Crown Thief

by David Tallerman

  We found Huero and his family and said goodnight to Saltlick, who was busily organising dining and lodging arrangements for his people. If he was still troubled by the fact that he'd been savagely tortured by Moaradrid a mere few paces away, he gave no sign; perhaps seeing the land turned to such an opposite purpose was enough to salve that particular memory. Either way, he waved us an energetic goodbye.

  The tavern was an elegant two-storey affair on the more reputable edge of the notorious Red Quarter. It was vertiginously above my usual price range, and I wondered what strings Estrada had pulled to arrange us rooms there. Then again, perhaps its owner had been moved to generosity by the news of Lupa's retirement – for on the way there, Estrada had told us of half a dozen eyewitnesses reporting his hasty departure.

  Any fool could have seen that there was much still unsaid between Alvantes and Estrada. However, neither of them was in any state to say it, and they settled for a weary "goodnight."

  One thing, however, couldn't be left for morning. Mumbling an improbable excuse about enjoying the night air, I waited for Alvantes to go inside and hurried after Estrada. I told her briefly what had happened in Ans Pasaeda, of the fate that had befallen Alvantes's father and the way it had eaten at him since.

  "Frankly," I finished, "it's made him even crabbier than usual. I thought it would be a shame if you took it personally."

  "Oh, Lunto," she said, her voice thick with heldback tears. Then, "Thank you, Easie… I mean, for telling me. I'm not sure he would have."

  "Give him time," I said – more to end the conversation before I fell asleep on my feet, than because I thought time would ever help penetrate Alvantes's stoicism. I bade her goodnight, hurried inside and let the landlord show me to my room.

  He'd hardly left when a knock on my door revealed Alvantes standing in the hallway. I took a nervous step back. The only explanation my fatigued brain could produce was that Estrada had incurred some minor harm during our rescue, a stubbed toe or chipped nail, and he was here to make good on his promise of murderous revenge.

  "Damasco."

  "It wasn't my fault."

  "What? I'm not here to accuse you. I just thought I should… that is, I wanted to… or rather…" Alvantes took a deep breath. "Thank you. For not letting me give in. Whatever my father would have wanted, it wasn't that."

  "That's true," I agreed, striving to hide my relief.

  "I understand now what I have to do."

  The zealous note in his voice renewed my unease. "Oh?"

  "Something else my father would have pointed out is that protecting the people of Altapasaeda has nothing to do with the dictates of a king."

  "He might also have mentioned that he wouldn't want you rushing headlong to certain death."

  Alvantes considered. "He might have, at that."

  "So… a plan, maybe?"

  "Indeed." Alvantes looked embarrassed then, an

  expression I'd never have expected his severe face capable of. "Which is the other reason I'm here. The giants, Marina's rescue… it was quick thinking on your part. I'll need that, when the time comes. So, if you were willing…"

  It was impossible he meant what I thought he meant, but I had to at least check. "You're asking for my help?"

  "If you've nothing better to do."

  That was it? This man who'd insulted and imprisoned me, who'd struck me more than once, who'd forced me into danger more times than I cared to count, really believed I'd help him save a city I couldn't care three figs for? Did he think one apology – or not even that, a mere half-hearted thank you! – could turn our relationship on its head?

  Then again, of the two, there was no denying I disliked Castilio Mounteban considerably more. I'd give a lot to wipe the smug condescension from his face.

  "Fine. I'm in. Now, can I please get a little sleep?"

  Having expected my brain to wheedle its way out of my promise to Alvantes overnight, it was a shock to wake the next morning with a sense of urgency coursing through my muscles. I'd never felt anything like it. It had qualities in common with the sensation before a particularly risky job; but where that had been all raw, jangling nerves, this ran deeper and slower, like the ache from an old hurt.

  For the first time in what seemed an age, we didn't set out with the dawn. Estrada arrived early in the morning with clean shirts for Alvantes and me, mine picked out in a suitably dark shade, and forcibly suggested we wash before changing. While I was at it, I stripped off Alvantes's makeshift splint, satisfied that my arm was well on the way to healing.

  Once we'd ventured outside in our new clothes, Estrada insisted we eat a proper breakfast together, giants and all. There was fruit and vegetables for them, eggs, corn bread and fresh fish for us. We had an audience almost from the beginning, as early rising townsfolk were drawn by the commotion. Word spread fast, and the crowd grew rapidly. All except the children looked both fascinated and nervous, as though half-suspecting they might soon end up on the giants' menu themselves.

  Perhaps Saltlick recognised their distrust – for while the others ate, he insisted on taking a small party to repair the section of wall damaged in last night's hostilities. That news travelled quickly too. Even from the other side of town, I heard the raucous cheer that went up once the last stone was replaced, and the ebb of tension it brought in our own spectators was obvious.

  Intentionally or not, Saltlick had achieved his first act of politicking as temporary chief of the giants, not to mention monarch of all the Castoval. If I couldn't help but feel a little proud, it was also a reminder that I still had my own loose end to tie up.

