The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(52)

“Tell me something, captain,” he said softly. “What happened to that Venetian whore we sent west with you?”

Hennaq looked puzzled. Ned racked his brains for how to put it in Tradetalk.

“She-fellah you take of us to Vinland. She die?”

“She go,” the skrayling answered. “With sea lord of south, he who take I.”

“The Moors rescued her? Dark-skin fellahs?” Ned pointed east, towards Al-Jaza’ir.

“Yes.”

“God’s teeth, that’s all we need,” Ned muttered to himself. “Where is she now?”

Hennaq shrugged. “I slave. Not see, not hear.”

Well, that put a different complexion on things. If Olivia was on the loose, he had no choice but to warn Mal. In person, if need be.

He peered over the wall. Gabriel was almost down. Ned held his breath as Gabriel dropped gracefully to the rocks, then hauled up the slack rope with shaking hands.

“Now you,” he said to Hennaq.

He had been worried the skrayling would be weak from his captivity, but Hennaq wrapped the rope about his body and climbed over the wall with calm determination. Ned wished he felt half as confident.

All too soon the rope went slack again.

“Well then, this is it,” Ned muttered to himself.

He pushed up his sleeve and slid the lever forward. The metal fist opened, and he placed the rope across the studded palm then returned the lever to its original position. He wound the next few feet of the rope under his left leg and over his shoulder in a mirror image of Danziger’s demonstration. Finally he swung a leg over the battlements, reached behind his back and grasped the rope. A heart-stopping moment as he swung the other leg over, his bare feet scrabbling for purchase. Rough stone scraped against his toes, but at last he had his feet planted flat against the wall.

“Hurry, Englishman!” Danziger hissed up at him.

Ned swore under his breath and walked his feet down a yard or so, gritting his teeth as the rope scoured his thigh and shoulder.

He made it about halfway down without mishap, but now he was soaked in sweat which turned the rope burns into lines of agony across his flesh. To his relief he found a temporary foothold, a hole in the wall big enough to wedge both feet into. He pressed his cheek against the cool stone for a moment, wishing he were at the bottom already, but voices floated up from below: Danziger’s impatient, Gabriel’s encouraging.

He tightened his grip on the rope and prepared to resume his descent, but flung himself back against the wall as the rope burn on his shoulder erupted in fresh agony. His linen shirt had worn right through, exposing bare flesh. He took the weight on his feet again and used his teeth to shift the fabric over, covering the burn, then moved the rope along an inch or two. Now it would rub against his neck as well, but better that than be scoured to the bone. Tears stung his eyes, as much from shame as from the raw flesh. Have to go on or fall and – no, don’t think about it, Christ, just do it…

With a final prayer he kicked off again and shuffled the rest of the way down, cursing under his breath with every yard. When he could no longer feel any rope below his left hand, he twisted round and saw Gabriel standing right below him, almost close enough to reach Ned’s feet.

“Jump! I’ll catch you.”

Ned transferred his left hand to the taut rope in front of him, shook the loose end free of his trembling limbs, and let go. A heartbeat later he landed in Gabriel’s arms and they collapsed onto the rocks together.

“Careful!” Gabriel held him tight when he tried to roll over and get to his feet. “These rocks slope down to the cliff. One misstep and you’ll tumble to your death.”

Rough hands helped them both up. Hennaq. The skrayling grinned at them, showing his fangs. Ned supposed it was meant as a friendly gesture, but he still found it disconcerting.

They climbed with painful slowness over the rough terrain, feeling their way like blind men. Ned’s surefootedness compensated a little for his utter weariness, but it was tough going all the same. He flinched every time his feet kicked loose a chip of rock that rattled its way down the slope, and expected musket fire to erupt from the fortress wall at any moment. But gradually Mers-el-Kébir shrank behind them, and he began to breathe more easily. The dangerous part of this mission was over; now came the tricky bit.



“What do you mean, we’re not going to hand him over to the Pasha?” Danziger crossed the tiny cabin in a couple of strides and grabbed Ned by the front of his ragged shirt. “Look here, Englishman, I didn’t risk my life to let that creature go free. He’s a slave, and he’s worth a fortune to the man who can deliver him–”

“–to his own people,” Ned replied. “You think the Pasha is rich? The skraylings come from a land dripping in gold and silver and jewels. Besides, you think the Pasha will really pay you for him? Most likely he’ll reward the captains of his fleet first, and you and me’ll be lucky to get enough for a round of drinks.”

Danziger relaxed his grip and Ned shook him off.

“Look, we ransom him back to his clan, we can all retire on the proceeds. Everyone’s happy.”

“Apart from the Pasha,” Danziger pointed out.

“How’s he going to find out, unless one of the crew betrays us?”

“I agree with Ned,” Gabriel said. “The Spanish will claim Hennaq escaped, the Moors won’t believe them. Or they’ll think he was smuggled out on a Spanish ship before the Pasha’s fleet arrived.”