Crown Thief

by David Tallerman

  "I've no intention of collapsing," said Alvantes.

  In a flash of inspiration, I said, "Estrada, why don't Saltlick and I buy medical supplies while you two collect the horses? We can meet where the north road leaves the Suburbs."

  Alvantes looked at me with unveiled suspicion. "You've got your money back, Damasco. If you want to sneak off then there's nothing to stop you."

  I did my best to look hurt. "Like I said, I'll meet you on the north road. Weren't you the one who said I ought to be pulling my weight? I can save us time and you'll be a little less likely to pass out on us like an old drunk."

  "Thank you, Easie," intervened Estrada, "that sounds like an excellent solution."

  This time, there was no talk of hiding Saltlick. Mounteban knew we were here, and the odds of Navare and the guardsmen staying hidden were greatly improved by his believing we'd left.

  None of that made Alvantes any more patient as Saltlick struggled to manoeuvre through the toosmall opening. One slip and he'd likely have removed the entire front wall; if anyone happened to be passing at such an hour, it was a spectacle they couldn't possibly miss.

  That suited me. So did Saltlick's company. If Synza was somehow following me, I couldn't think of any discreet ways to assassinate a giant, or to kill someone they were walking beside without said giant noticing. And if we ran into any other of Mounteban's lackeys, they'd be unlikely to know how harmless Saltlick was, or be inclined to tangle with someone fully twice their size.

  I bid Navare and the others a brief goodbye and set out in the pre-sunrise gloom. I didn't see anyone in the darkened street. By then, I hardly expected to. Beneath the first grey light of day, it no longer seemed likely that Synza should have spent the night scouring the Suburbs for my trail. Far more probably, he'd returned to Mounteban with a report of how I'd fallen from the walls with a knife wound to the head. He had no reason to assume I'd survived, or even to waste time investigating.

  Caught in the rush of the chase, I'd let paranoia get the better of me. Mounteban had once told me, in what seemed a distant other lifetime, that I was only one detail of a bigger picture. That was even truer now than it had been then, and I doubted very much that he'd want his best killer running round needlessly in such a time of crisis.

  That said, it was still comforting to walk beside Saltlick, with all the safety his presence implied. Overwhelming pacifism aside, I couldn't have asked for a better bodyguard. By the time I arrived at the small apothecary I'd settled on, I felt considerably less vulnerable than when I'd set out.

  The wizened hag who ran the place was just opening up. She greeted my arrival with an unintelligible mumble and a noisy expectoration into the mud. Whether or not that peculiar greeting related to having a giant appear at her doorstep, she didn't seem put off by Saltlick's presence. I hurriedly bought fresh bandages, a pot of pasty green ointment, and a vial of brown ichor that she claimed – as far as I could translate her grunts and mumbles – would alleviate even the worst extremes of pain. On second thoughts, I bought a second vial for myself. Why should Alvantes be the only one free of suffering?

  My purchases deposited in my new pack, we set out towards the north road junction. Saltlick and I arrived just as Alvantes and Estrada trotted up from another side road, Estrada leading the horse I'd borrowed when we left the barracks. We greeted each other with silent nods. Even Saltlick sensed the general mood and kept himself to a timid smile.

  I handed my purchases to Alvantes and clambered into the saddle. In single file, we made our way out past the scattered border of the Suburbs. As we passed the last tumbledown shack, I couldn't help noticing how Alvantes glanced back towards the distant walls. His expression was grim beyond measure.

  Who could blame him? Altapasaeda, Lady of the South, was fallen – and whatever her fate over the next few days, it lay in Mounteban's hands, not his.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Our first stop would be Muena Palaiya, Estrada's erstwhile home and seat of mayoral power. In theory, it was three days' easy ride away. In practise, things were likely to prove a little more complicated.

  The Sabre and the highway beyond it offered by far the fastest passage northward. Of the many advantages Mounteban possessed in holding Altapasaeda, that might prove most telling in the long term. With the bridge unavailable and the docks closed to traffic, the rest of southern Castoval would soon grind to a halt. Already the river was almost empty of boats, just as the road was clear of wagons.

  Our only alternative was to head north-west on this bank and ford the Casto Mara where we could, then travel on through the forest of Paen Acha. Even that would have been simple enough until recently, but the ferry at Casta Canto had fallen victim to our dramatic flight south, and I couldn't imagine they'd returned it to working order in a mere few days.

  I had a feeling no one had pointed this out to Alvantes. I was looking forward to the look on his face when he found out. Even if anything that thwarted his plans thwarted mine as well, it would still be entertaining.

  However, I soon discovered he had more pressing issues on his mind than our travel plans. We were barely an hour out of Altapasaeda when Alvantes drew his horse alongside mine. "You remember the giant stronghold?" he asked.

  I tried to hide my surprise at so unexpected a question. "I'm not sure I'd call it a stronghold."

  "I was barely conscious. You saw far more of it than I did."

  "It's a nice place. Are you considering a holiday?"

  He ignored me. "You met other giants there."

  "Plenty of them."

