The Young Adult Award-Winners Megapack

by Emily Cheney Neville

  A murmur behind him caught his ear. He turned, saw Nejmi and Abel looking at something behind him, followed their gaze. On the seat, under the old fig tree, just as she had flung herself, he saw Ruth, asleep. Every line of the drooping figure told of the night’s cruel vigil.

  “I’m going to her,” he heard Nejmi breathe, and saw her steal across the court, while Abel and he followed.

  For a moment she paused, tenderly gazing down on the worn face, and in that moment Ruth woke. There was a gasp, a look of incredulous joy. Then Nejmi had dropped beside her, fondling, caressing, begging her not to cry, while Ruth sobbed wildly that Abel and she should never have left her alone—oh, why had they?

  “Everything is safe now,” Nejmi comforted her. “Everything is safe and right, dear Mother Ruth!”

  “But where did you go, my child?” Ruth managed at last to get out. “Oh, when we called you, and you didn’t answer…”

  “Ruth,” Abel struck in, “Nejmi is wet and cold and faint! Can’t you give her some warm food? Let the rest wait.”

  Ruth sprang up. “My blessed child!” she cried remorsefully. “You must be hungry, too, my poor Abel—and you, Nicolo. I’ll bring you both something hot. But first, Nejmi!”

  She hurried her inside, and Abel sank down on the seat.

  “I’ve walked the water-front all night,” he said, apologetically, as he made room for Nicolo, “for the minute we found the maps—”

  “In the workshop lamp!” Nicolo broke in. “Nejmi told me.”

  “I was instantly sure that seafaring fellow had been here—the one I’d heard asking Pedro about me—and had wreaked his vengeance on our poor child for not giving up the maps. I didn’t dare tell Ruth all I feared—”

  “If you’d only known the truth of the matter, sir! That man was Abdul!”

  “Abdul?” Abel appeared to search his memory, then, suddenly, he leaped to his feet. “That pirate captain? How did he know she was here?”

  “He didn’t!” Nicolo told him, and then repeated Nejmi’s story.

  “The monster!” cried Abel. “The black—”

  “Don’t waste your breath on him, sir! He’s gone where he’ll never again make trouble. He was swept into the South Channel rollers from the boat in which he had Nejmi and his man Marco. It was only Marco’s lashing her to the rail that saved her until Scander and I could take her off.”

  “Pedro told me you’d gone somewhere,” Abel exclaimed, “when I ran down there first thing to find you. How did you get wind of Abdul’s carrying off Nejmi?”

  “We didn’t! It was pure accident that we met them on our way back from Cascaes.”

  “Cascaes! What took you down there?”

  For a second Nicolo hesitated. If he said “To warn Gama of danger,” Abel would, naturally enough, ask, “Then why did you come back?”

  “We’d heard rumours of pirates,” he said casually, “and I was afraid Rodriguez might have run afoul of them. So we slipped down to Cascaes to find out what we could—you know they always get the first news there—and on our way back Scander recognized Abdul in the moonlight, and then we both saw Nejmi, and we—”

  He broke off as Ruth appeared with two steaming bowls. “There’s the chicken broth I made yesterday,” she told them, “and there’s plenty more.” She waited while they ate. “Abel,” she said in a low, horrified voice, “has Nicolo told you that it was—was Abdul who took her away?”

  He put his arm about her. “But you know that he’ll never come back?”

  “Yes,” she shuddered. She stooped swiftly, and kissed Nicolo on the forehead. “Nejmi’s told me how you and Scander saved her.”

  Abel looked up with the old twinkle in his eyes. “You deserve her now, my boy, if you never did before!” Then as Nicolo blushed and tried to stammer something, Abel gripped his arm. “I always wanted a son,” he said. “Haven’t you, Ruth?”

  “Neither Nejmi nor I would be here,” Nicolo said gravely, “if it hadn’t been for Scander. You should have seen him work! Besides, if Marco hadn’t lashed her—”

  A flash of colour in the workroom caught his eye: Nejmi in one of those dresses like a primrose sky! Nejmi, bending over the great table; lifting, one by one, long rolls from it and slipping them in turn inside brass tubes.

  “I forgot to put the maps away after we’d taken them out of the ‘lighthouse,’” whispered Abel.

