Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [137]
Beside the man in the mantle was Nicholas, hatless, cloakless and wearing an untidy doublet. From the frizz of his hair, the rain hopped down the lines of his brow and sluiced the familiar face, which was fawn and bland and marked with occasional scabs. He saw them, and caused his tied hands to rise in a shrug. He looked cheerful. Turning, Tobie saw why he looked cheerful. Advancing towards him was the Grand Commander of Cyprus, Louis de Magnac. And behind him, eyes downcast, was Loppe. Astorre said, ‘Hah!’ and John le Grant trod on his foot. Nicholas said nothing at all, but smiled vacuously.
The newcomer conferred with de Magnac. The stranger was broad rather than tall, and the fur inside his cloak made him thicker. His wrists looked powerful, and his hands were heavily ringed. The conversation lasted rather longer than might have been thought necessary: at the end of it, the two shore soldiers were replaced by two from the ship who, assuming control of the captive, marched him towards the rear castle. Passing, Nicholas turned his head and shrugged again, grinning. It seemed to have become his habitual posture. Above the grin, it could be seen, he was looking about him intently.
The man of the mantle had left the Grand Commander and was coming over. ‘Messer Niccolò’s officers? I am Napoleone Lomellini. I have the duty of escorting your young master to my city of Famagusta. I regret the bonds, but you may speak to him later. It would not do, as you may imagine, for the company of Niccolò to seize the ship and take it anywhere but the island of Cyprus.’ He smiled and turned. His brows were thick and dark, and so was his hair. ‘You may sail, master.’
The shipmaster hesitated, his eyes on de Magnac. The Grand Commander gave a nod, and the master, turning, began to give orders. Astorre said, ‘See that? Commands from a Genoese? The rest didn’t like that, did they? Well, we’re going. It’s all working out as the lad said.’
John le Grant said, ‘Is it? He didn’t say anything about going to Famagusta.’
‘Does it matter?’ said Tobie.
‘Yes, it matters,’ said le Grant. ‘It matters if they land him in one place and us in another.’
‘He wouldn’t let them do that,’ said Astorre.
‘He mightn’t be able to stop them,’ said John le Grant. ‘I don’t like it when he looks cheerful.’ The ship had begun to cast off, the oars poised, the anchormen working. Nicholas, about to disappear into a cabin, had prevailed on his escort to let him turn and stand, gazing landwards.
‘That’s all right, then,’ said Tobie. ‘He’s stopped looking cheerful.’ He was staring at Nicholas. ‘He’s regretting something. I wonder what it is, apart of course from being about to land on Famagusta. What other disasters have befallen him recently? Failing to kill John of Kinloch? Achieving poor results with the Vasquez family? Getting stoned by the Portuguese? Or not getting to keep Primaflora? Mind you, maybe he did. Maybe she’s aboard. Maybe they’re married.’
‘She isn’t. I asked,’ said Thomas surprisingly. He flushed.
Tobie said, ‘You asked?’
Thomas said, ‘I wondered. The Queen might have forced her to marry him. But they said not. She’s to stay in Rhodes with the others.’
John le Grant said, ‘Thomas. I thought you had had enough of the lady?’
Thomas flushed deeper. Tobie said, ‘He had; and he didn’t fancy her running the company. That it, Thomas? So why is our Nicholas looking like that, unless he’s found she isn’t on board?’
They all looked at what they could see of Nicholas. Certainly, his face was no longer cheerful. He was staring at the long mole behind them. The ship rocked, the oars dug in, and the space between the ship and the jetty started to widen. Tobie said, ‘It’s the tower John was building. Look at it. Crooked as Pisa.’
‘He’s missing the Queen,’ Astorre ventured. He guffawed. ‘Knight of the Order!