The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(81)

As he stepped out into the street he realised it was brighter than before. Several of the windows on the upper stories were open, and people were leaning out. A man shouted. Mal broke into a run, cursing as his hood fell back. Rapid footsteps right behind him were Ned, he hoped, but he could hear doors opening now and more voices raised. He sprinted across the square in what he hoped was the right direction, halting in the shadows of the church to see if Ned had followed him.

Ned ran past, looking wildly around.

"Psst, this way!" Mal beckoned to him.

They ran down another narrow street, across a bridge, through a courtyard and under another passageway onto a broad fondamenta. No sound of pursuers. Perhaps the residents of Calle di Mezzo would not chase miscreants beyond the bounds of their own parish.

"What do we do now?" Ned gasped, leaning against the wall.

"We pray to God we can find our way home before curfew without encountering the constables," Mal said, "and that no one reports us to the Ten."

CHAPTER XXII

"I can't do this," Coby whispered, pressing herself against the back of the tent that formed their tiring house. She was dressed as Columbina, in a full calf-length skirt and a tightly laced bodice that would have shown far too much cleavage, if she had any. She twisted the mask in her fingers, wishing it were full-face to hide her blushes.

"Of course you can," Gabriel said. "You were very good in rehearsals, you know."

"Really?"

"Really. All those years watching me and Dickon didn't go to waste, that's obvious."

She forced a smile. Dickon Rudd, their old troupe's clown, had been killed in the same accident as Master Naismith.

Perhaps realising he had said the wrong thing, Gabriel struck a comic pose, sticking out his padded stomach and splaying his feet in their long slippers. He had been given the part of Il Dottore, since the character of the doctor would allow him to walk with a stick and talk elevated nonsense that no one was supposed to understand. Coby couldn't help but smile at Gabriel's antics; for such a handsome young fellow, he made a very convincing old man, all quavering voice and bowed legs.

"That's better," Gabriel said, clapping her on the shoulder. "Now go, before the audience gets restless. And don't forget what I told you."

She took a deep breath and ducked out of the tent. The low stage had been set up directly in front of it, with a wide circle of bare earth beyond that where the audience sat or stood. A hundred or more pairs of eyes gleamed in the light of the torches set on tall stands to either side of the stage, though the eyes were not on her but on the troupe's leader, Zancani. As Pantalone, he represented the archetypal Venetian merchant: rich, miserly and lecherous. Coby was sure she had bruises on her behind where the little Italian had taken his role rather too seriously during rehearsals. Fortunately her first scene was not with him.

She waited until Pantalone had made his speech and departed, then climbed the short flight of steps onto the stage. You are not Coby Hendricks, Gabriel's voice said in her head, you are Columbina, young and lovely and full of mischief.

"Arlecchino!" She put her hand beside her mouth, to emphasis the action. "Arlecchino?"

Someone in the audience laughed in anticipation. Coby crossed the stage.

"Arlecchino?"

Sandy emerged from the wings opposite, dressed as Il Capitano in his striped sash and a big-nosed mask. "Columbina?"

Coby made an extravagant gesture of mock alarm. "Capitano?"

Sandy bowed clumsily, then drew his sword. It was made of several jointed wooden sections and wobbled comically. The audience laughed at the bawdy image. Coby tutted and wagged her finger, and he put the sword away. Or tried to. It took several attempts, since the blade waved around as he moved it. The audience were helpless with laughter by now, and Coby began to relax. They were not watching her at all, she reminded herself. They were watching Columbina and Il Capitano.

Sandy began making gestures of love, kissing his hands and then stretching them out towards her. She folded her arms and shook her head. He advanced a step and repeated the pantomime. Still she refused him. He pulled a bunch of silk flowers out of his doublet and knelt, holding them out. She pouted, took them – and then hit him over the head with them. There followed a chase around the stage, with the audience cheering them both on.

"Asino! Stupido!" she yelled at Sandy. "Bamboccio!" When she ran out of the Italian insults she had learnt from Zancani, she added a few French ones for good measure. "Bricon! Crapaud!"

At last she paused for breath, fanning herself with the flowers, and Sandy pounced, taking her in his arms. She pretended to struggle until he bent her back over his arm and leant over her, feigning to kiss her. At least, that's what she expected from rehearsals. His dark eyes gleamed in the torchlight and his lips brushed hers, warm and wind-roughened. For a moment, memory of another stolen kiss took over and she kissed him back, then the audience's whoops and catcalls brought her to her senses. As she started to push him away, the juggler cartwheeled onto the stage as Arlecchino, Columbina's lover. Il Capitano took fright and dropped Columbina, who landed on her backside to more roars of laughter. Whilst the two men chased one another around the stage, Coby made a hasty retreat to the dressing-tent, biting back tears of pain and humiliation. How dare he kiss her like that, and in front of everyone!