  Alvantes nodded towards Saltlick, who was lumbering a few paces ahead, his relaxed gait more than sufficient to keep pace with our horses. "Tell me. Are they all like him?"

  "Not all. Most of the ones I met were female."

  Alvantes frowned. "I mean, are they all so… passive? So submissive?"

  "I didn't have to break up any fights while I was there, if that's what you mean. What are you driving at?" But I didn't really need to ask. Alvantes had been thinking about the giants waiting ahead. He'd been tormenting himself over his mistress Altapasaeda, currently trolloping herself with another man. Then he'd brought those thoughts together and realised he had the start of an idea.

  It wasn't an idea I much liked. The giants had already been abducted once, already forced into violence by Moaradrid. You didn't need to be an expert in giantish culture to realise it ran against everything in their nature. "Yes," I said, "they were all like Saltlick. More so, if anything. The place was a haven of tranquillity. You'd have hated it."

  Alvantes eyed me coldly, as though trying to weigh the truth of what I'd said. "Maybe they've just never found the right cause," he observed finally.

  Before I could point out that liberating a bunch of spoilt Altapasaedans was probably the least right cause imaginable for giantkind, he spurred his horse forward in a clatter of hooves.

  I glared after him, my already doubtful mood entirely soured by the exchange. Casting about for something that might cheer me up, I remembered the pain medicine I'd bought in the Suburbs. I drew it from my pocket, made a brief attempt to read the spidery writing on the label, then gave up and downed the lot in one sharp gulp.

  Its taste brought back vivid memories of my time in the sewers. However, if its flavour was beyond repellent, its effects soon began to make up for it. It slowly dawned on me that the countless agonies that filled me from head to toe were being replaced by a mild but pleasant tingling. Everything around me had acquired a golden tinge, which shimmered whenever I moved my eyes. It was interesting enough that I began to rock my head from side to side, curious as to what speeds and angles would produce the most vivid results.

  "You should take your medicine," I called to Alvantes. "It's good stuff."

  He didn't even bother to look back. "Some of us need to be alert."

  "There's nothing to be alert to. If you can't be alert to something, you might as well enjoy not being alert to nothing." This made perfect sense in
my head. Another side effect of the pain medicine was an instinctive feeling that, whatever the evidence to the contrary, all was basically right in the world.

  As for Alvantes, he merely shook his head and went on riding.

  Though I suspected I might be missing the intricacies of the question, my basic point was sound. The region north of Altapasaeda was scenic, dull, and utterly devoid of danger. At first, we'd passed by the great farm estates that serviced and mostly belonged to the Altapasaedan wealthy. Amidst the scattered workshops of stonemasons and carpenters were aviaries and apiaries, orchards and great, vivid plantations of flowers, all laid out in intricate tapestries that spread between the mountains on one side and the river on the other.

  As the morning wore on, the farmlands grew more prosaic. Here was the belt of land where everyday produce was grown, both for Altapasaeda and for much of the land further north. Presently we passed between expanses of sunflowers on the one hand and rye grass on the other. According to my current perceptions, every flower and head wore an aureole of gold that shimmered whenever it shifted in the breeze.

  The effect was beginning to grow a little nauseating. By the time we stopped for a brief roadside lunch, I was starting to wonder if the pain had really been so bad after all. When I turned down the share of bread and salt fish Estrada proffered, she looked at me with grave concern.

  "Easie… you never say no to food."

  "Not feeling so good," I mumbled. "Not sure 'bout that medicine."

  "Can I see it?"

  I handed her the small bottle.

  Estrada plucked out the bung and sniffed it. "You didn't really drink all of this, did you?"

  I nodded delicately, conscious of how every small movement made my stomach swirl.

  "Oh, Easie. That quantity should have lasted you a week."

  "Doesn't hurt," I managed.

  "I'm amazed you can feel anything. Can you still ride?"

  "Think so."

  I could, so long as I kept my head still and my eyes more or less closed. That suited me just fine. It was a lot like being asleep, though I was vaguely conscious of the fields sliding by to either side, of Saltlick clumping just ahead, of mingled farmland smells and the mellow warmth of the midday sun.

  Only when we drew within the verge of the western forest did I start to grow aware again. I felt better in the shade, and even dared turn my head to examine the way we'd come. Only Estrada was behind me. She seemed to have stationed herself as far from Alvantes as possible, though I hadn't noticed any falling out between them. Had she finally realised what an obnoxious lunk he was? More likely, it was some expression of womanly emotion that I stood no hope of fathoming.

  When she caught my eye, she gave a brittle smile. I did my best to return it.

  Beyond Estrada, the highway stretched as far as I could see. It ran in gentle curves all the way back to Altapasaeda, now no more than a haze on the very edge of vision. Its dusty surface was unspoiled by any hint of life.

  Except – was that a figure in the very far distance? For an instant, I was sure a speck of darkness stood out on the road's pale surface. I blinked, just as my horse stepped into a patch of shadow. Suddenly, I couldn't be certain.

