The Empire of Glass - Andy Lane [77]
He leaned against one of the columns and relished the cold stone against his forehead. The last little knots of tension were finally untangling inside his stomach. The Doge had finally accepted that the telescope worked. More than that, he had instantly grasped the military applications and had promised Galileo an increase in salary, a bonus and an extension of his tenure at the University of Padua. Hopefully it would be enough to satisfy both the Doctor and the real Galileo.
It was all plain sailing from here. All Steven had to do was to demonstrate the telescope to the Doge's advisers and the Council and Senate members, one by one, until either they were all satisfied or darkness had fallen. He had talked five of them through it so far, and he could hear the horse that was bearing the sixth heading up the spiral ramp now.
Steven turned as the horse placidly entered the belfry, being led by the guard. As the man on it dismounted, Steven held out the telescope to him.
"This, esteemed Sir, is my -"
"I care not about your baubles," the man snapped. For the first time Steven actually looked at his face, and he felt his heart give two quick beats. It was the hawk-nosed man who had been glaring at him in the Hall of the Ante-College.
"I - Sir, I do not -"
"Save your stammering apologies," the man said, sneering. He stepped towards Steven, who backed away until he could feel the stone balustrade against the back of his thighs. The guard and the horse looked on from across the belfry without showing any signs of wanting to interfere.
"I am Tomasso Nicolotti," the man said. "You killed my son by poison. I am persuaded that you have the trappings of a gentleman, even though you are scum in the pay of the Castellanis, and so I challenge you to a duel. Be at the Church of St Trovaso when the bells in this tower strike the end of the day."
He smiled. "Or I shall hunt you down and kill you like the dog that you are."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They were in a race, and something told Galileo that it was one they had to win.
From his position in the stern of the boat he had a panoramic view of the boat itself and of the water around them. To their left and right, other ships paralleled their course, cleaving the waves apart as they all headed for the island of Laputa. Some were small, barely large enough to hold two drab Englishmen and a mast, while others were thrice their size and supported a crew of Venetian fishermen presumably hired along with their boat. Others, hidden in the mist, could be heard as they splashed through the water and as their crews shouted instructions to each other. The Englishmen were clustered in the bows of all the ships in sight, all staring fixedly towards the island, ignoring the salt sea-spray that drenched them. The closest boat was only a score of yards away, and slightly ahead, and Galileo could easily make out the unnatural whiteness of the Englishmen's faces, and the rouge-redness of the sores on their skin.
The Doctor was standing by the mast, occasionally tightening or slackening the ropes that led up to the sail. Although he was old, his movements were assured and strong, and he seemed to know what he was doing. Shakespeare, by contrast, was huddled in the bows of the ship and looked as if he might throw his guts up over the side at any moment. Englishmen - effete and unworldly, the lot of them - except for that Marlowe fellow, who seemed to have a practical head on his shoulders despite the lascivious way he eyed young Steven Taylor. A shame that he was not with them now, but had elected to follow his own path in the city itself. He would have been worth ten of Shakespeare in their current situation.
The island of Laputa loomed against the misty backdrop ahead of them, an island paradise of slender trees crowned with spreading