The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [368]
She crossed. Dr Tobias said, ‘Thank God you’re here. Hold the bowl. I’ve got to see what Simon is up to.’
‘I can tell you,’ said Kathi.
Now they were close to the Basin; the deep-water anchorage off the Doge’s Palace and the Piazzetta. The young man Nerio, having kissed all the whores, replaced his mask and swung himself laughing back aboard his own boat from which, in a moment, the Queen of Cyprus and her mother and aunts sent across a casket of sweetmeats. Simon’s ladies fell on them. Simon ignored them. He might be deprived of his partner, but that wasn’t going to stop his glorious plan.
He knew where the vessel was, because he had arranged for its hiring. He knew who would be in it, because three of them were in his employment as well. Having an office in Genoa, he had not found it difficult to discover where Gelis van Borselen was going to stay, or to forestall her when she wanted armed help. She would not have heard his name mentioned. That is, she might not have minded, but one could never be sure.
He had to admit, too, that his father had helped. It was awkward, because his father and he had quite different ideas about what to do with Gelis’s son.
He fastened his panther skin a little more securely and began, with confidence, to jump from boat to boat.
It had come to Nicholas some time before, that Gelis was frightened. It did not mean much, in the curious place where he was. He assumed she was afraid that he would somehow perish before he had found what she wanted. When he could not concentrate any more, he said, having obtained permission to speak, ‘Do you think I could see where we are?’ They would not let him into the open, but they drew back the curtain a little so that he could see how close they were to the Basin and the end of their journey.
The end of his journey. Ahead was the terminus, the space of water lit by the flood of torchlight from the Piazzetta where all the regatta would finally come to rest. The place was marked by a group of objects at anchor: the broad barge upon which, earlier, the stilt-walkers and acrobats had performed, and the fire-swallowers had sent their columns of flame into the air; the raft with the windlass from which rose the double rope joining palace to campanile, up which the tightrope artists had walked; the floating sea-monster which by day delighted and terrorised children from canal to canal. And within the rectangle they described, a vessel he could not yet see, from which came the summons he felt.
He did not need the whistle any more; the desecrated whistle. He let it swing to its furthest extent from his lacerated finger, and loosed it to hurtle ahead, accurate as a date stone, through the curtain and into the water. Gelis started. The soldier behind struck his arm. Then he saw the golden figure leaping towards him, spanning the widening gap between boats. He had no doubt who it was.
He thought at first, naturally, that Gelis had planned it. He was surprised when she gave an order to her three hirelings beside him. ‘Send that man away.’
He said nothing. If she did not recognise Simon de St Pol, it was not for him to tell her. Then he heard her repeat sharply, ‘Stop that man from coming aboard!’ and realised that she knew who it was. And, further, that the men also knew who it was, and were not going to do as she said.
Nicholas said, ‘They are Simon’s, not yours,’ and watched, almost with pity, as understanding came to her face.
The boat slowed. The cluster of moored vessels ahead was very close. His own boat, just in front, would be among the first to drop anchor. Oddly, above the strange, dispersed clamour all about him, the music, the laughter, the subdued roar that rose like a thundercloud from the land, there came from ahead the sound of a jew’s trump, playing a tune. A nursery tune: the notes he had built