The Merchant of Dreams

by Anne Lyle

  His own lips moved in time with the words. It was either that or scream Erishen’s grief to the uncaring marble walls around them.

  CHAPTER XXXV

  Gloom had descended on the house, a melancholy wrought not by fashion but by real loss and grief. Gabriel refused to leave Ned’s side, so Coby spent a lot of her time running up and down the stairs with jugs of hot water, or food for both patient and nurse. Meanwhile Mal sat bowed over a lute he had found somewhere in the embassy, playing the same few songs over and over, his face set like stone. Coby brought food for him too, but it sat ignored until, cold and congealed, it had to be taken back down to the kitchens, much to Jameson’s disgust. Sandy just lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling in silence. After a few hours of this, Coby retreated to the relative congeniality of Berowne’s parlour.

  “An ill business altogether,” Berowne muttered, leaning back in his chair and drawing on his pipe. “Though to fret so over the death of a foreigner… Doesn’t seem right, if you ask me.”

  “No, sir.”

  Coby picked up a book lying on the table and began leafing through it, for want of anything better to do. It began as an interesting enough account of the travels of Marco Polo, but some of the pictures of fabulous beasts of the Orient reminded her far too much of the creatures they had fought outside Ca’ Dario. She shuddered, and closed the book with a thud that caused Berowne to start.

  “I suppose you will all be going back to England now,” Berowne said, “what with the skrayling ambassador dead and the rest expelled from the city. Your master has done our country a great service.”

  “I suppose he has. Though at what cost?”

  Berowne didn’t seem to have heard, thankfully. She excused herself and went back up to the attic to see if Gabriel needed anything. Mal had put aside the lute and was staring at his hands as if they were a stranger’s. Coby cleared her throat.

  “I thought I’d go for a walk, to clear my head,” she said. “If there’s anything you need–”

  Mal looked up. “I’ll come with you.”

  She halted in the doorway, surprised but delighted at this evident improvement in his mood. They went down to the atrium in silence, and Mal opened the door to usher her out. Coby realised with a flush of pleasure that he was treating her like a woman despite her boy’s garb. Still, she would have given anything to have the old Mal back. His present black humour tore at her heart.

  As they crossed the little bridge heading towards San Toma, she ventured to break the silence.

  “Sir Geoffrey is wondering when we will return to England.”

  “I dare say he is. We cannot outstay our welcome, and yet…” Mal sighed heavily. “For Sandy’s sake, we cannot leave for a while yet.”

  She halted. “You think… Lord Kiiren…?”

  Mal glanced around the street and lowered his voice.

  “We have to allow that he may have been reborn, yes. And if so, we can hardly leave him here, to suffer the same fate as…”

  The courtesan’s name hung unspoken in the air.

  “No, of course not,” Coby said hurriedly, and walked on. “But how will you find him?”

  “Sandy is looking, even now. But there are hundreds of women with child, and the trail gets fainter with every day that passes.”

  “What if he doesn’t find him?”

  “Then we must assume that he is dead in truth, and go home.”

  They walked on in silence for a while.

  “It’s not your fault,” Coby said at last.

  “No? If I had listened to your advice and not interfered, Kiiren would still be alive. Ned would still have his hand…” He shook his head. “Dear God, what is he to do? I have deprived my friend of his livelihood.”

  Coby had no answer to that.

  “Do you suppose anyone else in Venice knows what really happened that night?” she said. “There must surely be rumours flying about the city by now.”

  “I don’t doubt it. And none will contain more than a grain of truth, which is all to the good. I would rather not be suspected of causing trouble in Dorsoduro, would you?”

  She grinned back at him. That was more like the old Mal. A moment later, however, his expression grew grave.

  “There is something we needs must talk about,” he said. “Something I have been meaning to say for a long time.”

  “Oh?” Her heart sank. This did not sound good.

  He gestured to a nearby taverna. “It is not too early in the day for a drink, I reckon.”

