The Merchant of Dreams (45 page)

“Well, this is a happy day,” Charles said as they set off. “All the family, together again at last.”

“All that’s left,” Mal replied softly. “What brings you here so unexpectedly?”

“Your man Faulkner. He convinced me that you would be open to a reconciliation.”

Mal frowned. What was Ned up to? “Well, I confess to being curious as to what you have to say.”

“You shall know all in due course. But perhaps not here, eh?”

“Agreed.” The last thing he wanted was for Charles to say something incriminating in front of Berowne. Or Raleigh. “Tomorrow, perhaps. We shall all be much occupied today.”

Crouched in the back of an overladen gondola, Coby was reminded of the skrayling ambassador’s arrival in London. Every boat in Venice, it appeared, was out on the lagoon, following the ducal galley as it rowed out to sea.

The
Bucentaur
was magnificent even by Venetian standards. Gilded carving covered every inch of the galley, so that it shone in the May sunlight like a new-minted angel. A scarlet canopy ran the length of the deck, shading its occupants from the heat of the sun, and an enormous banner bearing the lion of Saint Mark adorned its single mast. Coby could just make out the tiny figure of the Doge himself, seated on a throne in the stern.

“The new Doge, Marino Grimani,” Gabriel said, “The election was so tightly contested after the death of his predecessor, there almost wasn’t a Doge in time for the ceremony.”

“So what happened?”

Gabriel glanced around.

“The word is, someone helped him to sway the voters,” he whispered. “Someone who knew a great many secrets that could ruin men if they did not change their minds.”

“Olivia? Is that why Master Catlyn was so interested in her… business?”

“Why else?” He gave her a sly look. “I remember when you first confessed to being in love with him. We were in a boat then, too.”

Coby felt herself blush. She remembered it all right, far too well.

“Do you think Grimani will be in favour of an alliance with the skraylings?” she said, trying to steer the conversation back on course.

“It’s hard to tell. He’s said to be no friend of the Pope, but that means little.”

Just then their gondola was bumped by another craft and Coby had to cling to the gunwales as it rocked alarmingly. The
Bucentaur
had passed out into the Adriatic, leaving the rest of the city’s boats trying to crowd through the bottleneck in its wake.

“We shall all drown at this rate,” she muttered.

The gondola did not founder, but there was little to be seen at this distance, so Coby amused herself with watching the occupants of other vessels nearby. Everyone was in their Sunday best and most wore masks, from simple leather shapes like the one she had worn as Columbina, to elaborate full-face constructions, painted and gilded and trimmed with feathers. It was a most peculiar and eerie custom, and one she would not be sorry to leave behind.

After what felt like an age the ceremony was over and the boats turned back to the city.

“Now what?” she asked Gabriel.

“Now we go to the
Sensa
, the great Ascension Day fair, and pass our time in idleness until the masquerade this evening. I have a mind to see a proper
commedia
troupe perform. Care to join me?”

When Berowne’s party disembarked at the quayside to visit the great fair, Mal took Erishen aside for a moment.

“Be on your guard around Hennaq,” he said. “I have no wish to lose you.”

“Do not fear. Last time, Hennaq was able to surprise me. Now I know his mind he will find me much harder to deceive.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Erishen wished his brothers farewell and slipped away. Mal had been against it, but Erishen had convinced him that the best time to board Hennaq’s ship was in broad daylight, when the water was at its busiest. With so many boats crowding around the quayside on their return from the ceremony, who would notice one approach the skrayling ship?

He waited for a moment until the others had disappeared into the crowd then made his way towards Hennaq’s ship, which was anchored about halfway along the quay, equally distant from both the palace and the Arsenale. The broad quayside swarmed with merrymakers on their way to Saint Mark’s Square, and the noise and smells – the strange foods and stranger tongues, the mingled stench of sweat, urine and perfume – threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to make progress against the relentless flow of humanity. He would have turned and run, except that there was nowhere to run to. He took several deep breaths to calm his nerves and pressed on.

