The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [237]
At the gates of the fondaco, the Mamelukes saluted and left, the captain with something pressed into his hand. John looked at the baskets. ‘Katelijne will be pleased. She can take some of it with her.’
Nicholas walked through the arch, unbuttoning his robe as he went. ‘Where is she going?’
‘Tobie’s taking her to her uncle’s fondaco. He says he didn’t bring her here to be interrogated about what her uncle has done so far on the journey, and it wouldn’t be ethical to expect him to report on Adorne either.’
Nicholas turned. ‘I haven’t asked him to. Or her. Yet.’
‘Well, don’t. And he doesn’t want the girl mixed up with poisoned sweets either. Where did those come from?’
‘A disappointed admirer. Poor Tobie. Is he courting her?’ Nicholas said. ‘What fondaco is he putting her into?’
‘The Genoese. Of course he isn’t courting her. He’s her physician. He likes her. He doesn’t want her overexcited. Oh, Christ.’
‘What?’ said Nicholas, completing the unbuttoning. A page, appearing, took off the garment. The silver weave was almost too stiff to fold. Underneath he wore a white shirt and black hose. He pulled off his hat and handed it over. The ostrich, bored with its tree, slung its neck towards him and hissed. He said, ‘No. You’ve got too many feathers.’ Across the courtyard and beyond the next range of buildings a kite floated in the blue sky.
John le Grant said, ‘It’s hers. Tobie and I saw it last night after we left you. She had this amazing idea.’
‘Which you told her not to go on with. I see now why Tobie wants to remove her. What idea?’
They had walked through the second courtyard and were emerging into the garden, which was shady with fruiting, mysterious trees. There were small birds in the palms, clinging to the long berried sprays, and orange butterflies flirted. A young woman in Venetian dress stood with a child, feeding a gazelle with morsels of bread. She turned and smiled at them. The courts they had crossed had been empty of all but skipping servants and the animals of the little menagerie. The men were mostly indoors or in the warehouses or at other fondaci.
The windlass squeaked, bringing water up from the depleted wells. All Alexandria was built upon cisterns, replenished by rain, filled to overflowing when the aqueducts brought the miraculous flood of the Nile, as it would in September. It was why the city was green.
The wind blew from the sea, and distorted the jets of a fountain. ‘There she is,’ John le Grant said.
Chapter 33
NICHOLAS LOOKED. It was Katelijne, with a kite. She wore a thin muslin dress, slightly torn, and no hat. She had also taken off her shoes. Her arms and legs, which were bare, were unacceptably brown and touchingly thin. Her tongue was out, and she was gazing at her kite, which was in the shape of a frog. She hadn’t seen them.
‘What is she trying to do?’ Nicholas said. From where she stood on the grass, the wind had blown the kite out of the garden and over the lane that adjoined it: soon it was going to break against the walls of the neighbouring fondaco. He supposed she was learning. You didn’t have to be in Alexandria for more than a day to discover that all children flew kites. The cool northern breeze, always present, was the gift of Aeolus to kites.
John said, ‘She’s trying to lift a map from the main Vatachino offices.’
‘What!’ said Nicholas. He started to laugh.
‘She discussed it all last night. The wind holds the kite to the shadowy side of the building; the balcony doors are all open for air; you slide the kite down until you reach the loggia you want, direct the kite over the balcony wall and let it travel on into the doorway.’
‘Where someone seizes it.’
‘No. She was going to wait until she saw them go out. The map’s on a stand; you can see it. And the kite is covered with gum.’
‘Mixed by Tobie,’ said Nicholas. He had broken into a run, still hiccoughing slightly. Katelijne, without looking round, repossessed her tongue