The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [274]
Until now. Until Adorne had been injured; forced to harbour the Boyds; exposed to ignominy and expense in Alexandria. Then David de Salmeton had set the trap and, knowing he would not fail to come, had delivered him not to the Sultan or the great emirs to whom official complaint might be made, but to some underling, whom even the Chief Dragoman could disown.
The cellar in which Nicholas lay was not one of the well-equipped prisons which occupied the basement of any official large house. It was empty, communicating by trap-door to the upper floor, and by locked doors to other cellars or passages on either side from which no sound emerged. When they had learned all they wanted to know, they could bury him here, and deny all knowledge of him. And if he were found, there would be no mark on his skin.
So de Salmeton and Adorne must have planned. And Gelis had helped them.
The veiled woman whose eunuch had conveyed that lewd invitation – that had been Gelis, testing, taunting. She had been there, on his first visit to the merchant’s house belonging to David de Salmeton. For his second, she had constituted herself the bait in the trap – she who had sent her wedding ring on a pilgrim galley to Jaffa so that her real whereabouts would remain undivined.
He wondered by what means she had sailed from Venice, and where she had landed. With de Salmeton’s help, it would not be difficult to find a berth and travel swiftly, reaching Jaffa, Damietta, Cairo ahead of them all. She knew, or David de Salmeton must know of the gold. From Katelijne to Adorne to de Salmeton. It had been a simple chain.
Knowing his gift of divining, she had used it against him, as she had sent Margot home; as she had stopped him – stopped the hound music, the child’s music with fire. And now she had made her own kill.
He had thought her dead. How was it for her? Cool and careful and sly, it had been for her: a chain of elegant links smoothly fitted together and leading him here, as he had dispatched her to Florence. They played games, and she had won by choosing a short game in the end, against all he expected. While Umar, who might have forgiven her, was horribly dead.
He found himself hoarse, as happened at times when the pain remained at its height for too long. No one could hear him, but he set himself to prove, as he must, that he could exert his will and be silent. After a while, the glare receded and he made one anchor, then two; then wove between them a chain, a net, a mail-coat of numbers.
When Tobie presented himself at his door, John le Grant, Aberdonian, engineer, maker of mines, stood with his white eyelashes wet and gripped his shoulders. When, some time later, Katelijne Sersanders was announced, the engineer told his servant to say that he was out.
‘No,’ rescinded Tobias. Made aware of firm opposition, he amplified. ‘She’s not just Adorne’s niece, she’s intelligent. See her. She may have something to tell you.’
After the kite episode, privately, he had known as much. But Adorne was her uncle, and he, John, had declared open war on the man. Also, she was a child. He said, ‘Is it fair?’
‘Let her be the judge of that,’ Tobie answered. If he had fallen in love, it was not obvious.
Entering, small as a robin, Katelijne Sersanders made her mind known at once. ‘Do you know where M. de Fleury is? Do you know?’
‘No,’ said Tobie. ‘Ask your uncle.’
She tore off her cloak and sat down. She said, ‘I was right. Someone’s got him. So, who?’
John le Grant said, ‘Your uncle denounced him. Try the Mamelukes.’
She said, ‘We should have heard. And you would know if he was hiding. I think something is wrong.’
‘Your uncle doesn’t have him?’ said Tobie.
The girl looked at him with something kinder than contempt. ‘He offered him justice in Bruges. He isn’t vindictive. But, escaping, M. de Fleury may have fled into trouble. That is all I came to say.’
‘Trouble with the Mamelukes?’ John le Grant said.
The large hazel eyes