The Prince of Lies: Night's Masque - Book 3 (18 page)

“What news?” Ned asked him as he pulled up a stool. “Do we sail soon?”

“Maybe,” the carpenter replied, his English accented with a mixture of southern France and his native Holland. “Capitain Youssef is still haggling over that consignment of fine leather.”

Gabriel pulled a face. Ned shot him a warning glance and poured Danziger a glass of tea.

“The better price he gets, the surer we are of another voyage, eh?”

“Maybe. Though perhaps I won’t be sailing with Youssef much longer.”

“Oh?” Gabriel leaned closer.

“I have a mind to start up here on my own account, if I can get the money together.” He blew on his tea, and gave them a conspiratorial wink. “Build some proper ships, not these old-fashioned galleys the Moors seem so wedded to. I’m sick of puttering around the Mediterranean; with a full-rigged pinnace or two we could venture out into the Atlantic and take on the whole world.”

“It’ll take you years to accumulate that much money, surely, even if we were to spend all our time preying on the Spanish.”

Danziger made a dismissive noise. “Youssef hasn’t the balls for the kind of venture I’m planning.”

“What sort of venture?” Ned asked.

“A little favour for the Pasha,” Danziger replied in low tones. “Guaranteed to make us rich men. Are you in?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said.

“No!” Ned added a heartbeat later.

“Yes or no, gentlemen?”

“Tell us what the favour is, then we’ll decide.”

“Very well. But not here. Too many ears twitching.”

They finished their tea and followed Danziger out into the blinding sunlight. The street was nearly empty but for a one-armed beggar crouched in the shade between two buildings. The man seemed to be asleep, but when Ned tossed a coin at his feet the beggar’s hand shot out and retrieved it, tucking it into the folds of his rags before resuming his patient pose.

Danziger led them across the street, along a narrow alley and into a shady courtyard. There he knocked on a door twice, and twice again. A few moments later the door was opened by a young Moor.

“This is Amin,” Danziger said, and introduced Ned and Gabriel in fluent Arabic.

Amin showed them into a small room with a cool tiled floor and cushioned benches set around a low table of hammered brass.

“I’m courting his cousin,” Danziger whispered when Amin had left. “Lovely creature, eyes like a doe and…” He mimed generous curves in the air. “I’ll have to convert to Islam, of course, but that seems a small price to pay.”

“You really mean to settle here?”

“Why not? I have better prospects here than back home.”

“You keep talking about this venture,” Ned said, pacing the small room. “What does it involve, exactly? Piracy?”

“In a manner of speaking. The Pasha’s favourite slave has been kidnapped by the Spanish, and I intend to steal him back.”

“And you think the Pasha will reward you for this?”

“I know he will. You see, the slave is also worth a great deal to the Spanish, and the Pasha would do anything to keep him from being shipped back to Spain.”

“Why? Is he of noble blood? A cousin of King Philip?”

“No, he is one of the painted devils. What you would call a ‘skrayling’.”

Gabriel stared at him. “Where in God’s name did the Pasha get his hands on a skrayling?”

“It seems that one of Murat Reis’s galleys captured a skrayling vessel in the Adriatic and took its crew prisoner–”

“In the Adriatic? When?”

“Three years ago, I think. Many of the captives died or took their own lives, but their captain survived and was sold to the Pasha.”

“Hennaq.” Gabriel spat out the name.

“You know him?” Danziger stared at the two of them.

“Oh, yes, I know him,” Gabriel said. “He promised to take some friends and I to France, but he turned on us as soon as we were out of sight of land. Very nearly shipped us off to the New World.”

“Perhaps I should not take you on this voyage,” Danziger said. “I hear vengeance in your voice.”

“We have no desire to kill the skrayling,” Ned put in quickly. “Do we, Gabe?”

“Certainly not.” Gabriel folded his arms, his expression deadly serious. “But if we help you, we want a share of the ransom.”

“That seems only fair. Shall we say one tenth?”

“A tenth? I was thinking more like a third. Between me and Ned, of course. A third for you, and a third for your other allies.”

“A third?” Danziger spat on the floor. “Who do you think you are?”

