Read Online A Prisoner in Malta by Phillip Depoy - Free Book Online

two possibilities. One: the container offers some evidence of Spain. Two: there is, somewhere about it, our Queen’s royal signet.”
    â€œI wonder which it could be,” de Ferro said without moving.
    â€œIf it is Spanish,” Marlowe went on, “he won’t let me see it because he knows we are on Her Majesty’s Secret Service. But if he thinks we’re counteragents of the Pope, he won’t let me see it because it belongs to the Queen.”
    â€œWhy would he think we’re agents for the Pope?” Lopez asked.
    â€œThe three men who visited me in Cambridge,” Marlowe answered. “If Walsingham could know about them, others could too. The situation would be easy to misinterpret, don’t you think?”
    â€œIt’s a puzzle,” de Ferro said slyly.
    â€œWait!” Marlowe barked. “I have realized the obvious. Doctor, may I see the note again?”
    Lopez handed over the document. Marlowe took only a moment to scrutinize it.
    â€œYes.” Marlowe looked up. “This was written by Walsingham. The captain is not a Catholic agent. He may be a spy, but he works with us, with Her Majesty.”
    â€œWritten by Walsingham?” Lopez asked. “Are you certain?”
    â€œOn Walsingham’s desk I happened to see certain papers to which his signature was affixed, and made note of his handwriting. It’s quite distinctive. Look at the capital letters M and L on this page.”
    He handed the paper back to Lopez, who studied it for a moment.
    â€œThey are the same as you saw in the pages on Walsingham’s desk?”
    â€œYes.” Marlowe stared at de Ferro.
    The captain smiled. “Rodrigo, I trust you completely, but I do not know this boy. He’s aboard my ship for an hour or so, and suddenly there is a Spanish war vessel following me. I know my crew, I know my friend—there was only one variable.”
    â€œI.” Marlowe nodded. “You made the right decision. I would have suspected me too.”
    â€œI still do,” de Ferro said.
    â€œYes,” Marlowe admitted. “Just because I recognize Walsingham’s handwriting doesn’t mean I’m not a Catholic spy. But my mind is at ease. I no longer suspect you, and, of course, I do not suspect myself.”
    â€œYou’re very quick,” de Ferro said cautiously.
    â€œBut to the point,” Marlowe countered, “what do we do about that ship, the one that is following us?”
    All eyes gazed out the windows at the Spanish vessel. It was clearly drawing closer.
    â€œI plan to do what any smuggler would do with dangerous cargo aboard,” de Ferro said, his voice turned cold. “Get it off my ship.”

 
    SIX
    Half an hour later, with the Spanish ship close enough to make out men on its deck arming themselves and loading cannons, de Ferro stood at the wheel, along with the pilot.
    All hands were on deck, all four masts were rigged, and all the sails were pregnant. The ship was careening wildly with the wind, and the coastline was visible on the leeward side. No one spoke. Most, including a sheet-white Marlowe, hugged a mast or a rail for dear life.
    As they drew closer to land, the waves began to rise, and the ship became airborne, rising high and then crashing down with bone-crushing intensity onto the cold, marble ocean.
    Lopez was steady, but he had wrapped his arms around the same rail that Marlowe clutched.
    â€œYou told me,” Lopez shouted over the raging chaos, “in the coach, on the bridge, that you did not care to be over water. I see now it’s more serious than that.”
    Marlowe nodded, soaking wet, eyes stinging from the salt. “I nearly drowned when I was a boy. In Canterbury we have the Great Stour River. It runs through the center of the city. I fell in. When I was dragged out, I was dead. A man sat on my stomach and pushed out the water. I awoke from my own death.”
    â€œSo it’s not the