The Young Adult Award-Winners Megapack

by Emily Cheney Neville

  Nicolo recalled the footsteps and voices when he had first waked. “What was it all about?” he inquired indifferently.

  “There’s to be a proclamation read to the Jews today,” Scander replied.

  Instantly Nicolo’s indifference vanished. That would affect Master Abel, and if him, then Nejmi. “An edict?” he asked in a startled voice. “What about?”

  Scander laughed. “I heard that ’twas to forbid the Jews to leave the country.”

  “Forbid them to go?” Nicolo exclaimed. “Why, it’s only two years ago that the King was ordering them to go!” He was immensely relieved. Now there would never be any more question of Abel’s and Ruth’s going nor of Nejmi’s parting with them.

  “Yes,” put in Pedro, “I heard people saying the King left town a-purpose, so he wouldn’t be here to hear folks laugh at him for changing his word so quick! Reckon he’s found out the Jews are his best citizens—doesn’t want to lose ’em. Anyway,” he ended, as he moved away, “every man, woman and child of them, so the crier said, must come to hear the proclamation one hour before sundown today.”

  “I’m glad it’s no worse,” Scander declared. “I couldn’t bear to see Master Abel suffer any more.”

  “It will be a blow to his pride,” Nicolo mused—“to the pride of all the Jews, in fact. But for myself, I’m glad they’re to stay.”

  “So am I,” Scander warmly agreed. “As Pedro says, they’re our best citizens. Now, let’s see,” he said, drawing closer to Nicolo and lowering his voice, “where was I when Pedro broke in? Oh yes—I was telling about following Marco and noticing he was all worked up. Well, when he got down to the quay, he made straight for a boat that was tied up there, and before I could borrow or lay hand to one, he’d jumped in, and rowed off.”

  “You found him again, I’ll warrant!”

  Scander acknowledged the compliment with a grin. “It wasn’t too hard! You see I was sure he wouldn’t leave Lisbon at that time of night, and if he did, his ship would be the only one going out and I’d have no trouble sighting her. So I rowed around, and after a while something shiny in the moonlight caught my eye. ’Twas a pair of wet oars in a rowboat astern of a small craft.”

  “He’d forgotten to take his oars in!” exclaimed Nicolo.

  “Just what I figured. Excited and forgot ’em. I hung around near by and early in the morning I sighted him, sure enough, clambering down from his vessel into the boat.”

  “You didn’t see the other chap?”

  “Not a sign of him. Afterward I found out he was in town all night. Well, I trailed along behind Marco and watched him go ashore. He appeared to be concerned about something, talking first to one, and then to another. Finally I lounged alongside of him and made as if I was going to pass him, when he catches up to me and says, distressed and nervous, ‘No one’ll take us out over the bar. They’re all afraid of pirates outside. I’ve offered three times the regular fee, too!’”

  “Then they’re planning to go right away!” exclaimed Nicolo.

  “I looked at him close,” Scander continued, “and I saw he was in a regular panic lest he couldn’t get off. Thinks I, ‘You’re counting on your mate’s getting Master Abel’s maps and then both of you making a dash for it.’ If somehow I could take him unexpected, and surprise the truth out of him! So I says, cool and offhand, ‘If you can’t get a pilot, it’ll kind of delay your going to Venice.’

  “‘Venice!’ he grunts. ‘We aren’t going to Venice!’ Then, like lightning—” Scander drew close to Nicolo and his voice was barely a whisper—“I knew where he was going!”

  With one impulse each gripped the other. “To join the pirates against Gama,” Nicolo’s lips formed.

  “Odd,” said Scander, “how it came so quick to you and me both. I swear I was shaking so, I was afraid he’d see, but I managed to say I’d had a bit of pilot service, and I’d take him out, over Belem bar, when he and his mate was ready.”

  “We can’t wait for them! We’ve got to reach Gama without delay. The pirates aren’t going to stop at lifting his cargoes, you know!”

  “I know,” Scander nodded. “They’re going to do their cursed best to make true what’s being gossiped around about him!”

