Crown Thief ttoted-2

by David Tallerman

  Meanwhile, trying to ascend the last distance would mean passing directly into the view of anyone watching from the wall. Even in my dark garb, it was too great a chance to take. At least, thanks to the knives, I had holds. I only had to hang on for a short while. How hard could that be?

  My hands were first to lose their feeling.

  Terrifying as that was, I found I could brace against the wall with my feet and calves. Though they felt like clods of meat, my numbed hands still kept me in place, aided by the rope, which I'd managed to loop round my wrists. If I could only stay like that, I'd be all right.

  Only, the numbness was spreading. It seemed so much colder up there on the wall than it had been on the ground. The wind flailed across me, dipping icy fingers inside my cloak. Slowly but certainly, it found the flesh of my wrists, my forearms. In its wake came the prickle of pins and needles — and then, far worse, no feeling at all.

  I pressed against the stone, concentrating every speck of strength I had left into holding myself in place. Even as I did it, I knew it wouldn't be enough. It was too cold. I was too worn out by my climb. With nothing to distract me, time was passing at the barest crawl. How could I hang on when every minute seemed an hour?

  Sooner or later — and I knew it would be sooner — some vital muscle would succumb to the creeping chill. Then the only question would be whether I had feeling left in whichever part of me hit the ground first.

  At first, I thought the sound was my own heartbeat shuddering in my ears.

  Only, why would my heartbeat be coming from behind me? With utmost care, I shifted my weight to the rope, sending shivers of painful life back into my hands. Once I was fairly sure I wouldn't just plummet, I began to twist around, manoeuvring until my back was to the wall. There ahead lay the Suburbs, sketched in deep shades of grey beneath me.

  I'd hardly dared hope. But I'd been right. The giants were coming.

  From my vantage point, I could make them out easily. They were approaching through a particularly derelict region of the Suburbs, and they towered head and shoulders above the crumpled shacks. I found my numb face could manage a thin smile. That was a nice touch on Saltlick's part.

  A choked shout sounded from close above me. Others followed close behind, from all along the northern wall. I wasn't surprised to make out the word "giants" over and over, along with an impressive amount of cursing.

  I could see the giants clearly by then, as I was sure those watching above me could. They'd certainly been busy in the Suburbs. In broad daylight, I'd have easily recognised their helmets as cooking pans and cauldrons, their clubs as broken timbers, their armour as a patchwork of cloth and loose-tied boards scrounged from deserted shacks. In that tricky dawn gloom, though? It made the illusion real. The giants looked nothing like friendly behemoths clad in carnival gear of looted junk. They were armoured monsters, fearsome and implacable.

  What made the effect all the more believable was that I could hear the giants clearly too. For every one of Mounteban's men who cried out above me, a giant bellowed incoherently below. On my instruction, they were keeping to meaningless roars or shouting in their own clipped language. It was hard to say which was more alarming.

  They were putting on quite a show; if I hadn't been nine-tenths numb and suspended from a wall, I might have laughed. For Mounteban's lackeys, the effect was anything but humorous. I could hear the rising terror in their exclamations — and increasingly, the shouts were joined by the clatter of running footsteps. Just as I'd hoped, they were running away from me.

  I gave it another few seconds, as long as my rapidly failing grip would stand. There was always the chance someone would have sense enough to remain on lookout, but it was a risk I had to take. Steeling myself, I began to climb once more. Though I was sure my cold limbs would fail me, that my numbed fingers would lose their hold, somehow they didn't. It took me less than a minute to reach the height of the battlements to my left.

  Treading sideways against the stone, I managed to swing a little, to hook a foot into a gap. I used that foot to drag myself over and then lashed out a hand for the edge of the tower. With foot and hand together, I pulled myself further, until, with a leg and arm an chored, I could haul myself the last way. I flopped onto the walkway.

