Marbeck and the Privateers (7 page)

In spite of himself, Marbeck's curiosity was aroused. He sipped his own drink and said: ‘Then will you not converse with me as a fellow-traveller, instead of a dupe? I speak of your trade, if such it is. I've had my future foretold a dozen times, and it's yet to fall out as predicted.'

The brown-skinned man's eyes widened. ‘Then you have not yet encountered one with true powers.'

‘Perhaps …' Marbeck held his gaze. ‘And I'm prepared to listen, if you're willing to speak the truth.' Deliberately he looked at Fahz's damaged hand, the three remaining fingers curled like a claw.

‘Where did you get the wound?' he asked. ‘Indeed, why not tell me where you come from? For you're no Portugee.'

A moment passed. The other looked uneasy; perhaps he had judged his questioner as a man of courage and resources, skilled with the sword he wore. But his words came as a surprise.

‘There's a
djinn
following you, master,' he said, speaking low. ‘That's all I meant, about danger on the road ahead.'

‘A
djinn
?' Marbeck blinked. ‘Why, you're a Turk …'

‘Please.' With a rapid movement, Fahz put out his good hand and gripped Marbeck's wrist. ‘If I once was, I am no longer. I'm as loyal to the King as any man here. And my past can be of no interest to you …' He paused, then lifted his hand and pointed. ‘You too have fought, and risked your life,' he muttered in his throaty voice. ‘I see burns: the scar that will never heal.'

He meant the powder burn on Marbeck's arm, got in a house in Flanders when he had escaped from the Spanish … Marbeck stared. ‘You see them?' he echoed. ‘Through my sleeve?'

The other nodded. ‘In here,' he replied, tapping his head. ‘As I see your companion, that you were forced to leave behind …' He smiled, displaying once again the absence of teeth. ‘We all have our
djinns
, master … though yours are hard to shake off, I think.'

He fell silent. Marbeck was startled, more than he liked to admit to himself. He glanced about, saw other men at their tables, none of them looking his way. He sipped his ale and faced the soothsayer again.

‘Will you aid me, then? You divine correctly: I'm in a fog, looking for the path. I promise you I've no evil purpose in mind, only to serve, and protect those I'm charged to protect.'

‘I believe that,' Fahz said, after a pause. ‘But I fear I can tell you little.'

‘Then at least tell me of the merchant Jewkes,' Marbeck countered. ‘Does he come here? If so, I'd be curious to know why.'

‘He has not done so, to my knowledge,' Fahz replied. ‘I merely said I knew of him. He trades in many commodities: wines and silks, dyes and spices. Unlike me, he has many fingers.' With a fleeting smile, he raised his mug and drank.

‘There's a man named Solomon Tye,' Marbeck said, after a pause. ‘I think he works for Jewkes too – do you know him?' But to that, the other shook his head.

‘The name means nothing.'

He had come to the end of the information he would give. Thinking fast, Marbeck was about to frame another question, when the other frowned suddenly. ‘This quest of yours leads into darkness,' he said. ‘I perceive wicked men, doing wicked deeds … You should step aside from the path, let others walk it.' He let out a sigh. ‘Believe it or do not, as you will …'

‘I believe it,' Marbeck said. ‘And perhaps I should go now. Take this for your trouble.' He reached into his purse, found a silver coin and laid it down. Then raising an eyebrow he added: ‘If we were in another land, isn't this where you'd say,
Peace be upon you
?'

But Fahz didn't smile, nor did he pick up the coin. He merely regarded it and said: ‘I won't take it, master. I mean no offence to you, but I fear it would go ill with me if I did.' When Marbeck showed surprise, he added: ‘I fought Christians, many years ago … I think you know that. I was but a boy, learning gunnery skills. I had much to learn. Now I'll die here by the cold Thames, without seeing the waters of my homeland again.'

‘What waters would those be?' Marbeck ventured … then in a moment, something fell into place. ‘You were at Lepanto?'

Fahz merely lifted his mug and drank.

‘That's how you lost your fingers.' In amazement Marbeck looked down at the ruined hand: the ugly, blackened stumps of the missing thumb and forefinger. Could this man be a veteran of that terrible sea battle, more than thirty years back? Off Lepanto, while all Europe held its breath, the massed navies of the Holy League had destroyed the Ottoman fleet, ending their dominance of the Mediterranean. There had been prisoners, Marbeck knew, some sold as slaves, or forced to work on the ships of the victors. Had Fahz somehow ended up in England?

