The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(97)

"No need. I know where he is."

Everyone stared at him.

"With Lord Kiiren?" Gabriel leant forward.

"Yes."

"You're sure? I know I saw something–"

"Yes, I'm sure." Thankfully no one seemed inclined to argue with him, although he could tell from their faces that they had doubts.

"Well, good," Gabriel said at last.

"Not so good," Ned told him. "We've been trying to get in to see the skraylings since we arrived, but they're locked up tighter than a maiden's virtue."

"At least we know he's safe," Coby said.

She put her hand over Mal's where it lay on the table, and for once Ned did not smirk.

"But how do we get in?" Ned asked. "The Venetians will be watching us like hawks after last night."

"You will not go," Mal told him. "Your task is to stay here. If anyone asks for me, tell them I am taken to my bed. Better still, go openly to an apothecary and buy medicine for easing pain. Let the chancellor's spies think I am too weak from their treatment of me to venture forth."

"And what will you do?" Ned asked. "Lie abed whilst I run errands?"

"No," Mal replied with a quiet smile. "I have a mind to become an actor."

Ned padded down the stairs to the atrium. Hendricks had given him an errand to run, but first he had business of his own.

The atrium was empty, as he had expected. He checked the storeroom where the gondola was kept, but there was no sign of anyone there either. Good. He crossed to the door under the stairs and laid his ear against it. A faint clatter of pans. He smiled to himself and lifted the latch.

He found Jameson in the kitchen, stirring a pot of gruel over the fire. Even this lowly room had an elegance not seen in humble English dwellings, with handsome if antique furniture and a carved stone hood over the hearth to channel smoke up into the chimney. The manservant did not even notice Ned until he was halfway across the room. With a feeble cry of alarm he shrank back, knocking the gruel all over the hearthstones.

"Feeling guilty about something?" Ned asked him.

"I… I… I'm sorry, sir, I had no choice. The constables came to the door asking for Master Catlyn, and when I said he wasn't here they accused me of lying s… s… so I–"

"So you betrayed us?" Ned stepped closer, hand straying to his knife hilt.

"They said they'd search the house from watergate to rafters. Sir Geoffrey wouldn't like that, not at all, so I… I told them where you were going." He began to weep.

Ned gave a grunt of disgust. Mal wouldn't thank him for harming their host's servant, especially when the old coot had only been doing his duty to his master.

"Just stay in here unless Berowne calls for you, all right? If you don't see or hear anything, you can't tell anyone, can you?"

The old man shook his head, and Ned left him to clearing up the mess.

"Are you sure this will work?" Gabriel said as he and Mal followed Coby into the storeroom.

"Do you have a better plan?" she replied. "Two of us were seen arriving; only two must leave."

Gabriel opened the water gate with a hooked pole whilst Mal climbed into the gondola and curled up as best he could near the prow. Coby draped a grubby canvas over him then settled back in the cabin.

"We should have hired a gondolier," Gabriel muttered as he struggled with the oar.

"Master Catlyn said we shouldn't trust anyone. The servants have already betrayed him once."

She clung to the sides of the cabin as the gondola lurched out of the dock, bumping against the watergate. Poor Mal; this must be ten times worse for him. At last they were out into the daylight and weaving an unsteady course through Santa Croce towards the Grand Canal.

By dint of good luck they eventually found the inn where Zancani's troupe were lodged. At least their meandering route through the canals was likely to have deterred even the most persistent intelligencer.

"Master Catlyn? You can get up now."

Mal blinked up at her and coughed at the dust drifting down from the canvas sheet. She put out a hand to help him up, but he shook her off, climbing awkwardly to his feet as best he could without using his arms to bear his weight. It tore at her to see him so helpless, and she wondered what would happen if they had to fight their way out of another ambuscade. Could he even lift a sword in his present condition?

She left Gabriel tying up the gondola and led Mal through the courtyard of the inn and up to the room Zancani had rented.

"Where have you been all night?" the little man snapped in French. "I thought that you had been arrested for breaking the curfew."

"Our most profound apologies, maestro," she replied. "We went in search of our companion Alessandro, and see? Here he is."

Mal bowed stiffly on cue.

"You look terrible," Zancani said to him. "Did you spend all your silver on grappa and loose women?"

Mal merely smiled enigmatically which, Coby reflected, was no more than Sandy would have done.

"Well don't do it again," Zancani went on. "It is fortunate you will be wearing a mask on stage. Now, get into costume, all of you. You need to rehearse if we are to be ready for this afternoon's performance."