Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [190]
‘Only because she wasn’t allowed to use Venice,’ Mick Crackbene said. ‘There is a refinery here, and in Rhodes. And one in Crete. As I sail, I ask questions, and report to you.’ At the time, Nicholas was pleased with the intervention.
Later, a breeze came to flap the awning and they went indoors and scattered to their various purposes. Tomorrow, John le Grant would return to the army, and Crackbene would travel west to see timber merchants before returning for orders. The royal fleet was not large, and much extended in the cause of supplies and defence and, of course, the double blockade. Meticulously, as Nicholas knew, the fee for its requisition was paid into his business in Venice. He hoped Gregorio was happy.
Tomorrow he, too, would take the road at last for the south, Loppe and Tobie riding with him. He had been to the dyeworks already, and satisfied himself that it was beginning to run well and effectively, and that Zorzi had no cause to complain. He had seen Diniz once, in the distance, but the boy had turned his back, and he had not persisted.
Now he had one final task, which he contemplated with a mixture of amusement and revulsion. He changed his shirt for another, and put on a light taffeta robe which hid what was left of the bandaging. He knew he still held himself stiffly, but Tobie had been reassuring, and, slowly, he was permitted to move and exercise the injured muscles. It hurt, but not when he was thinking of something else. He had his hat brought by one of his entourage, and Tobie said, ‘This meeting. Shall I postpone it for you?’
Nicholas looked at him. He said, ‘Tobie, it’s a contract for millions. How can I fail to appear?’
Tobie pulled off his bonnet, so that his bald head and face shone together. He said, ‘Well, you fool. Don’t drink. You’re tired.’
Fair enough. Where he was going, he was unlikely to be offered hospitality.
The lady Marietta of Patras had several noses: some of wax and some, of various shapes, in painted wood. Today, receiving Nicholas, she appeared as at their first meeting, with a cloth of silk fastened under her eyes and below the mantle of gauze that covered her hair and her robe. She was in a plain room containing a table and chair and several boxes, as well as a velvet-topped stool, to which he was bidden. She herself sat at the table. She said, ‘And has my son taken you yet?’
He did not blink, or move a hand or a foot. He said, ‘Greetings, Highness. No, Highness.’
The veil skipped, and a snuffle emerged. The King’s mother said, ‘It is the art of the fisherman. You engage your prey. The pleasure lies in the dalliance, in the uncertainty. Once it is trapped, it is trapped. I commend you.’
‘Madam. I thought you were commending your son,’ Nicholas said.
The veil blew, but not unduly. The eyes watching him over it were almost lazy. She said, ‘You have a penchant for dangerous conversations. I remember. But Tzani-bey had no trouble teaching you manners. Is he still somewhat crude? Is this why you escape to the south?’
‘Certainly,’ Nicholas said, ‘I found he had no more to teach me. But he has my lord King for company, while I serve the same King in the south. For that reason, I asked for an audience.’
She laid her clasped hands on the table and opened her eyes. She said, ‘You are directing this interview?’
Nicholas produced a face contorted with thought. He said, ‘Highness. All the topics so far chosen are yours.’
‘And you wish to escape them?’ she said.
‘Both of them?’ Nicholas said. He reduced, politely, the surprise in his voice. He said, ‘Highness. I have tried to explain. I am going south only on business.’
He did not know why he was treading this knife-edge, except that he sensed she liked a challenge, and