Prince Thief

by David Tallerman

  “You thought the King might come knocking if you absconded with his city? How astute.”

  “I thought there might be some reprisal. So I planned for it... which is more, it seems, than you did, Guard-Captain.”

  Alvantes lurched forward, fist clenched. “I said I’d let you talk to them, Mounteban. I didn’t say what state you’d be in when you got there.”

  In a moment, Mounteban was on his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor.

  “Stop it! Both of you.” Estrada had advanced too, arms outstretched, as though she’d keep them apart by brute force if need be. “And grow up, damn it! There’s more at stake here than your petty squabbling.” She turned fiercely on Alvantes, who looked both surprised and sheepish. “Leave him alone, Lunto. This isn’t helping anything.”

  If he’d realised, as I had, that Estrada was playing subtly to Mounteban’s ego, Alvantes’s wounded expression gave no sign. He stamped to the far side of the room and turned half away, as though not quite willing to admit he was interested in anything Mounteban had to say.

  Estrada, meanwhile, gave Mounteban a moment to right his chair and sit back down before she said, “Understand, Castilio, that I will never forgive you for the things you’ve done... to me or to this city. But I’ll work with you now, if that’s what it takes. So if you really care about Altapasaeda, tell us your plan. There’s no time for us to play games.”

  “Of course,” Mounteban replied, all surface calm restored. “I was never the one who wanted a conflict, Marina. I’d have gladly worked with you both from the beginning.”

  Alvantes gave a snort of derision, silenced abruptly when Estrada glared at him. “All right,” she said. “We’re listening.”

  I could tell that was what Mounteban had been waiting to hear, for all his old arrogance had returned as he asked, “I trust you’re familiar with the name of the Bastard Prince?”

  Alvantes glowered. “A northerner myth. A phantom to scare the royal court.”

  “Not so,” said Mounteban. “The boy is very real.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. Thus far, I’d been deliberately keeping out of the conversation – but having only recently heard of this mysterious Bastard Prince, I realised I couldn’t keep down my curiosity. “Tell me if I’m understanding this right. King Panchessa sires a child on some northerner wench and then covers it up. That child grows up to be Moaradrid, notorious invading warlord, kidnapper of giants and all-round madman.”

  Mounteban nodded, with the disinterested air of one teaching obvious lessons to a stupid child.

  “But Moaradrid is dead,” I continued. And no one in their right mind would ever refer to him as a boy. Suddenly, I understood. “You’re saying Moaradrid had a son too?”

  “His name is Malekrin,” Mounteban agreed. “The Bastard Prince, illegitimate son of an illegitimate son. The King’s only possible living heir.”

  “But surely he hasn’t any real claim to the throne?” put in Estrada.

  “For our purposes,” said Mounteban, “it hardly matters. What’s important is that the northerners believe it – and that, even after Moaradrid’s failed rebellion, they’re willing to fight over it. If you’re aware of the Prince, Marina, I’m sure you’re equally familiar with the name Kalyxis?”

  Alvantes’s expression soured even further. “That witch.”

  My inquisitiveness genuinely piqued now, I said, “Let’s assume that not everyone has your or Alvantes’s grasp on the politics of far-distant lands.”

  “Kalyxis,” said Mounteban, “is King Panchessa’s one-time paramour, Moaradrid’s mother, Malekrin’s grandmother... and just as she did with his father, she’s been grooming the boy as a potential saviour of the far north. As obvious as it would seem that she’s motivated by spite, she has a remarkable knack for telling her people what they want to hear.”

  “It sounds like you two have a lot in common,” observed Alvantes.

  “Just so,” Mounteban agreed, ignoring the obvious slight. “Which is why I sent a messenger to her proposing an alliance. I haven’t received a reply, but then given the distances involved that’s hardly surprising. However, it seems to me that Kalyxis and the Prince are still our best hope. Perhaps they can be persuaded to send support, or to harry Ans Pasaeda from the north, forcing the King to cut short his visit. Perhaps just the threat of an alliance will be enough to make Panchessa think twice.”

