Free The Merchant of Dreams by Anne Lyle

he wore a pearl earring the size of a robin’s egg. Only his wind-burned cheekbones hinted at a more active life than most courtiers. Mal sketched a bow.
    “Sir Walter.”
    He handed over Walsingham’s letter. Raleigh broke the seal and scanned the contents, nodding to himself and frowning slightly in concentration. At last he looked up.
    “So you’re the hero who toppled the mighty house of Grey,” he said in a soft Devonshire accent. He drew on his pipe and after a moment breathed a halo of smoke across the space between them. “I expected at least a Samson, if not a Hercules.”
    “Hardly toppled, sir. Brought to its knees, perhaps.”
    “A David, then.” Raleigh laughed. “Come, join us. You will not find any Philistines here.”
    A servant pulled up a stool, and Mal seated himself on the edge of the company.
    “I was just telling Harriot here ‘twas time for a new venture,” Raleigh said, gesturing to a plain-garbed man with receding hair seated on the opposite side of the fire. “And now Her Majesty wishes me to ferry you to Venice with all haste.”
    “Indeed.”
    “Venice?” Harriot leant forward, his eyes fixed on Mal. “Does Her Majesty seek to create a royal observatory?”
    “An observatory?”
    “I have certain theories regarding the use of glass–”
    “Come now, Harriot,” Raleigh said, “Catlyn is a man of action, not of science. He is not here to discuss optics and mathematics, are ye?”
    “No, sir,” Mal replied. “That is more my brother’s realm of knowledge.”
    “Really? I should like to meet your brother,” Harriot said.
    Mal inclined his head politely. He already regretted mentioning Sandy. “I’m afraid neither of us will be in England long. The weather here is not good for my brother’s health.” He looked around the company for any sign of displeasure that might give away a guiser, but saw nothing untoward.
    “So what are you here for?” a voice from the shadows drawled.
    Mal turned towards his interrogator, a pale young man of eighteen or twenty whom he recognised with a start as Josceline Percy, younger brother of the Earl of Northumberland. Not that he should be surprised. Raleigh and Northumberland were as thick as thieves, so what was more natural than that the earl’s brother should be of their fellowship?
    “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, my lord,” Mal replied.
    Percy got to his feet, eyes glittering in the firelight. Mal realised his own hand had gone to his rapier hilt. Last time he had run into Josceline Percy he had managed to avoid getting drawn into a duel; this time he might not be so lucky. He leant back on his stool, feigning to adjust the lie of the weapon in this confined space.
    “Peace, boy,” Raleigh said with easy familiarity. “Master Catlyn is my guest tonight.”
    Percy bowed curtly to his host and sat down, though his expression remained alert and disdainful.
    “All I can say,” Mal told the assembled company, “is that my mission is for the good of the realm.”
    “No loyal Englishman can have quarrel with that,” Raleigh said.
    There was a murmur of agreement, though Mal noticed that Percy’s voice was not amongst the loudest. A sign of guilt, or was the boy canny enough not to be seen to be trying too hard?
    “Still, a strange time of year to be undertaking a sea voyage,” Percy said, picking up his wine cup and swirling the contents ostentatiously.
    “Frobisher risked the North West Passage and returned safely,” he said, matching Percy’s casual tone. I hope the arrogant little prick turns out to be a guiser, so I have an excuse to run him through. “The journey to Venice will be a stroll in St James’s Park in comparison.”
    “Frobisher’s dead.”
    “Of a Spanish bullet, not by Poseidon’s hand.”
    “Percy has a point. I would counsel against a winter voyage–” Raleigh held up his hand to forestall interruption by the younger man “–except in this case. The letter makes it clear that