The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [286]
His legs tossed, the pain from his feet reverberating in his loins. Creatures struggled and fluttered about him, furred and feathered and naked. The wings of a bat splashed and beat at his neck. Snakes were fluid, beautiful swimmers. He had seen an asp, in the last of the light, passing him loop by loop like a poem. Something struck him: a block from the steps, swirling and banging his shoulder. His shoulder was numb. A blow to the head, and he might lose his senses.
What senses had he to lose?
Et tes fils autour de ta table …
What sons had he to lose?
‘Lord?’ someone said. The water washed over his face. ‘Lord? My master Nicomack ibn Abdallah?’ The voice came from far away. From the end of the passage. From the grille.
He said in Arabic, ‘Yes? I am here.’
Someone exclaimed. Above the noise of the water, quietening now, he seemed to hear several voices. There came a chime, and another. The sound of a tool on the grille. His hand slipped and, choking and retching, he gathered his strength and pulled himself higher, twining himself on the remains of the steps as David de Salmeton had done. There were three more steps above him: he had tested. Soon, the water would fill them. It didn’t matter. Someone had come.
Then, grating above him, the bolt of the trap-door began to withdraw.
He hissed a warning, and heard an answer, and dropped.
The Mamelukes lifted the trap-door just in case, they remarked, the water was high and the Frank emerged to trouble the lord, which their master the Chief Dragoman would deplore. They used the derogatory term with an air of innocence: as a Frank himself, David de Salmeton knew he was there on sufferance. Nevertheless, he craned forward, holding the lantern, the perspiration dripping after his run.
His first thought was how cool it appeared, the dark water lurching below with its glottal voice, its streams of light-gilded foam; the pleasant silvery sound of the fall in the distance. The level, steadily rising, was already well above the height of even the tallest of men.
Then, his eyes opening to the dark, he saw how the glittering surface was marred with litter, and suddenly began to fear that he was too late, and that he would see nothing of the other man until the cistern was shut off and drained, and his body was left with the rats. Then he noticed something pale move, and laughed and said, ‘Come. Come to the ladder and tell me how you have decided to give your Bank and your gold to my friends.’
‘Then I may as well stay,’ said de Fleury. It was a visible effort to float: his head and shoulders rose and fell with the incoming flux and his face, leaving and entering the light, appeared plangent black upon white like a mask. Zacco should see him now.
David de Salmeton said, ‘You find life isn’t worth living? How sad!’
There was a pause. The water, ceasing to surge, was merely flickering. The other man said, ‘I object to the company.’
‘You would like to kill me? You had the chance. But I am only one person. You would have had to kill Martin, and Egidius, and our owner. And you don’t even know who that is. Shall I tell you?’
Below, the wooden blocks, hitting the walls, were spinning and dancing. Behind him, the Mamelukes shifted, but David felt no anxiety. Long before this spent man could swim, he would have stopped him. And, indeed, de Fleury was making no effort, except the consummate one of keeping afloat. The other man said, ‘Have I met him?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said David de Salmeton.
‘Then,’ said the other man, ‘I imagine it is Anselm Adorne. Tell him I shall await him, wherever I go. And all the rest of you.’
‘And Gelis?’ de Salmeton said. ‘Or is that too ungallant, even for you? At least she should take joy in her widowhood. I shall see to that myself. So. Have you changed