  Had there been anyone between the next tower and me, they couldn't have failed to see me. There wasn't. Sure enough, all their attention was absorbed with repelling the imminent assault. How were they to know it was a sham? I didn't doubt Mounteban would have put out word that the giants wouldn't hurt a fly, but who would believe Mounteban's word over their own eyes? Nobody who didn't know them could look at those vast figures, lurching through the shadowed streets, and see anything but monsters set to tear the city down brick by brick.

  They'd know differently soon enough. Once the fighting began, even the most fear-blinded defenders would realise it was entirely one-sided. Time was already running out. I had to move.

  I pitched to my feet, slumped hard against the parapet, managed to steady myself and keep going. Halfway to the next tower, stairs led down. I took them three at a time. All the while, I strove to prepare myself. Just because this section of wall had been abandoned that didn't mean the gate would be unguarded. If it was, I was defenceless, the only weapons I'd thought to bring still embedded in the wall behind me. Why could I never hang onto a knife for more than ten minutes?

  I reached the base of the stairs without slowing. The gatehouse was beyond the next tower, hidden from view. The racket behind me was increasing second by second, the confusion of yelled warnings and barked orders becoming louder and more hysterical, mixing with a building tremor of feet and hooves. Over it all, the roars of the giants massed like a great black cloud, ominous of the storm to come.

  As the pitch of the chaos behind me heightened to ear-splitting levels, the tower loomed in my view. A stitch was flaring in my not-quite-thawed side. How could this ever have seemed a good idea? I was on the verge of collapse, sprinting straight into a trap — one of my own design.

  I ran on. It was a trap I'd already sprung, for I had nowhere else to go. Anyway, I still had a tongue in my head, didn't I? Even if I couldn't fight, perhaps I could still bluff.

  I slowed, struggling to gather my thoughts, to recover a little breath. I was barely trotting by the time I passed the corner of the tower, my mouth already working with the beginnings of a speech that would surely end in my pleading for my life.

  The gate was undefended.

  I was almost disappointed — but that passed quickly enough. Ignoring the main gate, I stumbled to the small side door set in one side. It was secured by a bar, which I dragged off, and a heavy metal latch that I heaved open. The door swung inward on well-oiled hinges.

  I could only see a darkened street at first, barely illuminated by the mealy morning light. Then, from one particularly lightless alleyway, a cluster of figures hurried forward. I recognised Alvantes, Navare and Estrada; the other half-dozen, hoods drawn up, would be Alvantes's hand-picked guardsmen.

  "You made it," whispered Navare.

  He sounded more surprised than I'd have liked. "Of course," I hissed, at a less judicious volume that drew a scowl from Alvantes.

  All of them were dressed in heavy cloaks of various dark shades. We'd look suspicious, but given what else was going on, it might take more than suspicion for anyone to stop us. However, the giants' distraction could only be drawn out for so long. Alvantes had talked of their battering the gates down, but I'd strictly vetoed that — for once the giants were inside, confronted by Mounteban's teeming forces, casualties would be inevitable. The moment our bluff was exposed, they'd be defenceless.

  In fact, was it my imagination, or was the tone of the shouting already beginning to change?

  "This way," I hissed.

  I dashed a little way down the main road that ran within the walls, feeling horribly exposed, ducked gratefully into a covered alley. With a little of my breath back, I managed a pace just shy of a run, the
others keeping close behind me. I zigged and zagged through one lane and passage after another, heading roughly towards the Market District, all the while listening for clues to how the giants were faring.

  I was certain cheers of exultation were beginning to replace the defenders' frantic cries. Saltlick's instructions were to withdraw the instant they were in real jeopardy. If our diversion wasn't already done for, it would be soon.

  At least our first destination was close. Hurrying past familiar landmarks, I saw the particular dead-end street I was looking for, with its tumbledown houses and one door sturdier than those around it. I paced the last distance, wheezing like an old hound, palming sweat from my forehead. I paused just long enough to be sure I could speak actual words and hammered four weak blows upon the wood.

  Part of me doubted he'd even open up. But that wasn't Franco's way. If assassins ever came for him, he'd be selling them better knives before they were halfway across the threshold.

