The Merchant of Dreams (9 page)

“I know what I saw,” Mal said. “Trust me, they are here.”

“All right, whatever you say. Now go back to sleep.”

“No, I mustn’t sleep. That’s when they come for you.”

Ned sighed. “Then we’ll stay awake. Light the candle, and I’ll get my cards.” There were other ways to stay awake, but they usually made them both sleepier afterwards. Pity.

“You have your playing cards with you?” Mal asked.

“Of course. Never know when they’ll come in handy. People talk a lot more freely when their minds are taken up with the game.”

He scrambled past Mal and retrieved the pack of cards from the pocket of his slops.

“We’ll play until it gets light, and then get out of here.”

“Thank you,” Mal said. “You’re a true friend.”

“You may change your mind before dawn. Now, what game shall we play?”

CHAPTER VI

When Mal did not return that night, Erishen feared the worst. Something was wrong, and it was all his fault; he should have not let his brother ride out to the prince’s palace without protection. Jathekkil was too young to threaten them, but he must surely have an
amayi
to watch over him. Though the guisers flouted skrayling law and went against their people’s deepest beliefs, some traditions could not be put aside so easily.

The girl Hendricks and Faulkner’s lover tried to persuade him there was nothing amiss, it being usual for great men to keep supplicants waiting, but Erishen was uneasy nonetheless. He spent a restless night with the spirit-guard coiled around his wrist in half-hearted defence, wishing he dared venture into the dreamlands to search for Mal but fearing to attract the guisers’ attention. The less their enemies knew of their whereabouts, the better.

By dawn he was ready to ride out to Hampton Court and damn the guisers, but he did not know the way and he doubted he could convince the others to accompany him. So he went up to the attic, where a front window gave him a good view of the street, and waited. Hendricks came looking for him after about an hour, saying breakfast was ready, but he waved her away and she left him to his vigil.

The church clocks had struck ten before he finally spotted a pair of men turning the corner into Deadman’s Place. After a moment’s hesitation to make sure it really was Mal and his friend, he ran down to the kitchen to greet them.

When Mal entered the kitchen, one look at his brother told him his report of the night’s events would not be news. Sandy clutched the spirit-guard in one white-knuckled fist, but it was Erishen who looked out through his eyes.

“We knew there must be more guisers than Jathekkil in England,” Sandy said as they sat down to a late breakfast. “You should have worn the earring that Kiiren gave you.”

“A little late to remind me now.” Mal warmed his hands on the bowl of barley gruel, but his appetite had fled.

“The hole looks half closed up, you’ve not worn anything in it so long.” Coby said. “It needs re-piercing.”

“Come then, you can do it for me now.” He got to his feet. “Before I run afoul of the guisers a second time.”

They left Sandy and Ned to finish their breakfast in mutually hostile silence, and went up to Mal’s chamber. Whilst Coby sought the necessary equipment in her own room, he rummaged in his saddlebags until he found the velvet pouch, and shook out a baroque black pearl on a hoop of dark metal. The hoop was made of the same stuff as the skraylings’ spirit-guards, and he wondered for a moment why they did not wear such things themselves. Come to think of it, he had not seen a skrayling with piercings of any kind, for all their love of tattoos. Perhaps they saw it as a human fashion.

Coby poked her head through the open door. “I’m ready. Come in here, the light is better.”

Mal slipped the earring back into its pouch and went through into her chamber, feeling oddly self-conscious. Coby dragged a short bench over to the window and laid out a bodkin, some scraps of clean linen and a small bottle.

“Before we begin, I have a favour to ask.” He paused, hands in pockets, his eyes alighting anywhere but her face. “I need you to take Sandy back to Provence, as soon as the weather is good enough for travel. It’s not safe for him here with so many guisers around.”

Her eager smile faded. “But… I thought we were going to Venice.”

“I am still going. I’ve decided to take Ned in your place; he might be glad to widen his horizons.”

“Ned? Is that wise?”

“He made one foolish mistake, and that only when threatened with harm to those he loved most.”

“So with his mother dead and Master Parrish safe here in London, you think him trustworthy enough.”