  “Abel!” There was a catch in Ruth’s voice. “Abel, it seems as if, from first to last, that child’s life has been bound up with the Way!”

  A click of the gate startled them, and brought Nejmi to the workshop door, as Scander stepped into the court. She ran to him, and they crossed the court together. Nicolo sprang up to meet them, and, as they all came toward Ruth and Abel, “Scander,” Abel said warmly, “there’s so much to say to you that I can’t say anything!” He reached out and pulled him down on the seat.

  “It’s not in words to say what’s in our hearts for you,” Ruth seconded him. “We never can tell it to you.”

  “Anyone’d have done as much,” Scander protested. “It was Master Conti who put the heart into me, when I thought we were done.”

  “You were all that kept my heart up more than once!” Nicolo retorted. “And but for your knowing that South Channel, I’d have come to grief.”

  Nejmi’s eyes rested affectionately on Scander. “It seems as if you’d always been ready when I was in danger!”

  “That’s why I’ve stuck to Lisbon,” he exclaimed. “I’ve never forgotten that Abdul got off alive when the Sultana went down.”

  “What!” cried Nicolo, “You suspected all the time he’d come here?”

  Scander shrugged. “Well, I always kept this on me.” His fingers caressed the knife handle in his belt. “And I always saw to it that it was sharp! And then, after all, I wasn’t here when he did come!” He looked closely at Nejmi. “How are you, child? No worse for that terrible soaking?”

  “And you, Scander?” She touched his sleeve with her delicate hands. “Have you had something to eat?” she inquired anxiously.

  “I’ll get him some broth!” cried Ruth.

  “Thank you, ma’am, I’ve eaten,” Scander protested. “Besides, I’ve more on my mind than vittles.” He paused and surveyed them all. “I’ve something to tell you,” he announced. “I got everything out of that Marco before I was done with him!”

  “Where is he?” Nejmi and Nicolo exclaimed together, and, “The fellow who babbled about Gama?” Abel asked.

  “He saved me!” Nejmi said in a gentle aside.

  “He’s where he won’t get into mischief for one while,” replied Scander. “I found him a berth on a packet that’s bound for Southampton in a day or so, and from there he can pick up a galleon for Venice. But first, I bought him a good breakfast, and then I got him to tell me everything. Whew!” he cried. “What we’d pieced together from his babble was bad enough, but not half of the whole scheme. Why, it seems it began in Venice over two years ago! What’s more, the Venetian ambassador had his eye on you, Master Conti, even then!”

  “So, after all, Venice was involved!” Abel exclaimed.

  “Started it, so Marco says. If I had a map now—” Scander’s eyes questioned Abel’s—“I could make it all as plain as day to you.”

  “Yes,” Ruth chimed in, as by common consent they all made for the workshop. “It’s getting warm out here, too.”

  They settled themselves around the table, Nejmi between Abel and Scander, and Ruth and Nicolo opposite them.

  “In a nutshell, here’s what’s been going on.” Scander spread a map out, and thoughtfully inspected it.

  “According to Marco, there was some merchants in Venice who thought there might be something in a sea route to India. Somehow they got hold of this Abdul, who, it turns out, was half Venetian and half Moor. They bargained with him to spy on Gama, and he picked Marco up to go along with him.”

  “There!” Nicolo struck in. “Didn’t I tell you I suspected that
was what brought them here when the Expedition was outfitting—to find out all they could?”

  “You mean that Abdul was here then?” cried Nejmi.

  “Don’t you remember my telling Master Abel about seeing Marco and another stranger at that time, and having one of them ask me about Gama’s preparations? That was Abdul!”

  “Come to think of it,” Abel exclaimed, “I must have seen him myself! The man I heard asking Pedro about my maps, you know, Nicolo.”

  “Seems as though everybody’d seen him,” Scander observed, “except the two people most concerned: me and Nejmi! I can’t figure how I missed him the first time he was here.”

  “You were working on night shift for Captain Diaz,” Nicolo reminded him. “Don’t you remember?”

  “So I was. And this time, when the reports about the pirates started, it seems he got instructions from the Venetian ambassador to keep out of sight.”

  “Then he was mixed up with that pirate business,” said Nicolo, “just as we thought!”