  Sure enough, the hatch in the door slid open, to reveal familiar, wrinkle-set eyes. "Oh, gods," came a voice from the other side, "not you. Not here. Not now."

  "A minute of your time, Franco," I said.

  The hatch thumped shut.

  Long moments passed. Then, its very motion speaking of reluctance, the door edged open. Franco stood in the gap, gaze moving from face to shadowed face. "Guard-Captain?" he asked, squinting at Alvantes. "You're back? I assure you, whatever that wretch has said, this is a reputable abode."

  "That's not my concern," replied Alvantes. "Nor will it ever be… if you help us now. We're here for Mounteban. Tell us where he's hiding."

  "Hiding? He's hardly hiding!" Franco paused to consider. "Still, I doubt you're the sort of guests he's hoping for. Sorry, Guard-Captain, you'll have to find him by yourself."

  "Franco," I said, "help us and you won't have anything to fear from Mounteban. He's not going to be a threat in Altapasaeda for much longer."

  "Do you really expect me to believe this little band of yours can roust that fat old wolf?" Franco glanced past my shoulder to add, "No offence, Guard-Captain."

  "None taken," replied Alvantes, unexpected amusement in his voice. "However, I'd be neglecting my duty if I didn't point out that once we're done with Mounteban, I'll be coming straight back here to arrest you for complicity."

  "With all the respect in the world, that's only a threat if I thought you had a chance."

  Alvantes's granite face gave nothing away. "That's true."

  "Which I don't."

  "So you've made clear."

  "That's right, I have. So why don't you go find someone else to intimidate?"

  "Oh, this isn't intimidation." Alvantes tapped his forehead in mock salute. "I'm saving that for next time. Be seeing you, Franco."

  He turned away. Wanting to point out that there were a hundred and one things we could try to loosen Franco's tongue, I had to remind myself Alvantes had been in this game a lot longer than I had. I hurried after.

  We'd hardly made a dozen paces when Franco called after, his voice low and somewhat squeaky, "And they'll tell you the same thing in the Dancing Cat." Then his door slammed closed.

  Alvantes stopped and turned back to us. "We're in luck. That's barely ten minutes from here. Everyone ready?"

  Navare and the guardsmen nodded without hesitation. So did Estrada. That left only me. Was I ready? Of course I wasn't. Maybe my attitude to placing myself in unfeasible danger had been modified a little in recent weeks, but fighting was another matter altogether. And fighting the very cream of Mounteban's thugs, no doubt armed with all the sharpest and most generally lethal weapons in the city?

  I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready for something like this.

  "Let's just get it over with," I said.

  Alvantes caught my eye — and did I see the faintest flash of something that might conceivably have been respect? Then his gaze darted once more across the gathered faces, weighing each of his men, lingering lastly on Estrada.

  "All right. Like the man said… let's finish this."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The city had grown quiet, at least compared with its earlier uproar. As we skulked through the alleys, the fact of the giants' withdrawal became more evident with each passing moment.

  Saltlick's instruction had been to disguise their retreat until the very last instant. With Mounteban's ragtag defenders already panicking, any movement on the giants' part was bound to look like a ruse at first, and to send them into further fits of alarm. Increasingly, though, the shouts that drifted to us over the rooftops of Altapasaeda had one note in common: exultation. By the time we drew close to the Dancing Cat, there was no question of it. The distant clamour had settled to the gleeful celebration of men who believed they'd somehow managed to drive monsters back from their walls.

  Soon enough it must occur to them that so halfhearted an attack looked a lot like a diversion. How long after that before someone thought to wonder what they were being diverted from? And if anyone were too quick to draw those obvious conclusions, it would go very badly for us.

  Lucky then that we had one last card up our sleeve.

  Another uproar arose to the west. Though fainter this time, drawn thin by distance, in all other respects it sounded much like the last uproar. Its base rhythm was of hoof beats, a great many. Its high notes were two screams in close succession, followed by distant thuds. If I'd had to guess, I'd have identified those as the last moments of two men falling from on high, probably with arrows stuck in them for good measure.

