Free Gemini by Dorothy Dunnett Page B

shuddered with bumping and shouting.
    By the time the sun rose, Nicholas had greeted three merchants, two tavern-owners, a number of fishermen and a man he had last seen in Danzig. He learned from his former landlord that there might be somerooms with a yard, if he wanted them. There was even a warehouse. He was asked what he had been doing, what he was going to do, and how his wife was. He replied with every appearance of truth, and added a crop of very new serial jokes, which he knew would reach Edinburgh before he did, since instant transmission was of the essence with jokes. If they had worked Duke Charles into a motto, the news of his death would have got here like lightning.
    On the wharf, they took him aside and asked him if he had been in a fight with the Conservator, and the Conservator, overhearing, joined them and said, No, the only fight had been with that rolling tub of a ship and the poor ale they’d had to put up with. People thrust Hamburg beer upon them. They sent a boy for a loaf and two capons and worked their way back to the ship, ducking and veering as heavy articles thumped to the ground. The jetties were much better kept than when he used to come here. Other things had changed. Once he had disembarked here and the King’s brother had been waiting to greet him.
    Things hadn’t changed. Except that this time Nicholas was on the wharf, and Sandy stood at the top of the gangplank. Alexander, Duke of Albany, Lord High Admiral, Earl of March, lord of Annandale and of Man, looking mean and royal and venomous, with all last summer’s freckles yellow as jaundice on his red-head’s fair skin, and Crackbene behind him, transmitting an instant non-joke on the lines of
watch out
.
    The King’s brother said, ‘Am I to be kept waiting all day? I ordered some goods.’
    ‘Pepper, velvet and a pair of Milanese daggers. They will be brought at once, my lord,’ Nicholas said. He sounded breathless. ‘Your lordship wishes to take them?’
    ‘Of course not. I wish to see if I will accept them,’ Albany said. ‘Do I know you?’ He had dressed rather quickly. The cloak was superb but, between doublet and riding boots, he wore yesterday’s silk evening hose.
    Nicholas said, ‘Nicholas de Fleury, of the former House of Niccolò, my lord.’ He paused. ‘It is several years since we met.’
    ‘Is it?’ said Sandy. ‘I am sure merchants come and go. Where are my purchases?’ He had flushed. Behind him his factor, Liddell, had come forward, then paused. On the wharf, the crowd about Nicholas had fallen into respectful and attentive silence. Wodman had stood as if frozen, then vanished.
    Nicholas said, ‘I shall fetch them myself. Perhaps the master might have the honour of seating your lordship in his cabin?’
    There was an eddy behind him. A young voice cried, ‘The ship stinks! Don’t do it, Sandy. They’ll give you cheap wine while they’re falsifying the scales. Who’s this?’
    It was John, Earl of Mar, Albany’s brother. Standing offensively close, he peered upwards, examining Nicholas. The youth had a short,Flemish nose, a red-bristled jaw and a rash. He said, ‘Oh, my mistake, brother. It’s the tame ox you used to think charming. Do go. I’ll help burn your clothes after.’
    He turned, grinning, to Albany, whose hand was clenched on the rail of the gangway. To one side, Wodman had reappeared with a sign. Beside him was the Keeper of the King’s own lodgings and arsenal in Leith. Nicholas turned his head back to Albany. ‘My lord of Mar is quite right: the ship is not fit. May I bring the goods to the Wark?’
    ‘No. I don’t want them,’ Albany said. He stepped back, snatching his hand away quickly as his brother unexpectedly sprang up the same gangplank and whirled to bend his bright eyes on all the curious faces below him. The younger man laughed.
    ‘Maybe not,’ said John of Mar fondly. He surveyed the crowd. His manner, blithely adjusted, recalled that of a moneychanger about to