Standing by the railing as the xebec slid smoothly through the waters of the Grand Harbor, the early morning sun glinting off ripples as the craft approached the quays lining the waterfront beneath the lowest bastions of the spectacularly fortified city, he glanced at the others flanking him. As per his orders, they were all in Arab dress. “We should avoid the area around the Governor’s Palace. We’ll almost certainly see plenty of soldiers in the streets, but they pose little threat-Ferrar’s influence is diplomatic, not military.”
“But we’ll need to keep our eyes peeled for cultists,” Mullins said.
Gareth nodded. “There will without doubt be cultists here, keeping watch, but it’s unlikely they’ll have yet been warned to look specifically for us-for a party of our size and composition-or that we might be disguised. As long as we do nothing to attract their attention, we should be able to slide beneath their notice.”
Dorcas resettled her burka. “At least here we won’t need to worry that speaking English might alert them.”
“Perhaps not,” Emily replied, “but it will probably be wise to wherever possible pretend to be Arab.”
Gareth was grateful she’d made the point. Then the xebec bumped against the stone quay, and they turned to where the gangplank would be pushed out.
The instant it was, they went down to the stone wharf, then in a group walked along beside the bastion wall to the street Captain Laboule had pointed out as the most direct route to the commerical district. As they climbed the paved street, Gareth looked up at the spires and cupolas of churches and cathedrals rising above them. As a soldier who’d seen a good portion of the world, the defensive walls and fortifications were impressive, the forts and defenses of the harbor awe-inspiring.
He could spend days happily walking the city, appreciating its architecture and its defenses, but with cultists lurking, his top priority was keeping Emily safe.
He was somewhat surprised by how little inner grumbling that conclusion evoked.
For once, they didn’t need to gather supplies but could indulge themselves as they wished. When they passed a cross street reeking of spices and lined with intriguing shops, Arnia declared she wanted to see what manner of herbs and condiments was available. With a nod to Gareth, Mooktu and Mullins went with her. They’d agreed to meet back at the xebec by three o’clock, in good time to make the late-afternoon tide.
“I want to see the cathedral first.” Emily glanced at Gareth as she walked alongside him. “Laboule said there are many fine buildings we can view, and a number of museums.”
Gareth nodded in ready acquiescence. Much of the history of Valletta lay in the historic palaces the Knights of Malta had left behind, and from childhood he’d been intrigued by the soldier-crusader order.
Dorcas and Watson ambled at their heels. Bister, in need of more active amusement, took Jimmy under his wing and set off to find it.
They spent the day in churches and palaces. The latter were sufficiently magnificient to hold even Gareth’s attention. Architecture, design, embellishment, and furnishings were so fabulously splendid they were every bit as awe-inspiring as the fortifications.
Despite her firm intention to make good use of the day, Emily was diverted, distracted by the sumptuous beauty of so much they found, as, eyes wide, they wandered the town.
They stopped at a quiet tavern for lunch. In order to eat, Emily and Dorcas would have to remove their burkas. As they’d detected no cultists, they all agreed the disguises were perhaps unnecessary.
“Valletta is merely a staging post-a stopover on the way to somewhere else,” Gareth said. “Ferrar would know there’s no point leaving any great force here-at the most we would spend only a day. Better simply to leave a man or two on watch, and have them report any sighting of us or the others, perhaps by diplomatic courier.”
Emily looked at him through the panel of her burka. “If you were going to leave someone to watch this place, where would you station them?”
“One of the forts. Most command excellent views of the harbor and the quays, but there are enough of them to make our locating and removing said watchers virtually impossible.”
Emily nodded. She and Dorcas removed the heavy burkas, folding them into shawls, revealing their English gowns beneath, thus instantly becoming one with the many Englishwomen in the town.
They spent the rest of their lunchtime comparing sights and exclaiming over all they’d seen. It was only when they were leaving the tavern, she and Gareth in the lead, Dorcas and Watson chatting behind them, that Emily remembered her aim for the day.
She had a bare two hours left to accomplish it.
The next palace they entered was much like those before. Leaving Dorcas and Watson studying a coat of arms over a fireplace, she walked out into the corridor, then turned into the next salon, trusting to Gareth’s protective instincts to ensure he followed her.
He did, but hung back, keeping distance between them. Halting before the windows, she looked back-mentally tapped her toe.
Hands clasped behind his back, he ambled slowly down the room, studying a long row of ceremonial swords displayed on the wall. Determined, increasingly aware of the minutes ticking by, she turned and walked back to him.
He halted, gaze locked on a bejewelled scimitar.
She reached him just as Dorcas and Watson strolled in.
Suppressing her irritation, she tried again to get far enough ahead of their shadows to at last
He walked, slowly, in her wake, making a show of studying the plate and crystal. Impatient, she waited. Gareth reached the threshold of the gallery, looked at her waiting, then turned and considered Dorcas and Watson, still only halfway up the huge room.
When he didn’t turn back, didn’t seize the moment to join her, Emily frowned. “Gareth.” She pitched her voice just above a whisper. “There are…matters we need to address.”
He turned his head. Across the gallery, he met her eyes. “This is not a suitable time or place.”
She pressed her lips together, but couldn’t disagree. “So when and where
“I don’t know.” His voice was even but, like hers, pitched low. After a moment, he said, “That subject might have to wait until England to be properly addressed.”