  “I appreciate that you’ve put thought into this,” said Estrada carefully, “but do you really think it could work? And even if it did, as you just said yourself, there’s no way anyone could travel so far and return in time. Altapasaeda can’t stand against the King for more than a few days.”

  “A difficulty, for sure,” agreed Mounteban. “But there is a way.”

  There was something in the way he emphasised those last words that made everyone, even Alvantes, suddenly more attentive. “Go on,” Estrada told him.

  “A tunnel, running west from the palace, through the mountainside. It was built, or perhaps more likely discovered, by the first prince... this in the days when a Castovalian revolt seemed more than likely. At the other end are a dock and a ship. If my sources are correct, even Panchetto wasn’t so confident in his own safety as to leave the passage and vessel unmaintained. It should still be there, and seaworthy.”

  “This is all nonsense!” growled Alvantes. “I’d have heard of such a thing.”

  “Apparently not,” replied Mounteban. “Then again,” he added with smug good cheer, “Panchetto always did like to keep the City Guard at arm’s length.”

  Alvantes was clearly ready to storm back across the room, but catching Estrada’s eye he thought better of it. “Anyway,” he said instead, “in case it’s escaped these ‘sources’ of yours, the palace is occupied. I doubt the Palace Guard would take kindly to us traipsing through. Unless, of course, you’ve somehow managed to deal with them too?”

  “That proved... untenable,” admitted Mounteban, his brief upturn in mood evaporating. “I’d hoped that, left to their own devices, they’d eventually see sense.”

  The Palace Guard were notorious in Altapasaeda for many things: their fierce loyalty to the crown, their moral flexibility in its service and their comprehensive training in its defence, especially where that defence involved the use of disproportionate violence. One of the things they’d never been known for, however, was seeing sense – and with their beloved prince dead, it was a safe assumption that they’d be less inclined than ever. Taking all that into account, it was a fair guess that Mounteban’s plan had been more along the lines of “wait them out and hope they eventually starve”. In fairness, it was probably the best anyone could have come up with.

  “However,” Mounteban continued, “there’s no need to march into the palace. Because the passage has a second exit, which opens outside the city... beneath your own barracks, in fact, Alvantes. No doubt its designers anticipated a less extreme emergency where retreating to the protection of the City Guard might prove useful. Had the Prince trusted you enough to reveal the location of that second exit, our problem would be solved. Still. When it comes to entering the palace and finding the entrance, one man might conceivably succeed where a larger force would be sure to fail.”

  “I’m not convinced this passage of yours even exists...” began Alvantes.

  “It does,” Mounteban cut him off. “And it’s our one chance of drawing aid to Altapasaeda before the city falls. You’d never have come here if you had another.”

  Estrada and Alvantes shared a long look. I assumed there was some unspoken communication passing between them, for how else were they to discuss the possibility of a truce with Mounteban, who they’d gone to such lengths to depose, when he was sitting right there? He was all swagger now, not even bothering to look at them – but I doubted even he was truly arrogant enough to assume that they’d unquestioningly put their enmity for him aside to pursue so desperate a plan.

  “Altapasaeda needs help,” Estrada
said finally. “And there’s nowhere in the Castoval left to offer it. Frankly, Castilio, I’d don’t trust this scheme of yours. There’s far too much that could go wrong, and no guarantees even if it doesn’t. But I don’t see any other choices, and every moment we spend seeking one brings the King closer to our gates.”

  “I don’t like it,” agreed Alvantes, “but it’s all we have. So I’ll go along with it... until you give me the slightest inkling that you can’t be trusted in this, Mounteban.”

  “Let’s take the threats as said and heard,” replied Mounteban, with studied dignity, “and start preparing while there’s still a chance of success. The first question is who to send into the palace.”

  “I think I could arrange a suitable diversion,” conceded Alvantes.

  “The walls and the courtyard will be the hardest part,” Mounteban said. “How long would this diversion last?”

  “Long enough, I think.”