“We are the only men here with intimate knowledge of the painted devils, as you call them. Do you want our help or not?”

Ned suppressed a grin. This was the Gabriel he remembered, fierce and fearless as his namesake.

The Dutchman considered for a moment. “A sixth. I have to reward Amin’s family for their help, and Capitain Youssef and any crew we hire.”

“Very well, a sixth. In coin.”

They shook on the deal, and soon afterwards the Englishmen were shown out into the street. Danziger stayed behind, perhaps to pursue his courtship further.

“This is madness,” Ned muttered as they headed back to the quay. “You’re going to get us killed, you know that?”

“Would you rather slowly rot to death here?”

“No.”

“Well, then. If this all works, we’ll have enough money to quit this life and go to Paris without Mal’s help. There are theatres there–”

“All right, all right,” Ned said. The light in Gabriel’s eyes was irresistible. “But no more
hashish
, understand? We’re going to need all our wits about us if we want to come out of this with our skins intact.”

“Agreed.” Gabriel linked his arm through Ned’s. “From now on, we are sober and responsible brigands.”

The hardest part was convincing Youssef to go along with the plan. Danziger contrived a meeting in the captain’s cabin, ostensibly to discuss the state of the
Hayreddin
’s keel. Youssef seemed surprised that Gabriel was interested in carpentry, but made no objection to his presence.

“There’s no point us both going,” Gabriel had told Ned. “You don’t speak French, and it will look strange if you just tag along. Youssef may turn a blind eye to our liaison, but we don’t want to draw attention to it either.”

“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.

“The Englishmen and I will go ashore,” Danziger told his crew. “I need two others to accompany us.”

One of the sailors stepped forward. A tall, black-bearded fellow with crooked teeth and gold rings in his ears, he looked more like a corsair than a smuggler.

“Raoul. Good.” Danziger waved him over.

“Won’t he be a bit… conspicuous?” Ned murmured to Gabriel.

Gabriel shrugged. “If the Spanish are looking at him, they won’t be looking at us.”

Danziger selected another man, a scrawny fellow named Pierre whom Ned recalled was an expert climber, as much at home in the rigging as a bird in a tree.

“Right,” Danziger said. “The rest of you keelscrapings will man the ship and be ready to have us out of here at a moment’s notice. Understand?”

The carpenter-turned-captain led his four companions ashore, and they stalked along the quay in a loose cluster, avoiding eye contact with the fishermen sitting mending their nets. Ned kept his false hand tucked in the pocket of his loose breeches; he had covered up the metal with a linen glove, but that in itself was conspicuous in this hot climate. But it was either that or wear a hook, an ugly thing that reminded him too much of the monsters that had taken his hand. At least with the metal arm he could pretend it was his own flesh, albeit dead and unfeeling.

The town of Mers-el-Kébir occupied the centre of a shallow crescent-shaped bay, embraced by two dark, tree-clad spurs of the distant mountains. Rows of Moorish-looking stone houses, thick-walled and flat-roofed, nestled in the narrow space between the steep mountain slopes and the sea. Near the centre a taller building thrust a spire towards the heavens, topped by a gilded cross that caught the harsh sunlight and flung it back into the eyes of the unwary. A mosque converted to a Christian church, by the look of it.

The church was not the only building repurposed by its new owners. Judging by the barrels outside and the scent of wine wafting across the quay on the hot breeze, several of the houses along the seafront had been converted to taverns. Ned’s mouth watered at the prospect of a cup of good canary, or indeed any kind of wine at all. Before they could enter, however, their path was blocked by a squad of half-a-dozen Spanish soldiers. The Spaniards questioned Danziger at length and looked his companions over, suspicious that they had lost their cargo but not been taken prisoner by the corsairs. At last, however, the soldiers let them go, recommending a shipwright who could assist with repairs but warning them not to stay in Mazalquivir overlong. Danziger assured them very sincerely that he would not.

“So what now?” Ned whispered as they followed Danziger into the tavern. “How are we to find Hennaq?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel replied. “How did Mal find the one he rescued in Corsica?”

“How do you think?” Ned rolled his eyes.