After what felt like an eternity he reached the midpoint of the quay and found a small gull-headed boat tied up amongst the gondolas. Some of Hennaq’s crew had come ashore, then. Whether this was a good or bad thing, he could not decide. He jumped aboard, untied the painter and took up the oars.

Mal trailed after the others for a while, but his heart was not in merrymaking. Rather than spoil their enjoyment of the fair, he excused himself and went back to the embassy, where he could go over the plan without distractions. Olivia was ancient and powerful, far beyond his previous experience; how could Sandy be so sure they could capture her, even working together? He could only assume his brother had access to Erishen’s knowledge of such matters.

Even if it worked, was he even doing the right thing? It would get rid of Hennaq, but going back to the New World probably wasn’t what Olivia wanted. Venice was her home, and she had ruled it well enough for all these centuries, or at least, she and her kinfolk had. On the other hand, with the rest of the guisers dead her rule was beginning to falter. La Serenissima was no longer the great power it had been, and would sink further unless it gained the one thing Olivia could not allow: an alliance with the skraylings. Truly it was a kindness to everyone in Venice for her to admit defeat and go home.

It felt like an age until he heard movement downstairs and the sounds of the returning party. He went down to greet them, grateful for the distraction from his own conflicted thoughts.

“Did you enjoy the
Sensa
?” he asked Ned.

Ned shrugged. “You didn’t miss anything, really. It was a lot like Bartholomew Fair, only with painted wooden booths instead of tents.”

“Didn’t miss anything?” Coby said, looking to her companions for confirmation. “What about the mechanical Saint George and the Dragon? It breathed smoke and rolled its eyes, and then… Saint George cut its head off.”

“It sounds very impressive,” Mal said. “However we ought to be getting ready for the reception.”

“Of course, sir.”

At last they were all washed and combed and ready to leave. Tonight the city would be freed of the guisers’ insidious influence, and he would be able to complete his mission in safety. And then? Best not to look beyond the current action. Tonight he must focus on one thing alone: the capture of Olivia.

The Doge’s Palace shone like a lamp, its façade rippling with the light reflected off the waters of the nearby lagoon. From its upper windows the well-to-do could look down upon the little square between St Mark’s and the quayside, where stood a tiered wooden structure at least three times the height of a man. In the flickering light Coby could make out the shapes of fireworks: catherine wheels, fountains and other devices, individually quite small but together capable of making an impressive display. She tore her eyes away and followed Mal towards the palace entrance; when that lot went off, she wanted to be as far away as possible.

Lamps hung at intervals from the ceilings of the outer and inner cloisters, creating pools of light and shadow where guests gathered for whispered conversations. Berowne and his gentleman companions were escorted to the foot of the great stair leading up to the state rooms, whilst Coby, Ned and Gabriel were left to mingle in the courtyard with the other retainers.

“I don’t like this,” Coby muttered. “Sandy’s been gone for hours. How do we know Hennaq hasn’t got him trussed up in the hold again?”

“We don’t,” Gabriel said. “But if he has, he won’t get Mal or Olivia, so what’s the profit for him? He might as well have taken Sandy alone in the first place.”

“Hardly alone.” Ned slipped his arm through Gabriel’s. “He would have taken you too.”

Gabriel patted his hand. “I’m quite safe now, don’t fret.”

“So what are we going to do for the next hour?”

“In your case, keep out of trouble,” Gabriel replied.

Ned punched him in the arm with his free hand.

“Enough, you two!” Coby frowned at them both. “Look, there are servants coming round with trays of sweetmeats.”

Ned’s eyes lit up, and he released Gabriel.

“Going to need both my hands free for this,” he said with a grin.

Mal followed Berowne and Raleigh up the magnificent staircase and past the great statues of Mars and Neptune, trying not to think about the last time he was here. From the first floor they went further upwards, through a tunnel-like stair lined with gilding and white stucco, into an antechamber where the guests paused before being announced and presented to the Doge and council. To his left Mal could see the studded door he had been taken through after his arrest. He turned away, though he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

“Signori Geoffrey Berowne, Walter Raleigh
e
Maliverny Catlyn,
del’Inghilterra
!” a lackey announced.

