The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(46)

“What sort of venture?” Ned asked.

“A little favour for the Pasha,” Danziger replied in low tones. “Guaranteed to make us rich men. Are you in?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said.

“No!” Ned added a heartbeat later.

“Yes or no, gentlemen?”

“Tell us what the favour is, then we’ll decide.”

“Very well. But not here. Too many ears twitching.”

They finished their tea and followed Danziger out into the blinding sunlight. The street was nearly empty but for a one-armed beggar crouched in the shade between two buildings. The man seemed to be asleep, but when Ned tossed a coin at his feet the beggar’s hand shot out and retrieved it, tucking it into the folds of his rags before resuming his patient pose.

Danziger led them across the street, along a narrow alley and into a shady courtyard. There he knocked on a door twice, and twice again. A few moments later the door was opened by a young Moor.

“This is Amin,” Danziger said, and introduced Ned and Gabriel in fluent Arabic.

Amin showed them into a small room with a cool tiled floor and cushioned benches set around a low table of hammered brass.

“I’m courting his cousin,” Danziger whispered when Amin had left. “Lovely creature, eyes like a doe and…” He mimed generous curves in the air. “I’ll have to convert to Islam, of course, but that seems a small price to pay.”

“You really mean to settle here?”

“Why not? I have better prospects here than back home.”

“You keep talking about this venture,” Ned said, pacing the small room. “What does it involve, exactly? Piracy?”

“In a manner of speaking. The Pasha’s favourite slave has been kidnapped by the Spanish, and I intend to steal him back.”

“And you think the Pasha will reward you for this?”

“I know he will. You see, the slave is also worth a great deal to the Spanish, and the Pasha would do anything to keep him from being shipped back to Spain.”

“Why? Is he of noble blood? A cousin of King Philip?”

“No, he is one of the painted devils. What you would call a ‘skrayling’.”

Gabriel stared at him. “Where in God’s name did the Pasha get his hands on a skrayling?”

“It seems that one of Murat Reis’s galleys captured a skrayling vessel in the Adriatic and took its crew prisoner–”

“In the Adriatic? When?”

“Three years ago, I think. Many of the captives died or took their own lives, but their captain survived and was sold to the Pasha.”

“Hennaq.” Gabriel spat out the name.

“You know him?” Danziger stared at the two of them.

“Oh, yes, I know him,” Gabriel said. “He promised to take some friends and I to France, but he turned on us as soon as we were out of sight of land. Very nearly shipped us off to the New World.”

“Perhaps I should not take you on this voyage,” Danziger said. “I hear vengeance in your voice.”

“We have no desire to kill the skrayling,” Ned put in quickly. “Do we, Gabe?”

“Certainly not.” Gabriel folded his arms, his expression deadly serious. “But if we help you, we want a share of the ransom.”

“That seems only fair. Shall we say one tenth?”

“A tenth? I was thinking more like a third. Between me and Ned, of course. A third for you, and a third for your other allies.”

“A third?” Danziger spat on the floor. “Who do you think you are?”

“We are the only men here with intimate knowledge of the painted devils, as you call them. Do you want our help or not?”

Ned suppressed a grin. This was the Gabriel he remembered, fierce and fearless as his namesake.

The Dutchman considered for a moment. “A sixth. I have to reward Amin’s family for their help, and Capitain Youssef and any crew we hire.”

“Very well, a sixth. In coin.”

They shook on the deal, and soon afterwards the Englishmen were shown out into the street. Danziger stayed behind, perhaps to pursue his courtship further.

“This is madness,” Ned muttered as they headed back to the quay. “You’re going to get us killed, you know that?”

“Would you rather slowly rot to death here?”

“No.”

“Well, then. If this all works, we’ll have enough money to quit this life and go to Paris without Mal’s help. There are theatres there–”

“All right, all right,” Ned said. The light in Gabriel’s eyes was irresistible. “But no more hashish, understand? We’re going to need all our wits about us if we want to come out of this with our skins intact.”

“Agreed.” Gabriel linked his arm through Ned’s. “From now on, we are sober and responsible brigands.”



The hardest part was convincing Youssef to go along with the plan. Danziger contrived a meeting in the captain’s cabin, ostensibly to discuss the state of the Hayreddin’s keel. Youssef seemed surprised that Gabriel was interested in carpentry, but made no objection to his presence.

“There’s no point us both going,” Gabriel had told Ned. “You don’t speak French, and it will look strange if you just tag along. Youssef may turn a blind eye to our liaison, but we don’t want to draw attention to it either.”