Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [209]
Simon looked at the fellow’s clown’s eyes, large and white as blisters in the blackened face. He said, “There must, surely, be some insult that would force you into a manly attitude. But, by God, I am at a loss to think what it could be. In a somewhat varied life, I have never met, Meester Gregorio, a servant quite so craven as the one who calls himself your master.”
He smiled and moved off, and no riposte followed him. He did not look round to see if the youth was gazing after him.
After a moment Gregorio said, “I take it you have your reasons.”
Nicholas turned. He said, “I don’t know whether I have or not. There is more to think of than a squabble.”
“The ledgers …” said Gregorio.
“They’re not irreplaceable. And if you’re going to ask whether he started the fire, I don’t know.”
“But you are going to try and find out?”
“No. You are,” said Nicholas. “You’ll have a lot of help. The city takes these things seriously. But I don’t expect anything will be found.”
“And the loans,” said Gregorio. “The security for all those loans, and the income you needed to repay them …”
“Oh, yes,” said Nicholas. “It couldn’t have come at a worse time. Whoever started it counted on that. They probably counted as well on half of us burning to death. But no one did. And that, really, is all that matters.”
The demoiselle had come up, with the girls. She said, “That wasn’t …”
“Come to say how sorry he was. Not exactly. We’ll talk about all that later. Now, let’s see what has to be done.”
Nicholas left for Geneva on Tuesday, only two days later than he had originally intended. With him went the hired escort he had already arranged, with the mules and his own horses rescued from the stables, with their harness. Also salvaged from the stables were his saddlebags ready packed for the journey, and (against strong advice) a single cart stacked with bales of cloth for Jaak de Fleury.
He left behind the bags and boxes which Marian de Charetty had prepared for the same journey, and which now represented all the clothes and trinkets she had. There was no question now of her expedition. With Gregorio, she had assumed at first that his also was cancelled. Through that, the longest night of her life, there was no chance to think of it. With ready hospitality, folk took in her homeless people. One of the burgomasters came, in his nightcap, bringing the town doctors to see to their burns. A guard was set round the flaring, smouldering building to protect anything that might be worth rescuing once the ashes cooled. Winrik the money-changer took his friends and stood by that part of the house where, somewhere in the ruins, was a heap of melted silver from her coffer of groats. Tomorrow the Mint would sent its officials, and she would perhaps get the return of some of its worth. The rest, promissory notes and pledges, had all gone. And all the stock of the dyeshop, save for a sack or two of the most valuable dyes, which Henninc had dragged out himself.
Then, at dawn, she and Nicholas and Gregorio had gathered blackened and exhausted in the unpaid-for, miraculous refuge of Spangnaerts Street, sitting about a scrubbed table with soup in their hands, and talked. It was not very sensible but, too tired to sleep, Marian de Charetty had earned the right to exorcise her worst fears by attempting to plan, while she had men willing to listen and help her.
Gregorio, kept awake by the persistent oddity of the relationship, watched Nicholas making up the demoiselle’s mind for her. The May Fair was less than two weeks away, but something could be contrived. The Louvain business would supply them with some stock to sell. The Guild would help them with credit for purchases, and very likely with some sort of shared premises. Spangnaerts Street and the other property Nicholas had bought were no use for dyeing. But the first would now become their home