Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [182]
‘Not that kind of drink,’ Nicholas said. ‘But something wet would be nice. There’s a new inlet pipe in my head.’
‘Let’s try the usual way.’ Supporting him, Tobie said, ‘It was your lucky day, whatever you feel like. You moved just a little too far, and the axe was at the end of its range. I’d like to try it again with the brat at the other end, this time.’
‘Diniz?’ Nicholas said. The cup withdrew. ‘He wasn’t hurt?’
‘They didn’t call me to him,’ said Tobie. ‘Which is as well, because I wouldn’t have gone. He’s here, in a cell with a stool, a bucket and a small supply of congealed food. I don’t think he’s been offered a bath yet, but maybe his nose has got used to it. What did you expect, an ovation when you walked into that yard?’
‘I was going to talk to him,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I had to take Zorzi there first. I was going to talk to him along with …’ He stopped. With the pillow behind, he could now see a small amount of the room, including the window. There was someone sitting beside it. He saw who it was.
Tobie followed his gaze. ‘Katelina van Borselen. You asked her to come here to meet you, and she’s been here ever since. She won’t leave till she knows what will happen to Diniz.’
‘Nothing. Tell her.’
‘I have told her. She doesn’t believe me. I don’t, perhaps, sound convincing,’ Tobie said. He was wearing his cap, as he always did when exercising his profession. The curl of his lips matched the neat little scroll of his nostrils; all of which, in their ways, provided a regular index to Tobie’s intimate feelings. Once, in Trebizond, Tobie had attended another illness of his, with consequences Nicholas preferred not to remember. Then, Katelina had not been present: only spoken of.
Nicholas said, ‘Bring her over.’ She came, not very quickly, and stood by his bed.
Sick or well, you couldn’t look at this face without seeing, under the strain, the handsome, high-bred young woman of three years before. You couldn’t look at the slender gown, the long sleeves, the severe coif, without remembering the generous body, twice offered and many times visited. Her gaze was large and brown and impelling. She said, ‘The cause in this quarrel was mine. Diniz was an innocent, acting on impulse. Punish me, but not him.’
Since St Hilarion, he had grown very tired of some sorts of exchanges. He said, ‘How would you like to be punished?’
Her eyes widened. So, he saw with perverse satisfaction, did those of Tobie. Then she said, her voice steady, ‘Do with me as you would do with him.’
‘All right,’ said Nicholas. ‘He goes home, and you start in the dyeyard on Monday.’ He closed his eyes without meaning to, and found it an improvement.
She said, ‘You are playing with me.’
Tobie said, in an exasperated way, ‘He’s not playing with anybody. He’s tired of talking, and he’s just told you the truth. Diniz is under no threat but that. He has to work with the dyes for a season. And even that was already decided.’
Katelina’s voice said, ‘Is that true?’
Nicholas opened his eyes. He said, ‘You know how ashamed I was of my upbringing. Now the Vasquez are getting a taste of it.’
Her relief was so great that it displaced, he saw, even her scorn. She said, her voice strengthening, ‘But he is in a cell.’
‘That was Tobie’s doing,’ he said. ‘A surcharge for unsolicited work conducted under unpleasant conditions. I shall give orders to have Diniz released. He will be, as before, a prisoner of war with restricted freedom of movement. Unless, of course, he tries the same thing again.’
‘I shall stop him,’ she said.
Nicholas looked up at her. ‘He might stop himself, if he thought about it. You could tell him –’ He hesitated.
‘Yes?’ said Katelina. ‘I don’t mind being your mouthpiece. I shall not, perhaps, be very persuasive.’
There was a silence. Tobie said, ‘Go on.’