  “So, if someone were to scale the walls... perhaps to reach a window...”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t so much what they were saying, but that I could feel Estrada’s eyes on me, boring into my skull in search of the conscience she seemed convinced was in there. “All right!” I cried. “Why not spare us all a little time?”

  Mounteban and Alvantes turned my way as well – and it was only seeing the surprise in their expressions that I realised how badly I’d misjudged. What I’d taken for none-too-subtle hinting in my direction had been no more than the honest back and forth of observations, it appeared.

  Yet, with my mouth open and working, I found I couldn’t simply back down. “Haven’t we been here before?” I said. “Oh no, something needs breaking into! Who can we possibly ask? Who do we know who used to break into things all the time? Who will no one miss when it all goes wrong?”

  “Damasco–” Estrada began.

  I realised then that, though Alvantes and Mounteban might not have had any intention of involving me, Estrada truly had. It was there in the gentle cajoling with which she spoke my name. Why couldn’t the woman just leave me alone?

  And even more infuriatingly, why, when I knew she was manipulating me, could I not stop myself from talking?

  “Spare me,” I said. “We’ve danced this dance enough times. Sooner or later, whatever I say, you’ll talk me into it, so just this once let’s get it over with. You want me to break into the palace? Fine! I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  It didn’t take long for the cracks to start showing in our new alliance.

  We were leaving the Dancing Cat, with Mounteban in tow and Navare and another guardsman hovering awkwardly behind, no one having bothered to inform them about the fragile coalition. “I have a few men in mind to send north,” said Mounteban, offhandedly. “Men with some nautical background.”

  “Freebooters, you mean?” retorted Alvantes – and the way Mounteban tensed suggested the dig had struck its mark. “Not a chance. For all we know, this treaty with Kalyxis is intended to serve you and you only.”

  “Then go with them, Guard-Captain,” said Mounteban. “I’m sure they’d be grateful for your guidance.”

  “And hand you back Altapasaeda? Never.”

  “I’ll go,” put in Estrada.

  “That’s absurd.” Alvantes’s reply had the abruptness of a reflex, and it was clear he’d realised his mistake almost before he’d closed his mouth.

  It would take more than belated regret to make Estrada go easy on him. “Are we really having this conversation again?” she snapped. “Do I need to list the qualifications that make me every bit as suitable for this as you?”

  “It isn’t that,” Alvantes said hastily. “But you’re needed here, and given the dangers involved–”

  “For whatever it’s worth,” put in Mounteban, “I think Marina would be an excellent choice. From what I’ve heard, Kalyxis has little affection for men, to say the least. Sending a female leader would show respect, and understanding of her position.”

  “Her position as a professional rabble-rouser?” said Alvantes. “I hardly think–”

  “I’ll take some guardsmen with me, if you can spare them,” Estrada interrupted. “And one of the giants, if Saltlick agrees. They have a way of ensuring people pay attention.”

  “Marina...”

  Estrada rounded on Alvantes, throwing our small parade into chaos. On any other day such drama would have drawn attention on the streets of Altapasaeda, where gossip was a currency second only to gold, but amidst those still-chaotic streets it passed unheeded. “Listen to me,” she said. “If we’re agreed that this is our best option then one of us has to go. It can’t be Castilio. It can’t be you. Who does that leave?”

  I didn’t even try to make out Alvantes’s mumbled reply. Estrada’s comment had struck so perfectly with the muddle in my head that everything else had fallen into background noise. She hadn’t suggested me as a possibility for the trip north, probably hadn’t so much as considered me – and where once that might have caused offence, now I realised I was glad. This foolhardy expedition was none of my concern, and that was exactly how I wanted it.

  Of course, my own brush with death would arrive much sooner. Since my outburst in the Dancing Cat, one half of my mind had been gazing in horror at the other, the part that had so blithely thrust me once again into harm’s way. Yet, having had time to analyse my brash-seeming decision, I’d come to realise that inspiration had hit me as I’d listened to Mounteban – struck with all the jolting clarity of a lightning bolt. And it had much to do with my depleted money bag and the events that had filled it to brimming not so long ago.