  With Estrada's help, it wasn't hard to find the place I was looking for. The inn, once the home of a wealthy local trader and nowadays known as the Red Cockerel, was even more imposing than the one I'd passed the night in. Its distinguishing feature was an excess of red-framed glass on its ground floor; three entire walls were interrupted by window after window, and must have cost a not-inconsiderable fortune.

  Within, the foyer of the Red Cockerel was highceilinged, enlivened by dark wood and gilt, and distinctly pleasant. As I pushed through the entrance, a sour, well-dressed man who could only be the proprietor gave me an odd look, and said, "Haven't you heard? We're full."

  "Not for much longer," I told him, shoving my way past.

  The main room was long and deep, bright with the daylight from outside. Despite the mildness of the day, a fire was lit in the huge fireplace at the far end, making the space stickily hot. The air was heavy with sweet, stale odours of wine and tobacco. The only furnishings were low divans and tables, the latter untidy with halfemptied cups and plates bearing scraps of food.

  It could have been many a high-class dive in the Red Quarter, except for one major difference: on every divan, alone or in pairs, were slumped the elderly populace of Reb Panza. A few of them I recognised; where they recalled me in turn, they looked less than elated. That was nothing, however, to the alarm draining every drop of colour from the old Patriarch's face.

  "Get up!" I snapped. "Get your things. You've five minutes to be out of here and on your way home."

  "What? How dare you?" he replied – but his voice was quavering.

  "Thanks to you, Reb Panza is on the verge of collapse. This holiday is over."

  "What? We've been away only a day or two. Why shouldn't we indulge ourselves a little? How many times have our ungrateful children stayed out drinking while we remained to watch over their offspring? Shouldn't there come a point in life where a man can finally tend to his own needs?"

  "You've been away for a fortnight," I told him. "And in answer to your questions – shut up, and be glad I'm not kicking you around this room for stealing my money."

  "Stole? At worst, misappropriated." Bluster was starting to restore his confidence. "We're here now, and we've paid for our presence with good coin. Now you come and tell us we have to leave? I hope you have an army to back you up, you contemptible reprobate!"

  Mentally I thanked him f
or playing so neatly into my hands. "An army? That's a tall order. I'm not sure I could rustle up one of those for a corrupt old ass and his cronies. There must be something I can manage instead, though."

  On cue, the doors behind me swung open, to clatter against the walls. I'd thought the Patriarch's face had already grown as pale as human features could, so I was pleasantly surprised when he managed to blanch another shade.

  I probably had the cudgel Alvantes carried to thank for that. I was pleased he hadn't lost the last night's unexpected gift for theatre.

  "Would an irate guard-captain serve instead?" I asked.

  I didn't give the Patriarch a moment to even consider replying.

  "Not good enough? In that case, I'm sure you know the lady beside him. Marina Estrada. Mayor Estrada, to you. As in, mayor of this particular town."

  It must have been her expression that made him tremble so. Given her reaction when I'd explained how he'd come to be throwing money around in Muena Palaiya, I was sure it wasn't all feigned.

  "No? Really? All right then. If we're talking actual armies, if it's really going to take an army to get you to face up to your responsibilities… well, maybe you should take a glance through that window behind you."

  I could see how badly he didn't want to look. It was as if invisible hands were winding his head.

  "Remember Saltlick? Of course you do."

  Saltlick had actually volunteered for this one. Given how seriously his people took the binds of duty, I hadn't been altogether surprised.

  Neither, apparently, was the Patriarch. Petrified certainly, about to make an unpleasant mess of an expensive couch possibly, but not actually surprised. He barely had time to register the huge and hugely ugly countenance scowling in at him before his eyes strayed on, to the next pane of glass and the next – as I'd known they must.

  "Well, Saltlick has a few friends."

  He was on his feet before the last syllable left my mouth. His eyes were huge with terror. His long moustaches quivered with the wordless twitching of his lips. He lurched past me, almost tripped over Alvantes and staggered onward. I doubted even he knew where he was going.

  He wouldn't get far; not with Huero and a half-dozen more giants waiting in the street outside.

  "When I next pass through Reb Panza," I called after him, "I expect to be able to see my face in it."

  I suspected Huero was secretly glad of the responsibility for getting Reb Panza's wayward elders home. Now that the giants were recovering from their funk, they no longer needed to be looked after, and journeying on to Altapasaeda with us would take him and his family very far from home.

  "I'm not sure what Estrada said," I told him, "but the inn's proprietor has agreed to pay back most of what they spent. Do you think you could check in on them from time to time? Make sure the money goes where it's supposed to?"

  "It would be a pleasure," he said – and his expression told me it genuinely would. I'd noticed something in Huero since my return from Ans Pasaeda, a quality I suspected he was only just starting to recognise in himself. He really did enjoy making things better. Maybe my coin alone hadn't done much for Reb Panza, but coin and a man like Huero should make a real difference.