  “He was on his way to harm Gama,” Nejmi confirmed him. “I heard him say so to Marco.”

  Scander nodded. “That was the chief scheme. You see, as soon as Gama left Lisbon, Abdul and Marco put out for Egypt, and then followed the mainland south. Along the way they picked up news of him from the natives, and found he’d sailed for India. Well, they waited around for months, and finally, off Mombassa—” the stubbed forefinger that had traced south stopped at a spot labeled “Ivory”—“they had the luck to sight Gama’s fleet coming back from India. Marco told a wild story about one of the ships being burned at Mombassa. I can hardly believe it, but he stuck to it.”

  “That’s not impossible,” said Abel. “The vessel might have been unseaworthy and beyond repair.”

  “Well, as soon as they saw the other two ships sail on, back comes Abdul and Marco to Venice and tells their employers what they’d seen.”

  “So Venice really knew there was a Way of the Spices before we did!” cried Ruth.

  “Or before anyone else, ma’am. She had cause to worry about what King Manoel meant to do in the Orient!”

  “And we wondering why she’d so suddenly changed front!” mused Abel.

  “Well, then Venice went to work in earnest,” Scander continued. “She put out her claws in every direction. First, the government started this question of what was we going to do about trade in case Gama found a sea route. Meanwhile, this group of merchants I was telling about, was working hand in hand with the government, but secret-like, too. They paid Abdul a big fee to get together a pirate fleet to patrol the waters off Morocco and St. Vincent’s, where they figured Gama would pass. Abdul was to keep in touch with the Venetian ambassador and pass the signal to the pirates according as Manoel’s answer to Venice was favourable or unfavourable. Favourable, and they was to let Gama alone. Unfavourable, and they was to split the cargo amongst ’em and sink the fleet clean, so’s no one’d be left to tell whether or not they’d found the Way.”

  Abel’s head dropped to his hands. “The cargo was nothing,” they heard him groan, “but to lose the Way for Portugal!…”

  “After going so far,” Ruth murmured, “then to die almost as they’re home!”

  “I knew Abdul meant harm to Gama,” Nejmi said, “by what he told Marco.”

  “But Nicolo!… Scander!” Abel was looking at them with horrified eyes, and they saw that great drops stood on his forehead. “The pirates don’t know that Abdul is dead, and they’re still waiting for Gama!”

  “Set your heart at rest, sir!” Nicolo broke in, unconsciously using Rodriguez’ words. A glance shot between him and Scander: what to say without betraying Rodriguez? “I’ve learned, within a few hours,” he went on, carefully choosing his words, “that the pirates will do no harm to Gama.” Then, as Ruth stared, and Abel started up with a flood of incoherent questions, he quickly added, “I can’t tell you more now, sir. I’ve promised!”

  For a moment Abel’s eyes bored into him. Slowly look came into them as of happiness incredulous of itself. As if afraid of asking forbidden questions, he abruptly turned to Scander.

  “It seems unbelievable that the Venetian government would make allies of pirates!”

  “Well, of course it was done under cover, with the government shutting its eyes. You see, sir, Venice could depend on them for a thorough job, for the pirates themselves was in a bad fix: how was they to make any kind of a living off the Mediterranean, if the Indian trade got started ’round by the big Cape? Same fix as Venice. But—” Scander paused, impressively—“this pirate plot wasn’t half of what was really going on, so Marco told me. Look here!” He bent over the map and planted a stubby finger. “See this bit of land between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea? Now, suppose Venice was to open a passage through there…” He waited, while Abel and Nicolo looked incredulously from the map to him, and then at each other.

  “Impossible!” Nicolo burst out at last.

  But Abel’s face was rapt. “It’s the thought of a master mind!” he declared. He hung, fascinated, over the map. “Why Venice would have the Orient in her arms!”

  “Most as smart as finding the Way, I call it!” Scander admiringly conceded. “Well, that’s Venice’s scheme, so Marco told me, to cut that passage and to build forts at each end and at the main seaports of the Orient. They even sent an agent to get the Soldan of Egypt to help them put the plan through.”

  “That’s why the ambassador needed Master Abel’s maps,” Nicolo exclaimed. “You guessed that!” he smiled across to Nejmi.