  I could see now that ever since Ludovoco had arrived, bearing the message from the royal court that had turned Altapasaeda upside down, I’d been in a sort of stupor. Perhaps that was only to be expected. But what had demoralised me wasn’t the threat of Panchessa’s arrival; after the events of recent weeks, the mere likelihood of danger was becoming harder and harder to take seriously. No, what had truly thrown me was the shock, like ice water flung in my face, that all my recent attempts to do good had been for nothing. Every menace I’d stood against, each tyrant I’d struggled to depose, had only given way to something worse.

  Now here we were, Mounteban’s sins forgiven with an ease that had never been shown to my own comparatively minor transgressions. I’d never be truly accepted by Estrada and Alvantes, and given how misguided their efforts had proved, that was no bad thing. Their plans were doomed – and as long as I tied my flag to their mast, so was I. Here was a chance, though, surely a last chance, to turn my fortunes around. Because as full as the palace might be with peril, it was every bit as full of wealth.

  One last job. I’d said it before, but this time I’d make certain it was true. If I left the palace alive, I’d also leave it rich. And after that, nothing would keep me in this doomed city.

  Ahead of me, Alvantes slowed, and I just barely avoided tripping over his heels. Roused from my reverie, I realised we’d come to a halt before a building I recognised. I’d passed obliviously through the entirety of the Market District, and now here we were somewhere close to the north wall, gathered before an ugly structure of bare grey stone.

  It was amazing that the odour hadn’t warned me, really – for now that I was paying attention, the ancient stink of rotted flesh climbed into my nose and refused to let go. The building had been a tannery until quite recently; as I understood, the owner had decided that skipping town would be more palatable than trying to pay his inordinate gambling debts, and it had fallen vacant a month ago.

  The reason I recognised it was presumably the same reason we were standing before it now: there were very few empty buildings in Altapasaeda large enough to house a hundred giants. Even then, a better solution could probably have been found had everyone not had more pressing worries. As it was, since the giants weren’t inclined to complain, the decision had been swiftly made and forgotten.

  Whatever the giants’ nasal failings
, what was suitable for their habitation remained repulsive to mere men. Alvantes gathered himself with a visible effort, scrunching his nose against the stink before pressing through the gap in the open double doors. Estrada went next, then Mounteban, and I followed behind, sparing a sympathetic glance for Navare and his fellow guardsman, who were experiencing this olfactory horror for the first time.

  Inside, I focused all my willpower on not retching. The fixtures and furnishings had long since vanished, no doubt stolen by competitors or sold by disgruntled creditors, the only evidence of their vanished presence the geometry of cleaner patches amidst the thickening dust. However, stripping the great room to bare boards and walls had done nothing to wipe away the vile, mingled odours that had seeped into them over the years.

  If it bothered the giants even slightly, they gave no indication. They’d settled themselves in clumps around the room, their presence making the considerable space seem almost cramped. There was little light in there, nothing but dim beams descending from openings near the ceiling, but the gloom didn’t seem to concern them either.

  Saltlick was on his feet and rushing over almost before we’d entered, his usual broad grin of greeting spread across his face. Seeing him, I felt a sudden surge of resentment on his behalf. What right did Estrada have to ask for anything more from him or his people? They were only still here because Saltlick had offered their help in rebuilding after the recent violence. The giants had already done more than enough for Altapasaeda, more than enough for Alvantes and Estrada.

  I thought of pointing out as much, but I’d missed my moment: Estrada was already leading Saltlick to one side, while he hunched to catch her low-spoken words. Well, he was an adult, wasn’t he? More than that, Saltlick was the closest thing the giants had to a chief now; all that kept him from the post was the absurdities of giant custom. If he couldn’t be trusted to stand up for his people, who could?

  So instead of trying to contribute my twelfth onyx-worth, I went to wait outside, where there was something at least approaching fresh air to be breathed. I watched the traffic of desperate people, the overladen carts and bickering families, and marvelled at how – even in Altapasaeda, where rumour was lifeblood – word of the King’s approach could have spread so very quickly.