  I pointed to the Patriarch. "Just make sure he walks every step of the way."

  Huero grinned. "It's going to be a long journey."

  "Make sure of it."

  He offered his hand and I clasped it. "Thank you. For everything. Really, Huero."

  "No, thank you, Damasco." He glanced to Dura, busy marshalling Reb Panza's dazed, hung-over runaways. "After everything that happened… well, I think we needed a little diversion in our lives."

  I watched them leave, Huero driving their own wagon and Dura another loaned by Estrada, with the old folks of Reb Panza sat sulkily in the back or trailing after like a depressed dog's tail. Last of all went the Patriarch, an expression of sheerest terror hovering above his grand moustaches. How was he to know the giants were out in force to see off the family who'd cared for them for so long, and not to devour him if he should miss a step?

  With the secret of the giants' presence out, Estrada had chosen to abandon subterfuge altogether. We travelled in single file from the north gate towards the south, and it was hard to believe that one man, woman or child in the entire town hadn't turned out to watch. Since morning, the general mood had turned to one of amicable curiosity. A few people even clapped and cheered, as though it were all a pageant put on for their entertainment.

  Halfway down Dancer's Way, Estrada drew her mount up abruptly. The column of giants shuffled to a halt behind us.

  As soon as the riot of pounding feet had died, Estrada cried at the top of her voice, "People of Muena Palaiya!" She waited again, this time for her audience to quieten itself. "You'll all know by now that our town has been under the forced rule of a man named Guiso Lupa. Most of you will know too that Lupa was an agent of the criminal Castilio Mounteban, who has set himself up in tyranny over Altapasaeda. With the aid of my friends here, Lupa has been driven out, and Muena Palaiya belongs to its people once more."

  Those who'd been celebrating the giants' parade took this as an excuse for another round of applause.

  "However, for Muena Palaiya to stay free, Altapasaeda must be free also. Or else sooner or later Mounteban will make our town, and eventually all of the Castoval, his own. Therefore, I find myself with no choice but to leave you in the hands of your town council, along with the task of repairing the damage Lupa has wrought. I hope you'll pull together, now more than ever, and that I'll see you again soon – safe in the knowledge that we have no more to fear from the ambitions of evil men."

  This time, the reaction was more widespread, though perhaps not quite so enthusiastic. After so much unrest, no doubt the people of Muena Palaiya had been hoping for a return to something like normality. Nevertheless, the cheering went on for what seemed an age.

  When Estrada rejoined Alvantes and me, her face was set with fierce resolve.

  It was matched by the determination in Alvantes's voice as he said, "Marina, absolutely not."

  "You'd have me go back on my word?"

  "You'll be safe here."

  "Only if you win – in which case, I'll be just as safe with you. If you don't…" A little of the bravado went out of Estrada as she finished, "You know fear of you was the only thing that kept him away from me, Lunto."

  "Marina…"

  "Anyway, Castilio might listen to me. There could be a chance of avoiding bloodshed."

  "There'll be no avoiding bloodshed."

  "In which case, you know I can handle myself. You came here to protect me and you helped free my home. Now I'll do the same for you. Damn it, I'm not waiting like some hand-wringing soldier's wife. If it all goes wrong, if you're hurt…" Estrada clutched his one hand in hers, gripped it tight. "I want to be there."

  Alvantes stared at their locked hands for the longest time, as though he were the only witness to some unimaginable prodigy. Then, as if shaking himself from a dream, he said, "Once we're inside, you do what I tell you. That's my condition."

  "Agreed."

  "You take no chances."

  "Absolutely not, Guard-Captain."

  He sighed, a sound of utter, wearied defeat. "Then thank you, Marina. It will be a pleasure to travel with you again."

  Maybe the man was learning after all.

  Over the next four days, we retraced the route through the Castoval we'd taken so recently – and what seemed a lifetime ago. In one great, snaking column, we trekked down the mountainside road to the valley floor, swung west into Paen Acha, forded the river at Casta Canto – a slow and immensely tiresome process with a hundred giants in tow – and continued through the further depths of the forest towards the main southward highway.

  All the while, Alvantes, Estrada and I discussed our strategy, with occasional, brief contributions from Saltlick.

  In private, I'd already raised with him the possibility of the giants aiding us one last time
. "Saltlick, what they did back there. Do you think you could persuade your people to help Altapasaeda the same way?"

  "No fight," he said. "No hurt."

  "Let's take that as a given. But if there was some way you could help without causing any harm… without putting yourselves in real risk?"

  I was being disingenuous, and surely we both knew it. The giants had already been in real risk. The morning after the decapitation of Lupa's headquarters, I'd discovered that half a dozen of them had suffered wounds enough to fell a man twice over. They'd all shown Saltlick's remarkable capacity for healing, and a couple of days later the signs of damage were more or less gone. However, Altapasaeda wasn't Muena Palaiya. Where Lupa had had a few ignorant toughs, Mounteban had an army.