But the wizened man was shaking his head. ‘You're mistaken. I came out of that battle with nothing worse than broken ribs.' He looked away and grimaced.

‘You needn't speak of it,' Marbeck said.

‘Nor will I,' the other answered quickly. ‘But you reason well … you're a clever man.' He eyed Marbeck for a moment, then added: ‘I wasn't always a gunner. I was put to the oars, after I was captured. There are accidents sometimes, with the chains …'

A galley-slave.

Marbeck peered into the man's leathery face, then lowered his eyes. The silence between them grew. Finally he took up his mug and drained it. ‘I leave the coin,' he said. ‘If you won't take it, give it to another …' But he broke off as Fahz caught his sleeve.

‘The place you should look is to the west,' he said, leaning close. ‘I know not the name, but there's a fortress that is cracked and falling into the sea. Seek there for the ones they call in my tongue the
chekirge
, in Spanish
langostas
– locusts, it means. But these are not creatures of the hot lands: they are the
langostas del Mar
– locusts of the seas.'

Deliberately he lifted his mug and turned aside; their business was done. Without a word Marbeck got up and left him, stepping out into the pitch darkness.

In the morning he woke early, having spent the night in a lice-ridden bed in a seamen's lodging-house. He dressed quickly and made his way down to the riverside, and after waiting on the stairs, took the first skiff going west to the Legal Quays. From there he walked round the Bridge by Thames Street to the Three Cranes by the Vintry. Then it was a case of tedious hours wandering the waterfront in search of the man who was as likely as anyone to tell him what he wanted to know: who, or what, were the Sea Locusts?

The name both intrigued and troubled him; and having pondered it since the previous night, he was impatient to know more. Meanwhile, he knew he was neglecting his appointed task back at Salisbury House; he would have to write a report for Monk explaining his actions. Having taken a late breakfast he was back at Queenhithe, on the verge of giving up and hailing a boat, when at last he saw the shambling figure of Peter Mayne emerging from an alley. He was in the company of another unsavoury-looking fellow, who took one look at Marbeck walking towards them, turned on his heel and vanished. Mayne had barely time to register his absence before he was collared.

‘By the Christ!' the wharf-weasel snarled at Marbeck. ‘You've scared my friend off – you act like a whoreson constable, coming up like that!'

‘I need to talk to you, Peter,' Marbeck said. ‘The quicker you aid me the quicker I'll be gone. There's payment for you.'

‘No doubt,' the other grumbled. ‘But it don't do me any good, being seen with you. Some will think I'm a louse – I could get a poniard in my back …'

‘Indeed …' Marbeck nodded gravely. ‘You told me of Jewkes's whereabouts. That alone could get you killed, I imagine.'

‘You vile cunny …' Mayne stepped back. ‘You wouldn't finger me …'

‘Can you be sure?' Idly, Marbeck glanced around. The wharf was busy as always, so as he'd done the day before, he gestured upriver. ‘Shall we walk a while?'

The other sniffed, rubbed his rough beard, then said: ‘Damn you, Sands – this is the last time. If I see you again, I'll point you out as a snooper for the Admiralty Men … for I think that's what you are! You'd be unwise to show your face hereabouts, after that.'

He shuffled off. With a sigh Marbeck followed, until at a quieter spot on the Broken Wharf they stopped. ‘Well, what do you want?' Mayne demanded.

‘I need to know about the Sea Locusts,' Marbeck said.

His informant looked blank. ‘The what?'

After repeating the words Marbeck watched him, but soon realized the man's ignorance was genuine. Mayne merely shook his head. ‘I don't know what you speak of.'

‘You're certain? It could be a nickname, or …'

‘I never heard it,' the other insisted.

His disappointment rising, Marbeck considered; then something else Fahz had told him sprang to mind. ‘Have you heard of a castle somewhere in the west, that's cracked and falling into the sea?'

The wharf-weasel frowned, scratched his head, then his face cleared. ‘It could be Weymouth. There's two castles there … Portland Castle's well armed and well manned. The other one's smaller; decaying now, or so I've heard.' He gave a nod. ‘Could be that one.'

‘Very well.' Marbeck reached for his purse. ‘One last thing: has Jewkes an interest in more than mere imports? I wonder if he had a hand in seafaring ventures … maybe held letters of reprisal?' He spoke of the old practice, whereby licences were granted to attack Spanish ships at sea and seize their cargos.