“That was unkind, and unworthy.”

“Sorry, sir. I hope you’re right.” She ducked her head in contrition. “How… How long will you be gone?”

“All summer, I suppose. It’s a good month’s sailing to Venice and the same back, and I know not how long in between to discover what the skraylings have agreed with the Venetians.”

She stared down at her bitten nails.

“There is more that I would have you do before you leave England,” Mal said. He told her of the rumour about Blaise Grey and Lady Frances Sidney. “We must know if it is true. If Grey were to take up the reins of Walsingham’s network after his death, that would make him our master.”

“We could refuse to take his orders,” she replied.

“And risk being accused of treason?” He shook his head. “I fear we are mired too deep in Walsingham’s intrigues to escape so easily.”

“We could give up this mission to Venice altogether, return to France and never come to England again.”

Mal sighed. “It may yet come to that. But while Walsingham lives, we must do his bidding. I owe him my life.”

“How am I to discover the truth of this rumour?” Coby asked. “Grey will not tell me, I am sure of it.”

“You must speak to Lady Frances, woman to woman.”

“But…” She folded her arms and frowned at him. “This is some ruse to get me back into women’s clothing, isn’t it?”

“No, I swear. But this is too important not to try every approach at our disposal.”

She drew a deep breath. “Very well, I shall consider it.”

“You will?” He wished he could be there to see the attempt. He had always wondered what she would look like in proper clothing.

“As a last resort. Now, come, let me deal with this earring.”

She motioned him to the bench, then perched next to him. Taking hold of his earlobe, she pushed the blunt needle through the piercing.

“Owww!”

“Big baby. What must you have been like on the battlefield, if you complain at such a tiny scratch?”

Before he could reply, she swabbed the wound with
ashaarr
. He gritted his teeth as the pungent fluid seared his flesh, bringing back the memory of Grey’s voice in his ear, asking the same questions over and over. Sweet Jesu, it had been more than a year; he should be over it by now, not shivering like a whipped cur at the very thought. He slipped his arm around Coby’s waist and leant his head against hers. She froze, but did not pull away, and the blood stirred in his veins at the memory of their first and only kiss, half an age ago or more.

“I need to put the earring in, sir,” she said after a few moments.

He gave her the pendant. The touch of her fingers on his were sweet torture.

“Hold still,” she muttered. “It’s bleeding again.”

“Good. Blood on iron–” he gasped as the hoop caught on raw flesh “–breaks any enchantment.”

When she was done, he turned his head slightly so that their eyes met. His arm was still around her, though she was as tense as a deer poised for flight.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“As handsome a rascal as ever,” she said, the quaver in her voice belying her bold comment.

He leant in to kiss her, but she wriggled out of his grasp and went to stand by the door, hugging herself and not looking at him.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

He crossed the room and took her in his arms again. She rested her head against his chest, but would relent no further.

“You know why,” she whispered.

“We are not in France any more,” he said, trying to keep the anger out his voice. “We are among friends. Who is there to betray us?”

She muttered something into his doublet, but he could not make out the words.

“Please, Jacomina. I am going far away and… and I cannot be sure of coming safely back to you.”

“Don’t say that.”

He bent and kissed her brow. “You know it for the truth.”

She looked up at him and a moment later they were kissing, though he was not aware of having moved. Desire for her threatened to overwhelm him but he reined it in, unwilling to spoil this moment. It was enough to hold her, feel her lips warm and soft against his own.

How long they stood there lost in anguished pleasure, whether moments, hours or days, he could not say. Releasing her was the second hardest thing he had ever done, after giving Sandy into Kiiren’s care. For a moment his resolve wavered. All he had to do was change his mind, take both her and Sandy on Raleigh’s ship as far as Marseille… but he had to know the truth about Grey. Otherwise he could be coming home to worse than guisers.

After supper that evening Coby boiled some water and took a cupful upstairs to her room. From the chest at the foot of her bed she brought out a pouch of coarse cotton and sprinkled a generous pinch of dried herbs into the hot water. The skraylings called it “desert fire” and sold it to women who wanted to avoid conceiving a child – and those like Coby who wished to stop their monthly flow altogether.

