The Merchant of Dreams Read Online Free PDF

downwards, and he shook his head. “I am sorry, my friend. I think this is not good time. Not yet.”
    “Then my business here is done,” Mal said, getting to his feet. “I will seek passage to London in the morning.”
     

CHAPTER III
     
    Coby strode through the dusk, hoping she had chosen the right direction. She could hardly return to the skrayling camp in the middle of a funeral.
    The wind rustled the gorse bushes, and the last rays of the setting sun caught the tips of their thorny branches, gold and… lilac? She turned, and saw three figures striding across the rough ground towards her. Skraylings, carrying coloured lanterns. She was not keen to speak with them, but they appeared to be heading towards Lord Kiiren’s camp, and at least with them to guide her she wouldn’t have to worry about getting lost and falling off a cliff. She waited patiently for them to catch her up.
    The three skraylings halted a few yards away and raised their lanterns, peering at her through the gloom. She thought she recognised one of them from the crowd at the wrestling match, but she couldn’t be certain. All three had iron-grey hair and wore the elaborately patterned tunics and jewelled hair-beads of senior merchants. The swaying lamplight distorted their tattooed faces, and for a moment Coby could almost believe the story that they were born from the bark of trees.
    “You go Kiiren?” one of them asked.
    “Aye.”
    He gestured somewhat to his left. “Here. We too go.”
    Coby bowed her thanks and followed the elders across the heath. Thankfully they did not speak to her further, though they exchanged a few words in Vinlandic. She thought she caught the word senlirren , which she knew meant “outspeaker”, since it had been Lord Kiiren’s title in London.
    They followed a small stream to where it disappeared over a lip of stony ground into a narrow defile. The southeast-facing hollow was already as dark as night, lit only by a fire over which a large pot bubbled, giving off an enticing savoury smell. Mal and Sandy were hunkered down by the fire; they both got to their feet as the elders approached, and bowed. The skraylings returned the gesture, then without another word ducked into Kiiren’s tent.
    “Where on Earth have you been?” Mal asked Coby, draping an arm about her shoulder. “You nearly missed supper.”
    They sat down opposite Sandy, who stirred the pot with a wooden spoon, seemingly oblivious to their presence. Coby studied him discreetly as they waited. Last time she had seen Sandy Catlyn, he had been in the grip of whatever fiendish enchantment the late Duke of Suffolk had inflicted on him in that cellar. He appeared sane enough now, though he was still quiet and withdrawn even compared to his brother.
    A few moments later Kiiren and the elders emerged from the tent.
    “Please forgive me, Catlyn-tuur,” Kiiren said to Mal. “I am called away on clan business. Please, enjoy your supper without me. I will return in the morning.”
    Kiiren embraced Sandy, then the four skraylings departed in silence.
    “I wonder what that was all about,” Coby said, watching them leave.
    Mal told her about his conversation with Kiiren. He said nothing about their findings on Corsica, however, and Coby guessed he had not yet broken the bad news to Sandy. She wondered if the ambassador had known any of the dead skraylings.
    “Then Lord Kiiren was right,” she said when Mal finished. “Whatever this other clan are up to, they expect him to help.”
    Across the fire Sandy tasted the pottage, nodded to himself in satisfaction, and ladled some into a wooden bowl.
    “We will have to share,” he said, passing it to Mal. “Kiiren and I have only the two.”
    Mal handed the bowl and a spoon to Coby. The pottage was thick and salty, made with mussels and the fat yellow corn the skraylings brought with them from the New World. After a few greedy mouthfuls she remembered her manners and passed it back to Mal.
    Whilst she waited