Mayne grunted. ‘Likely enough: him and a hundred others,' he replied. ‘It's no secret – but that's over since the King outlawed it.'

It was true enough: one of King James's first acts had been to revoke letters of marque and reprisal. The days of state-approved piracy were finished.

‘And you'd be a fool to start prying into that kind of venture, Sands.' Mayne gave him a dark look. ‘There were too many men had a hand in that … men with too much to lose, and who'd swat you like a fly!'

Whereupon he held out his hand; and when the payment was handed over, he slouched away without a word.

Within the hour Marbeck was back at Salisbury House, and soon realized that there was a new air of bustle about the place. When he saw Daniel Miller hurrying along an upstairs passage, he waylaid him and asked for news.

‘You don't know?' The boy looked surprised. ‘The master's here … he'll be staying from today. The peace talks will start, with the Spaniards.'

Marbeck eyed him sternly. ‘I'm aware of the negotiations planned at Somerset House,' he said, adopting Giles Blunt's officious tone. Seeing the look on Daniel's face, he frowned. ‘What are you smirking about?'

‘You weren't here last night, were you?' the boy said. ‘My father knew it …' He put on a crafty look. ‘But you're a scholar and a man of clean habits, is't not so?'

‘It is,' Marbeck answered. ‘And whatever reasons I may have for being elsewhere are no concern of yours.' With that he turned and stalked off. But as soon as the boy had gone, he made his way out via the turret stair, and walked out to the riverfront. Today was fair again, the Thames sparkling in the sunlight. And there was John Miller, basking on the jetty with his shirt unbuttoned. When Marbeck appeared, he barely looked round.

‘I'm engaged today,' he said sourly. ‘I won't be able to do your bidding.'

‘I don't need you to,' Marbeck said. ‘But you'll remember our arrangement: have you observed any goings-on at Somerset House?'

The man gave a shrug. ‘Nothing untoward. My Lord Secretary will go there each day, they say. No doubt the Spanish bastards will start their wrangling, now the Hollanders have come.' He jerked his thumb upriver. ‘They're lodged at Durham House. Mayhap you should hire another to keep watch on them. I'd go cross-eyed, looking both ways at once.'

In silence Marbeck took in the news. At last the treaty talks had begun in earnest. He looked away to his right, towards the great mansion of Durham House fronting the river. Boats would be plying to and fro each day from now on – and Miller was right: it would be hard, if not impossible, to keep a watch on all the delegates. Then, Marbeck had been charged with watching only the Spanish ambassador … The oddness of that task troubled him once again.

‘Good night in Limehouse, was it?' Miller's voice, heavy with sarcasm, broke into his thoughts. ‘The whores there are all poxed, they say. Then what can you expect, when they go with Scots, Danes, Lord knows what …'

‘Is the Lord Secretary in conference already?' Marbeck broke in, giving his voice an edge.

‘He is. I ferried him down to Somerset House this morning … after a poor night's sleep, I could add. Having had a long journey back.' As a thought struck him, Miller put on a smug grin. ‘But see now, you won't have heard. There was another coil there last night. A servant stabbed.'

His face blank, Marbeck eyed him. ‘Stabbed?'

‘With a needle, or some such.' Miller was fumbling for his pipe. ‘Then, there's many folk with long memories who wish the Spaniards ill … mayhap you should have a poke about. That's what you do, isn't it?' With a leisurely air, he stuck the pipe in his mouth and brought out his tinderbox.

With thoughts whirling, Marbeck left the man and returned to his room. There among the untouched stacks of documents he pondered the situation, but not for long. His immediate course was clear: he should contact Levinus Monk. Sitting at the table, he found ink and quill and penned a hasty report. Then having changed his clothes and tucked the paper into his sleeve, he left the house by the street entrance.

Once again he walked the length of the Strand, past Somerset House, which was now guarded by armed men. Without slowing his pace he looked about, saw a coach drawn up by the entrance. A few curious bystanders stood near; but then, what was taking place behind those doors was no secret. Moving on, Marbeck turned into Strand Lane and made his way down to the Temple Stairs where the watermen gathered. Today they were all out on the river, it seemed – save one: to Marbeck's relief, it was Matthew Herle. But as he approached and saw the look on the man's face, he stopped abruptly.