  The taverna was empty of customers, though a delivery man sat talking to the landlord over a bowl of olives whilst his young assistant waited outside, ostensibly guarding the barrow but mostly flirting with any passing women. Mal ordered a flagon of wine and led Coby into the little courtyard out back. Strings of washing crisscrossed the sky above, and no doubt there were listeners up there, ears cocked for the latest gossip, but still it felt like they were alone.

  “You are right,” Mal said, filling two glasses. “I should have listened to you. I meddled where it was not needed, because I thought I was right, and because I wanted to gain Kiiren’s approval.”

  He pushed one of the glasses towards her.

  “However, there is no use crying over shed milk,” he went on. “I must take responsibility for the outcome of my decision, as any commander must, as well as resolve to make better choices in future. And to do that, I need good advice. Your advice.”

  “You have it. Always.”

  “And shall make better use of it, I swear.” He took a sip of his wine. “But I have need of your service in another capacity. If… If Sandy is right, we will have to take the child home with us. And I want to raise it as my own. My son and heir, if it be a boy.”

  “You are asking me to look after this child?” she said. “But I know nothing of infants. I helped my mother with Kees, true, but that was many years ago…”

  “No. I’m not asking you to be a nursemaid. I can hire a woman for that. But… he will not be an ordinary child. And I fear he will not want to stay with us, once he remembers who he is.”

  “You think he will want to go back to the New World and be reborn as a skrayling?”

  “I’m certain of it. And Sandy will want to go with him. I… I might never see them again.”

  Coby reached out her hand, and he took it, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb as if to assure himself of her solidity.

  “But that won’t be for years, surely?”

  “I hope not,” he whispered hoarsely.

  They sat in silence for long moments, then Mal reached for his glass with his free hand and drained it in one go.

  “The thing is…” He cleared his throat. “If he won’t stay, I need a real heir, one born of my own flesh. And for that I need a wife.”

  He caught her gaze, held it. Realisation dawned, and she stared back at him, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.

  “Jacomina Hendricksdochter, will you marry me?”

  Coby nodded, her heart too full for words. Then the full implication of his offer struck her. To be a married woman, the respectable wife of a respectable gentleman, she would have to give everything up that she had worked for. Her life as Jacob Hendricks would be over.

  “I know I ask a very great deal,” he said, as if guessing her thoughts. “If you would rather seek your fortune elsewhere, then so can I.” He looked more miserable than ever, if that were possible.

  “No.” The thought of him marrying someone else was too much to bear. “I accept your offer. On one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  The look on his face, of hope renewed beyond expectation, was so adorable, she almost burst into tears of laughter.

  “I will be your faithful wife at home and in sight of our neighbours,” she said carefully. “But if ever the Queen or Sir Francis Walsingham require your service, then I ask leave to become your servant Jacob for as long as you need me.”

  He laughed, and raised both her hands to hi
s lips to kiss them.

  “Agreed.”

  She got to her feet slowly and went round the other side of the table. For a moment she feared he would stop her, that he would remind her she was still dressed as a boy, but he only watched in silence. She sat down on the bench next to him, slipped her arm around his waist and pressed her forehead to his chin. His beard was scratchy on her skin, but she didn’t mind as long as she could be this close to him. After a moment he took her in his arms and kissed her brow, her nose, her lips…

  “You’re not afraid someone will see us?” she murmured between kisses.

  “This is Venice,” he replied, “where even the women wear breeches.”

  She chuckled. “Perhaps we should stay, then.”

  Ned cursed as the nib splayed, spattering ink across the page.

  “It’s no good, I’ll never get used to writing left-handed.”

  He threw the quill down and wiped his inky fingers on the rag as best he could. The stump of his right forearm ached, as if his missing hand had been clenched in frustration throughout the exercise. As well it might. He had known this was a stupid idea when Gabriel suggested it, but he hadn’t the heart to refuse.

  “Nonsense, it’s my fault for cutting the nib poorly,” Gabriel said. “You were doing very well with it.”