When the herbs had steeped long enough she dragged the bench over to the chimney breast that took up most of the back wall, sat down and leaned back against the warm bricks. Cupping her hands around her drink, she breathed in the steam. At first she had found the taste unpleasant, but brewing it had become a treasured ritual, a quiet moment in many a hectic day.

Tranquility evaded her tonight, however. All she could think about was this morning: the pleasure of that kiss, and the pain of knowing she would not see Mal again for months.
Go to him tonight
, a voice seemed to whisper in her ear,
lie with him. You may never get another chance
.

“Satan, I abjure thee,” she breathed into her cup. “I will not lie with him until he marries me.”

She laughed bitterly at herself. Small chance of that, unless she were to put aside her disguise for good. And what then? Would she have to be the dutiful wife, staying at home to cook and sew and raise his children? She thought again of Lady Frances Sidney, who had refused an earl in order to serve her queen – but would she refuse a duke, especially one with ambitions to continue her father’s work? Perhaps, if he forbade her to continue with her spying.

Coby put the cup down and began to pace the floor. Lady Frances could prove a valuable ally, could perhaps even teach her how to behave in a more womanly manner. There was only one thing for it. She would visit Goody Watson on the morrow and buy a gown for herself. No, not tomorrow. She would wait until Mal left for Venice, the better to surprise him on his return.

Sandy slept more soundly that night, knowing both he and Mal were safe from the guisers. In the morning he delayed longer than usual before removing the spirit-guard; he wanted to say farewell to his brother in his right mind, not through the mist of skrayling memories that filled his thoughts during daylight hours.

By the time he had reached this decision, Mal was out of bed and sorting through the chest at its foot.

“What are you doing?” Sandy asked, throwing back the covers.

“What do you think?” Mal pulled out a pile of under-linens and began sorting through them. “Why does the laundress never send stockings back in matching pairs? I swear there’s another man out there with an identical set of odd ones.”

“There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Oh?” Mal looked up, then appeared to notice his brother was still wearing the spirit-guard. He closed the lid and came to sit on the bed. “What is it? Nothing’s wrong, I hope?”

“No.” Sandy shook his head. “At least, not yet.”

He tried to find the words. Erishen would be able to explain it better, but Erishen might not put it right.

“It’s… this voyage,” he said at last. “It’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

“All sea voyages are dangerous. But yes. I’m going a long way away, to a far-off land where I have few friends.”

“So you might not come back. You might… die.”

“Yes.”

Sandy nodded. “Erishen doesn’t like that.”

“Well, neither do I.”

“You don’t understand. Erishen wants to be reborn as a skrayling. He… I am not sure he can do it, if we die apart. If your half of our soul is lost.”

“If I die wearing this earring, you mean. My soul bound in iron, like those skraylings we found.”

“Yes.”

“And if I do not? Will I have to face the devourers?”

Sandy looked away. He had no answer for his brother.

“It seems to me,” Mal said slowly, “that Erishen is doomed either way.”

“I know,” Sandy whispered.

Mal put an arm around his shoulder.

“We are no worse off than we ever were. Far better, in fact. If you had died in Bedlam in shackles, Erishen would have been destroyed for certain. Now, at least he has a chance. And I have no intention of dying in Venice, or anywhere else. Not yet.”

Sandy hugged him, blinking back tears. “I believe you, brother.”

He reached behind his neck, unfastened the spirit-guard and let it fall into his lap. The world shifted, the ordinary surroundings of the bedchamber now unfamiliar, the man before him too pale of skin and dark of eye.

“Erishen?” Mal said softly.

“Our fate is in your hands,
rehi
. Do not fail us.”

It was a mere four miles from Southwark to Deptford, a pleasant enough walk on a bright spring afternoon. Mal strolled along the Kent Road, eager to be off at last despite his dislike of travelling by sea. Coby walked at his side, uncharacteristically silent, whilst Sandy trailed just behind them, stopping to examine every new sight by the way. Ned and Parrish brought up the rear.