that she could look him in the eyes. "Have the Christians taken to capturing our people once more?"

Mal shook his head. "I came here by choice, looking for you."

He held her gaze, willing himself not to look away and betray the lies. Sandy should be here doing this, he has far more of Erishen's memories than I, he would know exactly what to say.

"For me? Do I know you?"

"No, my lady. I am but newly stepped onto this path."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why should I trust you? The elders could have sent you to trap me."

"The elders would never approve such a step. You know it is against our law."

"And you broke that law," she said softly. "Why?"

He tried to imagine how Sandy would put it. "Because I think the elders are wrong," he said at last. "You are not evil. Becoming human is not evil."

"Ah, the confidence of youth," she said, smiling. "The elders are indeed wrong. And you, sweet boy, are the answer to my prayers."

"How so?"

"Tell your name," she purred, trailing a hand up his arm.

"You know my name. Mal."
"Your true name."
Mal hesitated. In many a fairytale, the true name of an elf or hobgoblin gave one power over them. Did the same apply to guisers?

"Does it matter?" he said at last.