  He tried to kiss Ned’s brow, but Ned pushed him away and got to his feet, pacing the attic room to ease his cramped muscles. The skraylings’ potions had taken away the pain of surgery, but a week of lying drugged and immobile, and two more of being cooped up in this attic with nought to do but think, had left him both weak and restless.

  “Much use I will be,” he muttered. “A one-handed scrivener who can’t even cut his own pens.”

  “Perhaps you could get work in a printer’s shop,” Gabriel replied. “I hear they need men with a keen eye to set the lettering.”

  Ned made a rude noise. “I’m too old for an apprenticeship. No, I shall have to rent out the house and hope that brings in enough to keep me.”

  “I shall earn enough to keep us both,” Gabriel said cheerily. “Between my acting and what I can get for my plays–”

  “You don’t want to be bothered with an old cripple like me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Ned turned to stare at his lover. Gabriel folded his arms and glowered. It made him look like one of the sterner archangels, barring sinners from the gates of Heaven.

  “No?”

  “Not if you’re going to wallow in self-pity all day, I don’t.” Gabriel sighed. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s more than can be said for some.”

  “Ah, but Kiiren’s not really dead, is he?”

  “You believe Sandy has found him, reborn as a Venetian child?”

  Ned shrugged. “I leave all that uncanny business to him and Mal.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs outside, then came a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” they both cried out together.

  Hendricks – or Mina, as they were now supposed to call her – came in, carrying a large wooden box. Ned still wasn’t used to seeing her in women’s clothes and kept expecting her to revert to her old ways, but seemingly Mal had tamed her after all.

  “What’s that?” Gabriel asked as she set the box down on one of the empty beds.

  “A gift for Master Faulkner,” she said with a grin. “Something for him to wear to the wedding.”

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “Surely it’s Gabe you should be buying the fine apparel for,” Ned said at last. “No one wants to look at me.”

  “Oh, I think they will.” She clicked open the two latches, then stepped to one side. “Go on, then. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

  “Very well, since you are so desperate to tell me.” He walked over to the bed, lifted the lid, and whistled.

  “What is it?” Gabriel peered over his shoulder. “Oh, sweet Jesu!”

  It was an arm. Or rather, the lower half of an arm, with a hand attached. Made of brass and steel, all cunningly worked like fine armour.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  Ned shook his head in wonder. “Where did you get such a thing?”

  “I designed it,” she said. “Well, I borrowed some ideas from a book I read at Master Quirin the clockmaker’s, and then Raleigh commissioned it from one of the best armorers in Venice.”

  She lifted it out of the box to demonstrate.

  “See, you strap this end onto… your arm, and then with your other hand you can slide this lever–” she pointed to a protuberance on the inside of the prosthesis’ forearm “–and the fingers close, thus.”

  The fingers did indeed fold into the palm with a clank.

  “Ingenious,” Gabriel said softly.

  “Then slide it back and the hand opens again. It uses lodestones.” She pointed out the cobbled appearance of the palm. “The armourer embedded the leftover beads from Sandy’s old spirit-guard. It’s not like he needs them any more, now he has his necklace back.”

  “Will it protect me from guisers?” Ned asked.

  She laughed. “I don’t think so. But you can always hit them with it and find out.”

  “It’s… too princely a gift.” He ran a finger over the smooth, cold metal. For an instant he felt an answering touch on his missing hand. Skrayling magic, or his imagination? “Surely it must have cost a fortune. I will never pay off such a debt.”

  “No need. I sold the drawings to Quirin for his collection, and Raleigh was so pleased with it that he’s commissioned a life-sized automaton to give to the Queen.”

  “Thank you,” Gabriel said, embracing her, and for once Ned felt no jealousy. Hendricks was just a girl, after all.