Mal tried not to goggle as they entered the great chamber beyond. Like the Doge’s barge, its every beam was carved and gilded, and every space between the beams was filled with paintings depicting the glory of Venice. Vast friezes with themes both secular and religious lined the walls between high windows overlooking the square; the chamber itself was of such enormous size that even with every nobleman in Venice present, it appeared half empty. How the roof stayed up with no columns to support it, Mal could not imagine.

He left Berowne and Raleigh talking to a group of black-clad Venetians and moved casually through the throng, hoping to spot Olivia. There were many more women here than he had expected, all of them masked and clad in bright silks laden with gems and embroidery, but their skin was as fair as Olivia’s was dark. Most, judging by their reserved air, were patricians’ wives enjoying a rare venture into public life, but a few, no less richly dressed but with a certain sensuality of demeanour, were undoubtedly courtesans.

Alas, he could see no sign of his quarry, though it was early yet. Perhaps she had been delayed, or decided not to come after all. Mal cursed under his breath. He should have forced his brother to renegotiate with the skrayling captain.

The crowds parted for a moment, revealing a cluster of guests looking out of place amongst all this splendour. The skraylings. Only Kiiren in his azure silk robe seemed at ease; his companions, a handful of elders in patterned tunics and loose breeches, stood with folded arms, eyeing the humans uncertainly. None of the skraylings wore masks, though with their tattooed faces they might as well have been. Mal paused on the edge of the space surrounding the skraylings and bowed. Kiiren bowed back, but did not make a move to speak. Mal wondered if the ruling still held, that no one was permitted to speak to them, and if so, why they had been invited. The Venetians’ approach to diplomacy was most perplexing.

He continued on his way, stopping now and again to exchange a few sentences with guests whom he thought he recognised from Olivia’s house. At last he spotted the courtesan on the arm of a well-dressed man. Venier. The question was, how to get her alone?

“Signore Catalin, isn’t it?” Venier said, leading Olivia towards him. “I thought I recognised you by your height. Perhaps you would be so kind as to look after my lovely companion for a short while? I have a mind to talk business with Dandolo, and I do not like to bore a lady.”

“Of course,
signore
.”

Mal bowed and held out his arm, paying more attention to Venier’s departure than to Olivia. That had been a little too easy.

“Poor Lorenzo,” Olivia said, her laugh muffled slightly by her full-face mask. “He really is too easy to manipulate.”

“You wanted to get me alone?”

“What do you think?”

He could hear the wicked smile in her voice, even if he could not see it, and wondered if she had noticed he wasn’t wearing his earring.

They discussed music for a while, then Olivia showed him round the room pointing out the more interesting paintings.

“This whole chamber was ravaged by fire, some twenty years ago,” Olivia said. “Of course it was restored to even greater splendour than before, as you can see. Nothing but the finest artists in Italy for our greatest palazzo.”

Mal nodded politely. He had never been terribly interested in painting, and it seemed to him that coating the interior of a building with canvas and thick layers of oil paint was just asking to have it burned down.

They were just approaching the far wall with its enormous frieze representing Paradise, when a murmur ran through the assembled guests. Fireworks. This was his chance. He took Olivia aside as the guests began to assemble around the windows overlooking the square.

“Let us leave them to their tawdry spectacles,” he murmured. “Tell me more about the palace. You must have been here many times over the centuries.”

She led him in the opposite direction to the crowd, through the antechamber and down the stair onto the gallery overlooking the courtyard.

“What is there to tell?” Olivia said, taking off her mask. “You have already visited the dark heart of the Venetian Republic.”

Mal pushed his own mask onto the top of his head and took her in his arms. “There is only one heart I care for.”

He brushed a stray curl back from her brow and kissed her. On the far side of the building, the first of the fireworks began to fizz and whine, and the crowds breathed out a great sigh of admiration. Now.

He closed his eyes, letting himself sink into that waking dream he had first experienced in the skrayling pavilion back in Southwark. The gilded splendour of the palace gave way to the twilit realm of the dreamworld, the woman in his arms at once translucent, made of violet light, and yet more real than ever. He looked over her shoulder into the darkness where Sandy was waiting. Should be waiting.