Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [240]
He spent the last evening with Gelis. Part of it had to do, as was usual, with figures and calculations, but eventually the papers were put away, and the wine brought, a fortified red one from Portugal which had reached her through the sinful Arnaud Adorne and a man called Thomas Perrot. Gelis and he sat together by lamplight in her parlour which was imbued with no memories, for Nicholas had never lived here with his wife and his once-loved son Jodi, now nearly seven.
Jodi and the sandy-haired engineer had, in these last weeks, attained a mild degree of affinity, based on a mutual liking for mechanical toys and model ships. Because John had a meticulous sense of fairness, it had not gone beyond that. Neither had his own extended stay in Spangnaerts Street attracted any particular attention inside the building or out of it, at least until the day when Crackbene had put in from La Rochelle, and unloaded his wine, and brought the Bank his report.
As authorised, Mick Crackbene had sailed round the French coast past Brittany and, as expected, had met there the Peter, once of that very place, with Paúel Benecke in command. Benecke had been drunk. He had tried to race Crackbene’s ship into port.
‘And?’ Father Moriz had said at that point, with impatience. Father Moriz was not tolerant of self-indulgence.
‘And the Peter sank,’ Crackbene had explained with simplicity.
There had been a silence. Some years ago, a Vatachino ship called the Fortado had suffered a similar fate, having incurred the displeasure of Nicholas. Tobie had said, ‘You sank her?’
‘A vessel with a beam of forty feet, a length of a hundred and seventy, and three hundred crewmen? I suppose I could have done,’ said Mick Crackbene, pausing to reflect, ‘but I didn’t. She wrecked herself on the rocks. A treacherous coast.’
‘I remember,’ Diniz had said, with irony. ‘But Paúel Benecke managed to survive?’
‘All of them did. He’s a good seaman. He’ll get another boat soon.’
‘Will he? How?’
‘He has plans,’ Crackbene had said casually. ‘He thought he might not go back to Danzig. Woman trouble. Hanse trouble too, I expect. He knows Ochoa is dead and the gold lost, so there is nothing to wait for. He thought he might go to Seville, build a caravel, and offer himself for a bit of trading down the coast. Down the African coast. Down where the Portuguese used to have a monopoly.’
‘Trading in gold?’ Diniz had said. And then, ‘How would he raise the money to build his own ship?’
‘He didn’t tell me in so many words,’ Mick Crackbene had said. ‘But I think he mentioned insurance.’
This deserved, and received, some slow applause, during which John found himself exchanging a long look with Gelis. When he turned, he had found Crackbene’s eyes on them both. After that, Crackbene had watched him a lot.
Now, sitting studying Gelis on the last evening before he went back to war, the engineer spoke in his own language, bluntly. ‘You’re certain sure Nicholas is still alive. But you canna sense that he’s divining?’
She didn’t avoid the question, or the subject. ‘I think he’s alive. He may not be able to divine. He needs quiet, and a pendulum.’
‘Could he divine where David de Salmeton is?’ John said.
‘He would want to,’ Gelis said. ‘He could do nothing about it. I can’t understand, as it is, why de Salmeton hasn’t come after us: you, myself, Jodi, Kathi, Tobie, Crackbene. Even to taunt us.’
He had thought about that himself. He said, ‘It wouldna give