  “That he’s dead! Of course. I tell you we haven’t a day to lose. You said yourself it was only six months from the Cape to Lisbon. If we could get some of these ship masters, who are cooped up here, to form a fleet and start right out for some point that Gama’s bound to pass—”

  “Well, you couldn’t,” said Scander shortly, “so you’d better stop planning anything like that.”

  “You mean,” Nicolo retorted, “they’d be afraid to take the risk for Gama, who’s risked his life over and again!”

  “It’s not that, either—not exactly. Don’t any of ’em half believe he’s alive, and ’twould take more than you and me to convince ’em.”

  Nicolo brought his fist down on his knee. “Then, by heaven, you and I must do what we can to save Gama!”

  Scander gave him a searching look. “How far’ll you go with that?”

  “All the way.” Nejmi’s “I’d do anything for the Way,” flashed through his mind. “Remember,” he said, looking Scander in the eye, “that I’ve a ship due any day.”

  “But what good is it to you, when you aren’t even sure where Rodriguez has her?”

  Nicolo didn’t answer at once. “Let’s talk that over while we have something to eat.”

  He got up, stretched vigorously. They both went over to Pedro who was doing something over a brazier of glowing coals.

  “About time you were hungry!” the old man told them, and he held up two skewers with little cubes of broiled mutton. He made them sit down, and brought plates and bread.

  “Scander,” Nicolo presently said, as he tore off a morsel of bread and soaked it in meat juice, “you’ll have to take care of the map end of this business—you and Master Abel—because I’m going to start for Cascaes11 as soon as you can hire a boat and take me down there.”

  Scander stopped eating to stare. “What you going to do at Cascaes?”

  “I’m going,” Nicolo answered deliberately, “to wait there for Rodriguez. He’ll stop for a pilot. If he hasn’t run afoul of these pirates he’s sure to be along in a day or two at latest, and we won’t waste an hour putting right about for Cape Verde or for wherever he thinks Gama is likely to pass.”

  “What?” cried the astonished Scander. “You aren’t going to have him first bring the cargo to Lisbon?”

  “No. We’ll leave the cargo at Cascaes—if there is a cargo!”

  “Why, man, you’ll lose your profits that way! To unload at Cascaes, and then to re-ship to Lisbon’ll cost—”

  “I told you I was going all the way,” Nicolo impatiently broke in.

  For a moment Scander was silent, and his keen eyes softened. “I’d ask for the job of pilot to you and Rodriguez,” he said gruffly, “if ’twasn’t for having to keep an eye on Marco. But we can’t risk either of those fellows giving us the slip. As to that,” he confidently added, “they won’t leave Lisbon without me knowing it, for they can’t get anyone else to take ’em over the bar.”

  “How would it be to go down to Cascaes right away, so you could be back here, all ready for them?”

  “Right!” agreed Scander, briskly pushing back from the table. “We’ll hire a skiff, and be off at once. I suppose,” he grinned, as they left The Green Window and turned down the little alley, “you can make out with a sail, if I take the helm and tell you what to do?”

  “Yes—or even the other way around!” Nicolo grinned back. Suddenly he sobered. “I shan’t wait more than two days for Rodriguez.”

  “I was wondering what you had in mind in case he didn’t come,” Scander admitted, “but I didn’t like to ask.”

  “Get another ship. Some of those Cascaes seamen might like nothing better than to show their heels to a pack of pirates.

  “I only wish you were going,” Nicolo
added, guessing Scander’s thoughts. “But what with the maps, and Marco and the other fellow to be looked after…”

  “I’ve settled one thing,” chuckled Scander, “which is that Lisbon quay is the limit of those chaps’ travels, till every bit of this pirate business has blown over. They’re mixed up, somehow, with that, and they don’t mean any good to Gama—so here they stay, where they can’t hurt him!”

  “Then you’ll have to have some help ready, when they find out you aren’t going to take them down river.”

  “Let them try and start something! All I’d have to do would be to tell about Marco’s seeing Gama. The crowd would take care of him!”

