The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(92)

"That whoreson cur betrayed us." Ned's voice rose to a shout. "Just wait till I get my hands on him, I'll–"

"Quiet, Ned! We don't know who's listening."

"I don't care who's listening–"

"Ned, for the love of all the saints–" Mal drew a deep breath. "We are prisoners of the Doge. And this is his torture chamber."

In the appalled silence that followed, Mal knelt on the bare boards and began to pray. To Our Lady, the Archangel Michael, and every saint whose name he could remember.

CHAPTER XXV

When they reached the inn, Coby bade the servant wait for a few minutes. Sandy might want to send back a message of his own. She ran into the inn and up to her room. Valentina was lying on the bed with her back to the door, crying softly. Sweet Jesu, what had Gabriel done to upset her?

"Who are you?"

Coby turned round to see Zancani glowering at her.

"Jacomina?" He took a step closer. "What is this? Some new idea for the play?"

"Uh, yes." Coby's mind raced. "In England, it's traditional for boys to play women's roles. I thought it would be funny to do it the other way round."

"Perhaps, perhaps. We will try it out tomorrow."

"Have you seen Gabriel or Sandy?"

Zancani's expression changed. "Alessandro is in big trouble when I find him."

"What do you mean?"

"Ask your friend Gabriel. He's downstairs, drunk or crazy, I'm not sure which." Zancani walked away, muttering under his breath in Italian.

Gabriel, drunk? Gabriel never got drunk.

She found Gabriel at a table in the darkened courtyard, staring into a candle flame. There was an empty wine cup by his elbow, but the jug next to it was almost full.

"Gabe, what's happened?" she asked. "Why is Sandy in trouble?"

He blinked up at her.

"Sandy's gone," he said in a tight voice.

"What?"

"Vanished in a flash of light."

"Oh no. No no no…" She slumped down on the seat opposite. The last time this had happened, he had been spirited away by Kiiren, but this time? It was too much to hope that he had been so fortunate again. "Tell me everything," she said, refilling his cup.

"I did as you asked," he said, gazing into the depths of the wine like a fairground fortuneteller scrying the future, "and offered to read to Valentina as she did her sewing. She insisted on coming down to the men's chamber, as there was more light – at least, I think that's what young Benetto was saying, though he seemed to think it was more that she did not want to be alone with a young man in her own bedchamber–"

"Gabriel?" She laid a hand on his wrist. "What happened to Sandy?"

"Oh. Sorry. Well, Sandy was lying on his bed dozing and Benetto was trying to teach Valerio and Stefano a new three-way juggling pattern, so Valentina and I sat at the other end of the room out of their way. I was just acting out a scene from The Jew of Malta – you know, Rafe's favourite speech, where Barabas gets boiled in the cauldron – when there was a blinding light from behind me. I turn round to see Sandy walking towards a… a bright doorway that shouldn't have been there, then he vanishes and Valentina runs back to her room, screaming about witchcraft." He took a gulp of wine. "I managed to persuade Zancani that Sandy was just experimenting with some skrayling fireworks and scared the girl out of her wits, but the whole troupe is rattled. Especially since Sandy is nowhere to be found."

"Perhaps it would be better if we left. Go and get your knapsack, and mine too."

She ran back out onto the canal bank. To her relief, the ambassador's servant was still there, chatting with a group of gondoliers.

"Please wait a little longer," she told him. "My companion and I want to go back to the embassy."

Gabriel emerged from the inn a couple of minutes later, glancing nervously back over his shoulder.

"Zancani will skin us alive for walking out like this," he said as they climbed into the gondola.

"Zancani can go to Hell," Coby muttered. "All that matters is finding Sandy before Mal gets back."

Mal's prayers were interrupted by the creak of a door and the shuffling of footsteps. He got stiffly to his feet and went over to the grille. Three men in black robes were making their way to the bench: the elderly chancellor and two slightly younger men. A secretary followed, carrying a pile of documents.

Mal looked across at the opposite cell. Ned's face was as pale as whey against the blackness within, but he managed a ghost of his habitual grin. Mal forced a smile in return, then turned his attention back to the new arrivals.

The three men had taken their places and were talking amongst themselves in low voices. The secretary placed the stack of documents in front of the chancellor, bowed, and left. The chancellor picked up the first item on the stack with palsied hands: a letter sealed with dark wax. He broke the seal, read its contents and then passed it to one of his colleagues, who then passed it to the third. After some discussion, one of the younger men made a note in a ledger, and they moved on to the next item.

Ned cleared his throat as if to speak and Mal shot him a warning glance, shaking his head. One of the clerks looked up briefly, then went back to his work. The chamber was silent but for the scratching of pen on paper. Make them wait, Walsingham had taught him on the subject of interrogation. Anticipation is half the torture. Perhaps his mentor had learned the technique from the Venetians.