Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [97]
‘I know them,’ said Loppe. ‘You wish to cause them some trouble?’
‘On the contrary,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have a great respect for them all. I just want to know, all the time, where they are. Can you do that?’
‘They have servants,’ said Loppe. ‘I can do that. What are you expecting to happen?’
‘What I’m expecting to happen doesn’t worry me,’ Nicholas said. ‘It’s what I’m not expecting that’s the devil. And don’t think, if you let me down, that you and John le Grant can do the whole thing yourselves because you most certainly can’t.’
‘Do what?’ said Loppe, his eyes whitely innocent.
‘What do you think? John’s an engineer. In your Portuguese days, you didn’t waste your time, did you? I’m only surprised Lorenzo Strozzi didn’t come with you.’
‘We asked him,’ said Loppe. ‘But he was leaving for Naples.’ He weighed the pack in his hand in a conjecturing way. ‘But of course, his mother’s in Florence, with your horses.’ He paused. ‘It’s another game. I am right? You are not going home?’
‘Of course I’m not going home,’ Nicholas said. ‘Any more than you are. As for the game, wait and see. After I’ve had my audience with Queen Carlotta.’
Astorre was next to hear of his owner’s arrival. It propelled him on a tour of his officers. John le Grant, about his business on the heights of the half-built St Nicholas tower, was annoyed to be summoned by shouts from below. When he heard Astorre actually climbing the stonework he exclaimed, ‘Oh Christ,’ and thrust his lever at someone to hold for him. From there, he leaned out from the scaffold and shouted, ‘If you come one step nearer, I’ll mince you.’
Astorre glared back at him, but remained where he was. It was raining. The air vibrated with the clack of the windmills. Astorre looked up at the fortress and sneered. ‘That’s supposed to make a Turk stop? They’ll blow it down through the gaps in their teeth. I just thought you might be interested in your future. The young fellow’s turned up.’
John le Grant gripped the uprights on either side of him and swung down to the plank just below. Without touching it with his feet, he performed a couple of somersaults and then let himself swing back and forth, his legs in their muddy boots held straight out in front of him. He said, ‘Catch me,’ and dropped. Astorre, nearly overturned into the sea, staggered, caught him, and slammed him down on the paving before him. He said, ‘If they’ve got any sense, they’ll brick you up in that thing. Did you hear what I said? Nicholas has come in from Kolossi. With a woman.’
‘I didn’t hear you say that,’ John le Grant said. ‘Well, good for Nicholas. Where is he?’
‘With Carlotta. That bitch Simon’s wife was waiting for him with Louis de Magnac. Suave and sweet to his face, but he’s under guard.’
‘You don’t look worried,’ said the engineer. He took off his felt cap and wrung it out.
‘He came. There’s nothing to worry about,’ said Astorre. His puckered eye gleamed through the scar, and his beard broadened its base. ‘The woman’s the one Thomas trailed all over Italy. Thomas got all upset when Loppe told him.’
‘Lopez,’ said John le Grant. ‘He’s with Nicholas?’
‘That’s who told me,’ said Captain Astorre. ‘And I’ve news. Loppe thinks it’s Cyprus we’re going for.’
John le Grant put on his cap. He said, ‘That’s all I needed: a death sentence. Come on. If I’m not going to build it, I don’t see why I need to get wet.’
Captain Astorre looked up at the tower and the scaffolding. He said, ‘What did you say to that fellow? To hold something?’
The engineer followed his eye, swore, and yelled up an instruction. The man, scowling, dropped what he had been holding. It slithered down, bringing a course of stone with it. A block dropped at his feet. ‘Wall you up, if you’re not careful.