  To anyone curious as to what they'd just been encouraged not to see, here was an appropriate answer: Altapasaedan guardsmen mounted on any horse they could beg or borrow, and Castovalian Irregulars with crude battering rams, all charging hard upon the western gate.

  What had I told Alvantes, back in Paen Acha? The trick with misdirection is to give them something they expect. If they expect to find something and do, nine times in ten they'll stop looking. Who would have guessed thievery and military strategy had so much in common?

  The timing was perfect. Across the street from the alley mouth we'd reached stood the Dancing Cat, a high-class tavern of considerable repute tucked in the band of well-off streets between the upper Market District and the mansions of the South Bank.

  It was a long way from Mounteban's previous haunt, the Red-Eyed Dog, in every sense. Yet I found something amusing in the fact that even with an entire city at his fingertips, Mounteban couldn't shake free of old habits. He could have set himself up in any mansion he fancied, perhaps even the palace itself. Nevertheless, here he was, skulking in the back rooms of an inn like the gangster he would always remain at heart.

  There were thugs on the door, of course. It wouldn't have been Mounteban without thugs. While their presence was undoubtedly off-putting, at least they provided reassurance that we were in the right place. In addition, they both looked more than a little nervous. If Mounteban's best men were close to soiling their undergarments, there was hope yet.

  One, I realised, was the former bouncer of the RedEyed Dog, who I'd stabbed in the leg on my last visit. He obviously hadn't taken that reversal of fortunes as a sign he was in the wrong career.

  Perhaps there was time to educate him yet.

  I sauntered into the street. "Good evening. I'm looking for a washed-up crime boss posing as a politician. Could either of you gentlemen point me in the right direction?"

  The former bouncer reacted before his colleague. He looked surprised at first, then relieved. Whatever terrors he'd been expecting, one lone and skinny thief wasn't amongst them. By the time he was halfway to me his expression had made its way round to anger, of a very personal sort. He'd finally recognised this particular skinny thief.

  "You'd know if you saw him," I said. "He gets uglier and fatter by the day. Though he's still not quite so fat or ugly as your…"

  The sentence choked in my throat, as the cudgel he'd wielded all those days ago materialised from the folds of his cloak. I
ts length about halved the distance between us. I tried for a step backward and found my feet more interested in pitching me onto my backside. I hurled my arms up instinctively.

  That was a shame, because I almost missed Alvantes cold-cocking the one-time bouncer. It was a perfectly neat blow, the hilt of Alvantes's sword connecting cleanly with the side of his head, and it sent the large man crashing sideways like a bag of grit.

  His companion, lagging a little way behind, reacted with astonishing speed. Quicker than I could follow, he had his sword in hand and much of the space to Alvantes already covered. I might have been worried, were it not for Navare keeping silent pace behind him. Still, Navare left it a little longer than I'd have liked before he too struck down his mark, with a sharp tap to the nape of his neck. The second thug went plummeting, to land neatly beside his partner.

  "You took your time," I pointed out.

  "Into the alley with them," hissed Alvantes, ignoring me in favour of the guardsmen lurking in the shadowed thoroughfare behind us. They swarmed round, hoisted the two prone bodies and were gone like a moon shadow.

  "When you said distract them," I added, "I didn't realise you meant by letting them cave my head in."

  "You're not dead. We were quick enough."

  I had to concede that point. In truth, I knew it was only nerves making me argumentative. Alvantes and Navare had worked their way round through the side streets as quickly as I could have hoped. Everything had gone smoothly. But this had been the easy part. Even getting into the city had been the easy part, compared with what came next.

  Behind the grim, black-panelled door of the Dancing Cat? That was the hard part.

  "Marina," said Alvantes, "you'll stay here. You too, Godares," he added, signalling one of the guardsmen. "Stay out of sight. Watch for anyone leaving and mark their direction, but don't follow. No arguments."