The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(49)

“He has a point. We can hardly storm the fortress with five men.”

“Don’t you want to go home to England?”

“Of course. But we have to survive this madcap venture first.”

Gabriel smiled. “I thought you were the one with the Devil’s own luck?”

“My luck ran out in Venice, remember.”

“You’re alive. I’d call that luck enough.”

Ned shrugged. Gabriel reached out a hand across the table.

“Don’t you dare get yourself killed, or you’ll have me to face.”

“I don’t think they allow angels into Hell. Not since Lucifer.”

Gabriel smiled sadly. “I don’t think either of us gets a choice.”





CHAPTER XIII



He was back at the theatre, hammering on the tiring-house door as the other actors pressed at his back. Smoke seared his throat. Someone was screaming–

Gabriel jerked awake. Another low rumble. Just a thunderstorm, he told himself. Go back to sleep.

A moment later the ground shook. A crack of breaking timbers, followed by the scrape and whisper of falling roof-tiles that smashed on the ground below. Not thunder; cannon fire. He rolled over on the thin mattress and shook Ned awake.

“Get up! The town is under fire!”

Ned blinked at him. “What?”

“The Pasha’s fleet, I’m guessing, come to rescue Hennaq.”

They snatched up their few belongings – the knives and purses they’d kept under their pillows – and joined the other men pushing and jostling their way down the inn stairs to the common room. Gabriel suppressed a yelp as the rough sole of someone’s boot scraped the back of his bare calf, and prayed none of them would fall in the press and be crushed to death.

At last they emerged into the common room and the pressure eased as the men dispersed.

“Which way?” Ned panted.

“Front door,” Gabriel replied. “I think I saw Danziger heading that way.”

They ran out onto the quayside. Dawn was breaking, and against the rose-gold light they could make out a line of galleys, their sails reefed, spanning the bay. The cannons were silent, waiting, but perhaps they would not remain so for long.

“I thought they weren’t supposed to get here until the day after tomorrow,” Gabriel said to Danziger, who was likewise staring into the sunrise.

“Evidently Amin was more persuasive than we expected,” the Dutchman said quietly.

Someone pushed past them, running northwards towards the fort that stood on an arrowhead-shaped promontory at the northern end of the bay.

“Come on, this is our chance!” Ned tugged at Gabriel’s sleeve.

“What?” He could hardly drag his eyes away from the advancing ships.

“Everyone’s fleeing to the fort. This is our chance to get inside, find Hennaq.”

“You are right,” Danziger said. “Raoul! Pierre! With me!”

Gabriel turned away and hurried after Ned, trying not to lose him in the throng which grew thicker the nearer they came to the red-walled fort.

“You think this will work?” he muttered in Ned’s ear as they halted about fifty yards from the gate, squeezed between a heavily laden mule and a man carrying a child on his shoulders.

Ned craned his neck round. “You have a better idea? Besides, we can hardly sail away with that lot blockading the port. Our crew are all Christians; that was part of Danziger’s cunning plan, after all.”

Gabriel’s retort was cut off by a blare of trumpets from the gate. One of the guards shouted something in Spanish. He went on at great length; Gabriel could only make out a word here and there, but it sounded like regulations on who would be allowed inside the fort. His heart sank.

A tap on his shoulder made him start. He turned to see Danziger behind him. Their young captain grinned and rubbed his thumb against his first two fingers. Gabriel grinned back. Money could always be relied on to get around the rules.



It took them the best part of an hour to get inside the fort, and by then the chill of morning was giving way to the oppressive heat of another Moroccan day. Gabriel’s throat was as dry as the desert and the stink of humans and animals crammed together in the hot sun threatened to make him pass out, but he shuffled along patiently, taking comfort from Ned’s closeness. He daren’t reach out for his lover’s hand in case he found someone else’s, but just seeing him there was enough.

At last they stumbled into the shade of the gateway and Danziger spoke with the guard, pointing out his crew with one hand whilst slipping coins to the man with the other. The guard waved them through and they found themselves in the outer ward, a narrow low-walled enclosure against the western end of the fortress. The southern half, closest to the harbour, had been fenced off and all the townsfolk’s livestock was being herded inside: sheep, goats, donkeys, mules and pigs mingling together, all competing to see who could make the most noise. Outside the corral, families sat huddled around their belongings, women and children weeping or simply blank-faced in terror. They knew they were the intruders here, but perhaps they had not expected the Moors to reclaim the port just yet.

The fort’s southernmost cannons were firing now, keeping the Pasha’s fleet from getting any closer. Between the constant barrage and the noise of the refugees, Gabriel felt like he was already in Hell. Still, he followed Ned and Danziger across the outer ward as far as they were allowed, which was still some distance from the gate into the main fortress. The captain paused and gathered them all round.