  Getting married was all very well in theory, but there was the small issue that neither Coby nor Mal was a member of any parish in Venice. Nor did she wish to convert to Catholicism, despite Mal’s assurance that being of the Old Faith was not in itself against the law in England. She had been raised a Lutheran, and she would not put aside her faith for any man, even a husband.

  In the end it was agreed that they would follow English common law and make their vows before witnesses, then seek a church blessing once they were back in England. With an ambassador and a member of Parliament to vouch for them, no one could question the validity of the arrangement.

  They assembled in the ambassador’s tiny garden under the pomegranate tree. Coby wore a plain respectable gown and Mal his best doublet and hose. Berowne had put on courtly garb of silk brocade and velvet, and Gabriel and Ned had embellished their everyday outfits with new cloaks and plumed hats. Coby noted with satisfaction that Ned was wearing his false hand, though it was hardly noticeable with the sleeve of his doublet pulled down. She made a note to herself to suggest to Mal that they buy him a pair of gloves for Christmas.

  “Is Raleigh not joining us?” Mal asked, looking around.

  “He said he had an errand to run, and would be back forthwith,” Berowne replied.

  “Perhaps we ought to wait for him,” Coby said reluctantly. She had no particular desire for Raleigh to be at her wedding, even if he did make an impeccable witness.

  “He may be gone all day,” Mal said. “Let us get on with it.”

  “Ah, the anxious bridegroom,” Berowne said with a chuckle. “Afraid you’ll change your mind if we don’t get it over with?”

  “Not at all,” Mal said, and smiled down at Coby.

  “Well, then, you have your witnesses. Make your vows.”

  Mal cleared his throat, then took Coby’s hands in his. “Jacomina Hendricksdochter, do you marry me?”

  “Yes.” Her voice came out as a nervous squeak. She coughed. “Yes, I do.”

  “And I, Maliverny Catlyn, do marry thee.”

  “And I, Sir Geoffrey Berowne, bear witness to this contract, according to the ancient laws of England.”

  “And I, Gabriel Parrish.”

  “And I, Edmund Faulkner.”

  Mal shook h
ands with each of the men in turn, and they each kissed Coby on the mouth, Gabriel with a whispered “God bless you both” and Ned with another of his insufferable grins.

  “Is that it?” Coby asked.

  “One last thing.” Raleigh appeared in the doorway. “Can’t have a wedding without a ring, eh, Catlyn?”

  He held out a small velvet pouch, and Mal took it from him. Mal’s eyes widened as he loosened the strings and shook out the contents into his palm.

  “You had it made smaller,” he said, holding up the signet ring. “How did you even get hold of it?”

  Raleigh nodded towards Ned, who looked sheepish.

  “You stole it?”

  “Borrowed,” Ned replied. “It was Raleigh’s idea.”

  “Since the mistress of the house seems so fond of wearing breeches,” Raleigh said, “I thought she might as well be entrusted with the family seal also.”

  “I see.”

  “Well then, put it on her, man. I didn’t spend half the morning running around Venice for naught.”

  Coby held out her hand, and Mal slipped the heavy gold ring onto her finger. She gazed down at it wonderingly.

  “This is too fine a gift, sir…”

  “Nonsense. You are the mistress of my household now, as well as of my heart.” He kissed her. “And perhaps one day soon, the mistress of Rushdale Hall.”

  Sir Geoffrey insisted that they use his guest bedchamber for their wedding night, and sent Raleigh up to the attic. To Mal’s surprise the captain did so with good grace, shaking Mal by the hand and congratulating him on making an honest woman out of her at last. Mal was not so sure; the new Coby was a mystery to him, an old friend turned stranger. It was none of her doing, but he felt strangely awkward now in her presence when he had never done so before. He prayed his nervousness would not entirely unman him tonight.

  At last all their friends had bade them good night, and they were left alone together in the shadowy bedchamber. Coby fussed with the bed hangings, turned the counterpane back and plumped the bolsters. She seemed unable to meet his eye. He drew a deep breath. He was the master of the household, at least within this room; it was up to him to take charge of the situation.