  “I wish I could be with you and at Cascaes at the same time,” Nicolo said anxiously. “If those fellows should make some move for the maps—”

  “I’d already thought of that,” Scander assured him, “and I’d about decided to go up to Master Abel’s every little while so’s to be on hand in case of trouble. Besides,” he added, “even if they did get his maps, they’d find themselves in a blind alley—with me at the open end! By the way, what shall I say if Master Abel asks where you are? You can’t tell, of course, how long you’ll be gone.”

  For a moment Nicolo was too startled and confused to reply. His plan to try and warn Gama had shaped itself so quickly—taken him, as it were, by surprise—that he had hardly thought beyond Cascaes. But, as Scander had hinted, who knew how long he might be gone? For the first time, the hazard, the actual danger of what he meant to do, confronted him. What if he never came back? Yes, he must see Nejmi! He must tell her, as he held her close, where he was going, and why. But wouldn’t that delay the start for Cascaes, and hinder Scander’s return to Lisbon?

  Irresolute and perplexed, he wavered. Then he remembered that he hadn’t told Pedro he was going away. He’d run back to The Green Window.

  “Scander,” he said, “I forgot to speak to Pedro. I’ll meet you presently at the dock.”

  At the door of The Green Window he hesitated. He was so near now to Nejmi. Just up the hillside, and the flight of stairs! Who could tell what might happen after Cascaes?

  “Look here, Master Conti!” Pedro was hurrying toward him, carefully holding something between his palms. “That tall fellow was just in—him that wanted to see you about maps or something.”

  “How long ago?” cried Nicolo.

  “Just after you’d gone out. But this time he didn’t mention you. Said he wanted a word with Master Zakuto, and asked me to point him out when the proclamation’s read to the Jews this afternoon. And see—” he held up a gold coin “what he gave me to do that!”

  Nicolo glanced at the coin in the brown fingers. Marco’s mate was at work! Instantly his mind was made up. “Pedro,” he said abruptly, “I’ll be gone for a while. Don’t expect me back just yet.”

  He stepped into the alley and hurried toward the docks. As fast as they could, Scander and he must be on their way to Cascaes. There might soon be need of Scander back in Lisbon.

  It came to him strangely that his decision had been made—but not by himself! Was it by a self that he had never known until now? “I’d do anything for the Way!” Nejmi had said. Was that why, longing to go to her, he had not gone, because he, too, would do “anything for the Way”?

  CHAPTER 20

  The Workshop Lamp

  From the top of the stairway Nejmi watched Ruth and Abel descend, and waved to them when they turned back to look at her. How closely they clung to each other, the broad-shouldered figure in its conical hat and black cloak, and the stout, short figure in the long cloak and hood! Though they both stood very straight, neither leaning on the other, that close clinging made Nejmi think, somehow, of two lonely children comforting each other. But they should never be lonely, she said to herself with a rush of tenderness, as she watched them disappear around a corner. Nicolo and she would so surround them with warmth and love, so try to atone for all the suffering Manoel had brought on them, that there would never be room for loneliness. This edict that they had gone now to hear proclaimed was another humiliation, but, she reflected, not actual cruelty.

  Everything should welcome them when they got back. Supper would be ready and the house lighted. It would be dark by then, for the reading of the edict would hardly be over at sundown, and Master Abel had said that afterward they might stop a moment to see Rabbi Joseph, who was too old and infirm to leave his house. She would even leave the gate ajar, Nejmi thought to herself, as she stepped back into the court, so that they could see the light from the workshop lamp as soon as they reached the head of the stairs.

  But before it was too dark, she must do what she had decided to do when she had heard Nicolo say, “What if the Venetian ambassador’s friend should come here!” Master Abel had seemed not to heed, but it had come to her like a command that the maps must be hidden. It was better that she should hide them, so that if they were demanded of him he wouldn’t know where they were.

  She crossed the court to the workshop. At the threshold she paused and surveyed the room. Shelves…cupboards…table drawer. No chance for concealment. Under the carpenter’s work-bench? She stooped down to look. Plenty of room of course, but anyone would be sure to search there. Again she scrutinized the room, from floor to ceiling, absently noting that the draught between door and windows was gently stirring the great lamp above the table. Her eyes came back to the swaying lamp, fixed on it. The very thing

  No one would ever dream of looking there.

