The Merchant of Dreams by Anne Lyle

scrambled past Mal and retrieved the pack of cards from the pocket of his slops.
    “We’ll play until it gets light, and then get out of here.”
    “Thank you,” Mal said. “You’re a true friend.”
    “You may change your mind before dawn. Now, what game shall we play?”
     

CHAPTER VI
     
    When Mal did not return that night, Erishen feared the worst. Something was wrong, and it was all his fault; he should have not let his brother ride out to the prince’s palace without protection. Jathekkil was too young to threaten them, but he must surely have an amayi to watch over him. Though the guisers flouted skrayling law and went against their people’s deepest beliefs, some traditions could not be put aside so easily.
    The girl Hendricks and Faulkner’s lover tried to persuade him there was nothing amiss, it being usual for great men to keep supplicants waiting, but Erishen was uneasy nonetheless. He spent a restless night with the spirit-guard coiled around his wrist in half-hearted defence, wishing he dared venture into the dreamlands to search for Mal but fearing to attract the guisers’ attention. The less their enemies knew of their whereabouts, the better.
    By dawn he was ready to ride out to Hampton Court and damn the guisers, but he did not know the way and he doubted he could convince the others to accompany him. So he went up to the attic, where a front window gave him a good view of the street, and waited. Hendricks came looking for him after about an hour, saying breakfast was ready, but he waved her away and she left him to his vigil.
    The church clocks had struck ten before he finally spotted a pair of men turning the corner into Deadman’s Place. After a moment’s hesitation to make sure it really was Mal and his friend, he ran down to the kitchen to greet them.
     
    When Mal entered the kitchen, one look at his brother told him his report of the night’s events would not be news. Sandy clutched the spirit-guard in one white-knuckled fist, but it was Erishen who looked out through his eyes.
    “We knew there must be more guisers than Jathekkil in England,” Sandy said as they sat down to a late breakfast. “You should have worn the earring that Kiiren gave you.”
    “A little late to remind me now.” Mal warmed his hands on the bowl of barley gruel, but his appetite had fled.
    “The hole looks half closed up, you’ve not worn anything in it so long.” Coby said. “It needs re-piercing.”
    “Come then, you can do it for me now.” He got to his feet. “Before I run afoul of the guisers a second time.”
    They left Sandy and Ned to finish their breakfast in mutually hostile silence, and went up to Mal’s chamber. Whilst Coby sought the necessary equipment in her own room, he rummaged in his saddlebags until he found the velvet pouch, and shook out a baroque black pearl on a hoop of dark metal. The hoop was made of the same stuff as the skraylings’ spirit-guards, and he wondered for a moment why they did not wear such things themselves. Come to think of it, he had not seen a skrayling with piercings of any kind, for all their love of tattoos. Perhaps they saw it as a human fashion.
    Coby poked her head through the open door. “I’m ready. Come in here, the light is better.”
    Mal slipped the earring back into its pouch and went through into her chamber, feeling oddly self-conscious. Coby dragged a short bench over to the window and laid out a bodkin, some scraps of clean linen and a small bottle.
    “Before we begin, I have a favour to ask.” He paused, hands in pockets, his eyes alighting anywhere but her face. “I need you to take Sandy back to Provence, as soon as the weather is good enough for travel. It’s not safe for him here with so many guisers around.”
    Her eager smile faded. “But… I thought we were going to Venice.”
    “I am still going. I’ve decided to take Ned in your place; he might be glad to widen his horizons.”
    “Ned? Is that wise?”
    “He made one