The Prince of Lies: Night's Masque - Book 3 (20 page)

Thankfully the armoury door was shielded from direct view by the back of the barracks. Gabriel and Danziger gently lifted the bar and slid back the bolts. Ned winced at every squeak and scrape of metal, but no one raised the alarm or came running. Danziger took hold of the door handle and Gabriel hefted his cudgel. Ned remembered Mal’s account of the Corsican watchtower and the skrayling captives who had killed themselves rather than be sold into slavery. Dear God, please say Hennaq had not resorted to the same.

The door swung open and they peered inside. At first Ned could see nothing, then the lines of shadow resolved into the tattooed face of a skrayling. Gabriel beckoned to him.

“Captain Hennaq?”

The skrayling didn’t move. Ned stepped inside the hut and held out his hand.

“You want to leave here?”

A rough palm scraped against his own, and strong fingers closed around his hand. Ned pulled the skrayling to his feet, and sniffed.

“Is there still gunpowder in here, or has the smell of it seeped into the walls?”

The explosion made a perfect diversion. The entire garrison, or so it seemed, rushed to the south wall, convinced the fort was under attack again. The three men and their skrayling companion slipped into the north tower unseen and paused, panting, in the shadows. Ned wiped the sweat from his brow with his good hand and willed his heart to cease its frantic pounding.

“Well, that worked a treat!” Danziger said. “Now we just have to get over the wall.”

“How?” Gabriel looked around at his companions. “We left our best climber in the outer ward, and in any case we have no rope.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” the Dutchman said. He unwound his sash and pulled up his tunic to reveal a layer of rope wound about his torso.

“You’ve been wearing that all this time? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Danziger shrugged. “We had no need of it until now.”

“What about Pierre and Raoul?” Ned asked. “We can’t just leave them here.”

“They’re no fools. Probably out of the front gates already and on their way to meet the
Hayreddin
. Come on!”

He led them up a flight of steps to the wall-walk, which was thankfully deserted. The four of them crouched behind the crenelated wall and peered out through the embrasures.

“Hah, as I hoped.” He pointed out to sea. “I knew our good captain would not fail us.”

Barely visible with the glare of burning buildings behind them, the
Hayreddin
stood out to sea about a mile offshore. Danziger lashed the end of his rope to one of the merlons and paid it out gently.

“How am I going to get down that with only one hand?” Ned muttered. “Rigging’s one thing, but this…”

“I’ll show you,” Danziger replied.

He looped the rope under his right leg and over his left shoulder.

“Your bottom hand–” he took hold of the rope behind his back “–controls your descent, your top one–” he clasped the end tied to the merlon “–only steadies you. You can do that, yes?”

Before Ned could answer, Danziger climbed over the wall and began to lower himself down. Ned leaned over to watch. The young Dutchman made it look so easy…

Muttered curses came from below.

“What is it?” Ned hissed.

“The rope’s a few yards too short. I’ll have to jump.”

He did so, landing on the rocks below with an ankle-crunching impact. To Ned’s relief Danziger stood up, seemingly unhurt, and waved for the rest of them to come down.

“You go next,” Ned told Gabriel.

“You’re not planning something stupid, are you?”

“No, I just don’t trust Danziger with Hennaq.” It was part of the truth. Enough of it. He took Gabriel’s head in both hands and kissed him soundly, sun-chapped lips grazing on stubble. “Now go.”

The moment Gabriel disappeared over the wall, Ned turned back to the eastern side of the fortress. The soldiers were still running back and forth, loading muskets and cannon. He had only moments alone with the skrayling; better be quick.

“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.”

“So you’re going to sail all the way to the New World? In this old tub?”

“No need,” said Ned. “We can take him to Sark. Plenty of skraylings there, and it’s close to home for us.”

“You planned this all along, didn’t you?” He stormed out of the cabin, swearing in the mix of French and Arabic common on board their vessel. Ned didn’t need to understand either language to get the gist of it.

“You think it’s safe to go back to England?” Gabriel said.

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a try. Maybe Mal’s been able to get us a pardon by now. It’s not like he can write to us and tell us.”

“What about the guisers?”

“Fuck the guisers. I reckon if I’m going to die, I want to die among friends, with beer in my belly and you–” he pulled Gabriel closer “–in my bed. Fat chance of either at sea.”

“I can wait a few weeks longer,” Gabriel replied, brushing his lips against Ned’s brow. “Good work, my love.”

CHAPTER XIV

Though he had not given up his fight against the guisers, Mal was far more circumspect over the next few months. He put all his energies into re-establishing his reputation as a gentleman of leisure, content to spend the long, hot summer days playing bowls, and the evenings drinking and trying not to lose too much of his modest fortune at cards. He was aided in the latter by a few tricks taught to him by Ned. Not cheating as such – he had no wish to throw his life away in a duel – but enough to give him an edge over his less sharp-eyed companions.

The main purpose of all these pleasures, however, was to gain as much intelligence on the men surrounding princes Robert and Arthur as possible. If zealots like the Huntsmen were of no use as allies, perhaps he could find others who were more reasonable: men who despised politicking and falsehood and would gladly see conspirators rooted out for no other reason. Alas, such men were as rare at court as hen’s teeth. Here every smile concealed a hidden purpose: manipulation, seduction, betrayal. Though perhaps his enemies thought the same of him.

As summer turned to autumn, Prince Robert’s thoughts turned to hunting. Mal was overjoyed when he was invited to accompany the prince to Richmond. The park attached to the palace was well-supplied with fallow deer, fat by now from summer grazing and more interested in the rut than in avoiding humans. The prospect put Robert in such a jovial mood that Mal was able to contrive an invitation for Sandy, whom he knew would be anxious to see Kit again. Thus a fine September day found the twins riding side-by-side in the prince’s retinue, so alike in their matched habits that all the court commented on it. How he could use such confusion to his advantage, Mal was not certain, but at the very least it might make it easier to slip away and meet his informant.

“There!” Mal pointed westwards down the road, to where the towers of Richmond Palace rose above the trees. The midday sun, barely halfway to its zenith at this time of year, flashed on the gilded domes topping the towers, and he had to shade his eyes to see it clearly. “Can’t be more than a mile now.”

His heart lifted at the thought of seeing his wife and son again, and it was all he could do not to steer Hector out of line and kick him into a gallop. That would be an unforgivable discourtesy, however, so he contented himself with imagining his family’s delighted faces when he arrived.

After a few moments he realised that Sandy was no longer riding at his side. He glanced back down the line to see his brother some yards behind. Sandy had reined his mount to a halt and was staring at the palace, heedless of the other riders’ curses as they manoeuvred around him. Mal turned Hector’s head and trotted back along the line.

“What’s the matter?”

When Sandy did not answer, Mal looked back at the palace, and realisation dawned. The room where they had both been held by Suffolk had looked eastwards towards a very similar prospect. To Sandy, the sight of those towers meant only one thing: pain.

“We can go back to London if you’d like,” he said, reaching out a gloved hand.

“No. I have to see Kit.”

“Come on, then. We’re getting in everyone’s way.”

Without any outward prompting from its rider, Sandy’s horse resumed its steady walk as if it had never stopped. Mal’s hands tightened involuntarily on the reins and Hector tossed his head.

“Sorry, boy.” He could hardly take his brother to task in public, but using magic here, surrounded by potential enemies? He would have to have words with Sandy when they were alone together.

“I think I should stay,” Sandy said, “when you go back to London.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise.” Not wise at all. “Won’t it bring back too many painful memories, being within sight of Ferrymead House?”

“Painful, yes, but happy also. It is here I was reunited with my
amayi
.”