  She ran to the row of brass containers, slipped the maps from them, and made several tight rolls. Then, standing on the table, she opened Abel’s “lighthouse.” Carefully she fitted the rolls inside. Now, just to latch its door— But what was that sound? The gate swinging on its hinges? Perhaps Nicolo! Surely not Master Abel and Mother Ruth so soon. She jumped down, and ran to look.

  A tall figure in seaman’s coat was pausing, motionless, in the act of stepping into the court. The man might have been a statue, but for eyes that seemed live fires and for quivering nostrils and twitching lips. The air grew dark, whirled with a million shining specks. Her body seemed not to be there on the threshold of the workshop, seemed not to be a body at all but only a sensation of deathly faintness, of hideous, endless sinking. A mad thing leaped and tore at her breast. Was it the heart in the body that had been hers? If she could only move—speak. A curious fancy possessed her that she was a bird unable to stir before the evil glitter of narrowed eyes in a weaving head; that she was a creature of the wild, beyond motion in the shadow of a hovering hawk.

  Something in her suddenly snapped, and she was conscious of struggling, like one in a nightmare, against deathlike numbness. She felt something cold at her throat, and looking down, she saw that her hands were gripped there. Her gaze went back to the figure at the gate. Slowly, almost as if he were feeling his way, the man was coming toward her.

  Ah Nicolo! Scander! Dear Master Abel! Where are you? She didn’t deserve this—not after the anguish of Aden…of the slave market…of the Sultana.

  Now he was standing before her, breathing hard through dilated nostrils, as she remembered he breathed when he was stirred or angry. She hadn’t forgotten the black, bushy hair that showed under his peaked cap. The old terror flooded over her. Her knees were shaking. With a supreme effort she locked her fingers together. So, O Allah, hold her sinking spirit from this fear that was worse than death.

  “You haven’t forgotten me I see!”

  The Arabic that she hadn’t heard for so long, the awful familiarity of the guttural tones!

  “Say my name!” he ordered.

  Her tongue rasped her parched mouth, but no sound came. The only effort she could seem to make was to grip her hands still more tightly.

  He took a step nearer her. “Say it! Say my name!”

  “Abdul!” at last she choked out.

  His eyes narrowed in the way she remembered so well. Would she ever forget their expression when he and Slaiman had debated whether or n
ot to make a present of her to this or to that Bey?

  “Ah,” he swore softly, “you haven’t forgotten!” Then, “How’d you get here?” he demanded, peering into her face.

  So, just so, had he peered at her through the bars of the cage he had ordered built for her! But she must summon now, as she had summoned then, the will not to flinch, lest he should guess her sick revulsion and wreak worse vengeance on her.

  “How’d you get here?” he repeated. “No matter—” as she cast about for an answer—“I’m in a hurry.” Then, “Where does Zakuto keep his maps?” he snapped out.

  In puzzled dismay she stared at him. How should he know or care about Master Abel’s maps? Then…great Allah above! Could it be—could it possibly be that Abdul and the Venetian ambassador’s “friend” were one? Had he found out that Abel and Ruth were to be away? Involuntarily her eyes sought the lamp. She hadn’t fastened its door! The next moment, in a panic lest his eyes had followed hers, she again fixed her gaze on him.

  “You know where those maps are—I can tell by your looks!”

  Ah, he had seen her expression change!

  “Come! Hand them over. Zakuto’ll be coming back.”

  She saw him scan the sky and noticed that the sun had left the court. The proclamation must be at an end. If she could play for time, perhaps some kind chance, or the tiny, inner voice that sometimes warns humans, might make them come directly home instead of stopping at Rabbi Joseph’s.

  “I know what you’re thinking!” he flashed at her. “But if you figure you can keep me dangling till they get back—” He took a step nearer and seized her wrist. “Get those maps—and get them now!”

  His touch on her flesh roused her. The blood that had seemed to freeze within her was suddenly thundering in her ears. She threw back her head and faced him.