  Anyway… so what if someone was behind us? Even with Altapasaeda shut off from the wider Castoval, there must still be the occasional traveller. I tried to remember my determination not to let paranoia get the better of me.

  The day wore on, and steadily I found I was feeling better. My head cleared, returning the world by degrees to its usual range of brightnesses and colours. My stomach began to grumble with hunger rather than the urge to empty itself. Most cheeringly, the pain medicine had actually done its work; I was astonished to find that my bruises had even started to fade.

  By mid-afternoon, we'd joined the road that would take us the last distance back towards the Casto Mara. The main highway ran on towards the small town of Muena Delorca. Our course, meanwhile, angled sharply aside and into denser forest. It was still there, very quiet, the greenery broken only by the occasional small hamlet or charcoal burner's hut, their rooftops licking the sky with tongues of smoke.

  I felt calmer than I had since this nonsense with Altapasaeda began. Had the company been less dull, the travelling might even have been pleasant. Alvantes was his usual brooding self, and even Estrada, who could normally be relied on for misguided optimism, was unusually subdued. I had no doubt it was Alvantes she was worrying about, not herself – and my suspicion was confirmed when she suggested we stop for a break.

  "If we hurry, we can be across the river before sunset," noted Alvantes.

  "A few minutes won't make much difference," replied Estrada.

  "Why waste time we can't spare?"

  "Because… Lunto, your arm…"

  My gaze followed hers, as did Alvantes's own. He was quick to dip his injured limb out of view – but not so quick that we didn't all see how bright splotches of red stood out on the bandaged stump.

  "Look," she said, "there's a glade. The horses would like a rest even if you wouldn't."

  Alvantes's mount, an excitable stallion I'd once nicknamed Killer, whinnied vigorously. It sounded like agreement, but might just as well have been the expression of his latest murderous impulse.

  "All right," Alvantes said. "For a short while."

  I couldn't but smile. How typical of Alvantes to take the word of his horse over the woman who anyone else could see still held feelings for him!

  The clearing was a good choice on Estrada's part, an hourglass of open ground hemmed in by close-packed trees, its sward puddled with patches of foxglove and nettle. It was evidently a popular spot with travellers, for rectangles of blanched grass showed where tents had recently been pitched, and the detritus of many a fire littered a shallow pit towards the centre.

  Once we'd dismounted, Estrada insisted on ministering to Alvantes. His initial resistance was met with sharp words, and after that, he bore with it stoically. Saltlick, meanwhile, settled on his haunches at the edge of the woodland and began harvesting leaves for an early supper. Not for the first time, I envied his ability to eat seemingly anything.

  Despite what Alvantes had said, it was clear we'd be stopping for a while. Hunting in my pockets for something to amuse myself with, I happened upon the lock picks, needle, and thread I'd bought from Franco.

  I remembered immediately what my intention had been. It wasn't something I felt like doing in sight of Alvantes and Estrada, so I wandered to the far end of the glade, where I'd be sheltered from view by the encroaching forest. A tree on the perimeter had been sheared by storms, and the shattered trunk made a convenient seat. I shrugged my cloak off, peeled my shirt over my head, climbed up and perched crosslegged.

  I might not be thieving as much as I was accustomed to, but some things I couldn't bear to be without. I'd been given my first lock picks when I was thirteen, and had rarely lacked for a set since. They always came in handy sooner or later, and often when I least expected it.

  Buying three sets might seem excessive, but I had my reasons. I started with the shirt, taking the utmost care. Then I drew it back on and moved onto the cloak. It was a shame to unpick so excellently sewed a lining, but I knew my clumsy repairs would make the subterfuge all the more effective.

  I was almost done when four things happened, in such close succession that I could hardly separate them. I heard Alvantes call my name. Alarmed, I rocked backwards, lost my balance. As the world began to spin away, I thought I saw a flash of motion in the far tree line. A sound, as of a large insect, whirred past my ear.

  The next I knew I was tumbling back, my head barely missing a tree trunk. The grass wasn't as soft as it looked; my drug-benumbed bruises woke with a jolt.

  Stumbling to my feet, I snarled, "What's wrong with you? Sneaking up like that."

  "What's this, Damasco?"

  Alvantes was looking at my cloak. I'd dropped it when I fell, and the carefully secreted picks had tumbled from the half-sewn seam.
<
br />   Well, there was no law against carrying lock picks, even if Alvantes were in a position to enforce it. "I thought they might come in handy," I said.

  "Already planning your return to a life of petty crime?"

  I was in no mood for jibes. My bruises ached and my right ear stung furiously. "It isn't twenty-four hours since you were begging me to break into Altapasaeda. Why don't you stick to your misguided heroics and I'll help in my own way?"

  He looked ready to argue. Instead, with an obvious effort of self-control, he said, "Any decent search would turn them up."

  "A decent search would turn up the set in the right pocket. A determined search would find the second set hidden in the lining. That still leaves the third set I've sewn into the collar of my shirt."

  He considered. Then, to my surprise, he asked, "What about something bigger? Could you apply the same principle?"