  Scander grinned broadly. “That was the job the ambassador meant for you, Master Conti: to take these maps to Venice, so they could see where to build forts! Then he found out you were a friend of Master Abel’s and couldn’t be bribed.”

  “But Abdul kept telling Pedro that he was going to get me to bring him up here to see the maps!”

  “That was a blind. He knew all the time that he himself was to steal them when Master Abel was hearing the King’s proclamation read. The ambassador had given him advance information.”

  Disapprovingly Ruth shook her head. “And yet they say ambassadors are to keep nations from having trouble with each other!” she murmured.

  “Poor old Pedro would be out of his mind if he knew the part he’d played in this affair,” smiled Nicolo, and he told of Abdul’s gold coin.

  “It’s odd,” chuckled Scander, “that in the end ’twas the maps that did for Abdul. If he hadn’t waited for the proclamation, Marco wouldn’t have been idling round town, tippling and babbling, and we’d never have suspicioned what was hatching under our very noses!”

  “How on earth,” Abel exploded, “came that loose-tongued Marco to be chosen for such a mission?”

  “Just what I asked him!” rejoined Scander. “‘No more wits than a puppy’ says I. ‘Abdul had to have someone,’ he blubbers, ‘and no one else would stick with him—he’d such a name for knifing.’ Which, of course, was true enough!”

  “I wonder,” Nicolo mused, “whether the ambassador will have anything to say about all this.”

  Abel’s eyebrows lifted. “You’ll never have any trouble in that quarter. If you told what you knew, he would have to take a quick leave of absence!”

  “He nor anyone else will ever hear a breath of it from me,” Nicolo declared. He looked around at the others. “Let’s bury this thing here—not tell even Ferdinand or Gama.”

  “That’s the only way,” Abel agreed. “Nothing but harm could come of its being known.” His face suddenly lighted and he bent again to the map. “I can’t get that passage out of my mind,” he declared. “It’s so intelligent! Yet once it’s been pointed out, you see it’s the thing to do. Look how beautifully it works out!” He made Ruth and Nejmi watch, while he drew a quick line from the Mediterranean, down the Red Sea, to the far ports and coasts of Scander’s description. “Some day,” he declared, “that passage will go through, and everybody will be talking about it, just as, now, everybody
is talking about the Way!”

  “But won’t it,” Ruth asked doubtfully, “take the trade away from Portugal?”

  He gave her an amused look. “By that time perhaps Portugal will have had her turn long enough! Besides, my dear—”

  A rush of footsteps across the court cut him short, and before anyone could turn, Ferdinand burst in—Ferdinand in riding clothes, and hot and dusty. Instantly a glance flashed between Nicolo and Scander— At last!

  For all his haste, there was an expression in Ferdinand’s flushed face that at once struck Nicolo. As always, when he was stirred, the great eyes were on fire, but now there was in them a certain awe that was almost reverence.

  Deaf to Ruth’s astonished “I thought you were in Cintra!” and Nejmi’s quiet “Why, Ferdinand!” and Abel’s “Well, young man, how is this?” he brushed past them all, and walked straight to Abel.

  “Sir,” he said—and Nicolo saw that his face was working—“Gama has returned!”

  There was dead silence, as if the world had stopped for this tremendous moment. Abel—his face working, too—was panting, “Where—where is he?”

  “I’ll tell you everything I know, sir,” said Ferdinand, “but it must be quick, for I’ve promised to be back at the palace as soon as I’ve given you the news.”

  He dropped on the table edge, and flicked the dust from his breeches. “I heard it almost as soon as the King did!” he jubilantly announced. “It happened I’d just brought him a cool drink, when someone came in to say there was a man with an important message that he refused to deliver except to the King himself. Well, it was midnight, and an odd time for anything of that sort, but, finally, they showed the chap in, and who d’you suppose it was?” Quite the old Ferdinand, he glanced around the table, enjoying the suspense of his audience. “Rodriguez! Arthur Rodriguez! Your man, you know, Nicolo.”

  “What?” cried Nicolo, avoiding Scander’s eyes, and trying to look surprised. “You don’t mean it!” he added, aware that from under her lashes Nejmi was stealing a glance at him, and that a peculiar expression had come to Abel’s face.