The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(83)

Erishen leapt to his feet and ran down the path to the city, small stones scattering before him as he went.

Coby sat in the inn yard, hemming another of the squares of linen. She refused to wear her stage costume during the day, even though her English gown was too hot and heavy for this climate. She still felt horribly naked in skirts, with the air moving freely around her bare legs, but at least this way most of her skin was hidden from view. A sudden movement in the corner of the courtyard drew her attention, and she looked up to see Sandy, breathless and dusty, walking towards her. She hastily secured her needle in the fabric and leapt to her feet.

"What's happened?"

"He is coming. Hennaq."

She beckoned urgently to Gabriel, who was practising a new routine with the juggler, Benetto. He excused himself and came over to join them. Sandy sat down on the bench next to her and told them what he had seen. Gabriel swore, more colourfully than Coby had heard him in a long time. She looked around the yard to see if anyone had noticed, but the players had gone inside.

"Skraylings? Are you sure?"

"You think I cannot recognise the ships of my own people?"

"It might not be Hennaq," she said. "Kiiren's wasn't the first skrayling ship to come to Venice, was it?"

"No," Gabriel said, "but what are the chances of it being someone else?"

"Then we have to leave, as soon as possible. How long do you think it will take them to get here, Sandy?"

Sandy cocked his head on one side, his eyes darting back and forth as if calculating the route.

"Several hours, perhaps a whole day. The wind is not in their favour."

"But it is not in ours, either," Coby said. "Not if we want to sail north, to Venice."

"Perhaps we can get away overland," Gabriel said.

Coby shook her head. "It would take us weeks to get to Venice that way. And the lands between here and Venice are overrun with those same brigands who attacked Captain Youssef's ship."

"We have to get away from Spalato somehow. Perhaps go north on foot and then get a ship as soon as the wind turns?"

"How? We have hardly any money, and the Hayreddin isn't due back here until the end of the week. Zancani will not leave Spalato on our say-so, not when there is still money to be had here."

"Leave Zancani to me," Sandy said. "You two pack up your belongings, in case we have to leave in a hurry."

Zancani always took a nap after dinner, a fact that Erishen was relying on. He instructed Coby and Gabriel to keep the other players occupied, then crept up to the maestro's chamber and silently let himself in. Zancani was lying on the bed fully clothed apart from his shoes, and snoring loudly. Erishen tiptoed over to the bed and drew up a stool. Placing one hand on the man's greasy curls he took a deep breath and let himself sink into that quiet place on the edge of sleep.

With physical contact the transfer was almost instantaneous. One moment he was crouched on a stool in an inn room; the next, he was in the darkened market square, sitting where the audience had been. Just in front of him stood Zancani in his nightshirt, watching the stage where the girl Hendricks danced alone. Round and round she spun, her skirts whirling higher and higher. Zancani drifted towards the stage, a rosy-pink erection peeping from the front hem of his nightshirt. Erishen snorted in disgust, but the maestro did not hear. Round and round the girl danced, showing the tops of her thighs now. This must stop. Erishen leaned over and whispered in Zancani's ear. At first nothing changed, except that the dance got faster and faster. The girl's skirts whirled up over her head to reveal a writhing knot of snakes, her legs now great pythons that twisted below. Zancani staggered back, whimpering, and the stage fell dark. Good. Now he had the man frightened. Malleable.

Erishen snapped his fingers, and torches flared all around them. Zancani seemed to notice Erishen at last.

"Wh…Who are you?" he quavered.

"Do you not know me? I am Il Capitano. And you are Pantalone."

Erishen gestured, and Zancani's nightgown lengthened and darkened until he was wearing Pantalone's costume of black gown, scarlet stockings and pointed yellow slippers.

"You are a wealthy merchant of Venice," Erishen went on. "In that city lies a fortune for the taking…"

A chest brimming with gold ducats appeared at Zancani's feet.

"Gold," the player whispered.

"But you must be swift!"

Zancani fell to his knees, but the chest of gold sprouted tiny oars and rowed away across the square.

"Summon your captain and sail after it!" Erishen told him. "Now, lest it fall into unworthy hands."

"Yes, yes!" Zancani scrabbled in the dust. "We must sail at once."

Erishen withdrew his presence, and a moment later blinked in the late afternoon sunlight. Zancani had rolled over and was cradling his pillow, smiling contentedly to himself and mumbling in his sleep. Erishen got to his feet and tiptoed from the room, confident that they would be away from Spalato by nightfall.

? ? ? ?
As Sandy had predicted, Zancani awoke from his nap in a fever of urgency to leave for Venice. Amid much grumbling Benetto, Stefano and Valerio took down the tent and dismantled the stage, whilst Coby helped Valerio's sister Valentina to pack the costumes. When they were done, the men loaded everything onto a couple of handcarts.