The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(47)

“If you insist. But don’t agree to anything that’ll get us killed, all right?”

Gabriel smiled sadly to himself. Ned was always so protective. That was how he had lost his hand, defending Gabriel from the devourers. Foolish boy! Death would come when it willed.

Recalling himself, he turned his attention back to the discussion between Youssef and Danziger before either man could notice his fit of melancholy.

“This ship is old and in need of replacement,” Danziger was saying. “I could build you a better one, captain. A faster one.”

“And how much would that cost me?” Youssef replied, leaning back in his seat.

“I could put the money into your hands within the month.”

“How?”

Danziger explained about Hennaq.

“Amin has discovered that the skrayling is being held in Mers-el-Kébir,” he went on. “All you have to do is wait for us off the coast; the Englishmen and I will do the rest.”

“And what if the Spanish catch us? As you point out, the Hayreddin is past her prime.”

“That’s the clever part. After we leave for Mers-el-Kébir, Amin will tip off the Pasha as to where his slave is being held, and the Spanish will be too busy fending off his fleet to notice us.”

“If the Pasha is so eager to get the painted devil back, why hasn’t he done it before?” Youssef asked.

“Because no one knew for certain where he was,” said Danziger. “Mustapha Pasha can hardly take on the entire Spanish nation, can he? But the Ottomans have been itching to take back the town ever since the Spanish captured it nearly a century ago, and this might be the very excuse they’ve been looking for.”

“So your plan hinges on tricking the Pasha into providing your diversion?”

“Not a trick. Amin is certain it is the truth. He swore a holy oath on it.”

“And when am I to meet you, and take delivery of this slave?”

“In five days’ time. It will take us about three days to sail to Mers-el-Kébir, and I have told Amin to give us two days’ start.”

“Only two days? It may take longer than that to convince the Pasha.”

“It will be enough. It has to be enough.” Danziger began to pace the small cabin, staring into empty space as if already seeing his route westwards. “The longer we leave it, the more likely it is the Spanish will sail away with this creature before we lay hands on him.”

“And if the fleet does not come in time, or at all?”

“Then you will have to leave without us,” Gabriel put in. “We cannot ask you to risk your life and livelihood on this venture, captain.”

“So that is why you are here,” Youssef said. “You are in league with my carpenter. Who else?”

“Only my countryman, Ned Faulkner.”

“Though we will need more,” Danziger said. “Amin’s uncle is willing to lend us a small xebec, hardly more than a fishing boat, but it is too big for three men to handle alone. We’ll need a dozen at least.”

“You expect me to wager half my crew on this venture as well? Hire men in al-Jaza’ir to sail her.”

“The Spanish will be suspicious of a Moorish crew,” said Danziger. “I need fair-skinned men, like Gabriel here, and those can be hard to find.”

Gabriel held his breath. Without Youssef’s cooperation, this plan was suicide.

“Very well,” the Moor said at last, “you can have three more men of your choice. But not the first mate. Or my cook.”

“Seven men,” Danziger replied. “And a quarter of the ransom for you, capitain. I cannot say fairer than that.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Dutchman. But I accept. A quarter of the ransom.”

“Thank you, capitain.” Danziger held out his hand. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already do,” he said with a smile. “But I would not be in this business if I were not willing to take a risk here and there. Now, be about your work, both of you, if you wish to remain in my good favour.”

“Aye, captain.” Gabriel took Danziger by the elbow and steered him towards the door before he could make any more demands.

“We sail at dawn tomorrow,” the carpenter said as they emerged onto the deck. He pulled free of Gabriel’s grasp and gestured towards the setting sun. “And we will light such a fire under the Spaniards’ tails that our praises will be sung from al-Jaza’ir to Mecca itself.”

Gabriel left the Dutchman to his plans and went in search of Ned. His lover might grumble and find reasons not to go, but Gabriel knew he was as bored and frustrated as himself, deep down. Hennaq’s ransom would buy them a new life on land, away from the prying eyes of Youssef’s crew. Now that was an incentive Ned would not be able to resist.



A few days later their borrowed xebec limped into the harbour of Mers-el-Kébir, or Mazalquivir as the Spanish named it. France now being at peace with Spain, their plan was to claim to be French smugglers who had narrowly escaped being taken by corsairs. That was one thing Ned did have experience of, though he didn’t care to repeat it. He and Mal had crossed swords with the bastards on their voyage to Venice. Well, Mal had. Ned had thwacked one in the bollocks and then slithered back down the ladder into the relative safety of the hold.