Crown Thief (10 page)

  Only then did the realisation truly sink in… Synza had waited to get me alone. So long as I had company, I was safe.

  I dropped back to ride between Alvantes and Estrada, ignoring the looks they gave me. My mind was still awhirl. Now, however, it was less fear, more the simple question of self-preservation that set my thoughts spinning.

  It wasn't one I had any easy answers to. Only when we came in sight of the Casto Mara did the inkling of an idea present itself. As I'd suspected, the ferry had yet to be repaired. In its place, though, a crude and presumably temporary replica had been constructed. Ropes were strung taut across the river, a rough platform had been constructed from cut logs with mounted metal wheels at either end, and two burly men were hauling it by hand from bank to bank. It was less than half the size of the old ferry and looked distinctly rickety, but it was a way across.

  Ever so slowly, the two ferrymen heaved their makeshift transport over from the far bank. When they arrived, they passed another five minutes in whispered conversation, sparing us only the occasional glance.

  Estrada was first to lose her patience. "May I ask what the problem is?"

  The nearest ferryman looked at her uneasily. "Thing is," he said, "we've rates for people and rates for horses. We don't have rates for…" He pointed at Saltlick. "For anything like
that
."

  "Saltlick is a giant," she said tartly, "but I don't think he'd been offended if you chose to consider him a horse for the duration of our trip."

  Saltlick nodded sagaciously. "Horse good."

  The ferryman's expression brightened. "Horse it is then. All aboard!"

  As it turned out, the craft was sturdier than it appeared. Casta Canto was a logging town after all, and if the folk knew little else they knew wood. After a few minutes, I let myself ignore our creeping, creaking progress in favour of thinking over my next move.

  When, what seemed at least an hour later, we brushed against the rough harbour of Casta Canto, my scheme was ready. As Estrada went to pay the two ferrymen I said, "I'll get this. Why don't you go ahead and find us somewhere for the night?"

  "Where can we rent rooms?" Estrada asked the ferrymen.

  One pointed to a two-storey building a little way up the main street. "Try the
Bear Trap
first," he said. "Lindi's been cooking up a batch of her famous boar stew."

  Estrada nodded and set off, with Alvantes and Saltlick close behind.

  "So," I said, "What do we owe?"

  The man attempted to calculate on his fingers. "A twelfth-onyx for each of you," he said, "two each for the horses… another two for the man-horse…"

  "Let's call it an onyx," I said. "Now, how much more would it take for you to close the ferry for the rest of the day? In fact, to close it and make sure it stays closed until noon tomorrow?"

  He squinted in concentration. "We'd have shut up soon enough anyway."

  "It has to be now. No more passengers today."

  "It'll mean a whole night's drinking," he said, as though this were the only conceivable outcome.

  "And the morning too," inserted his companion.

  "Ah, right. That's… well, three bottles each, at a pinch…"

  I held out two more onyxes. "Will that cover it?"

  His eyes widened. "It might."

  "No more passengers. I'll be checking."

  "No need for that." He sounded faintly offended. "With what this'll pay for, that ferry might be down for a week."

 

By the time I reached the
Bear Trap
, the others were just leaving. "What's the problem?" I asked.

  "They only have two rooms available," Estrada told me.

  That sounded like excellent news to me. "Let's not be needlessly extravagant. Why can't Alvantes and I share?"

  Estrada eyed me with astonishment bordering on horror. "Weren't you the one who swore another night without a bed would be the death of you?"

  It might. But not as quickly as having a room to myself would if Synza found a way across the Casto Mara. The little bastard had managed to keep up so far. He was nothing if not resourceful. "Our money won't last forever," I pointed out. "Who knows what surprises might be waiting? Let's be practical."

  Estrada looked at Alvantes. "He has a point."

  "I am not sharing a bed with Damasco."

  "I'll take the floor," I said. "I'm sure they can rustle up a few spare blankets."

  Alvantes shook his head wearily. "I can't but wonder what goes on in your mind, Damasco. Very well then, if coin is so much more important to you than comfort."

  "Coin," I said, "is more important to me than anything. You should know that by now."

  Once we'd settled in, my first step was to find a quiet corner of the taproom in which to finish sewing the lock picks into my cloak. This time no one paid me any heed, and I was done in minutes. I sought out Alvantes, where he was tending the horses in the stables to the rear. I nodded to Saltlick, comfortably installed in a double stall no doubt intended for carriages rather than giants, and handed Alvantes my needle and thread. "I suppose there's no point asking what it is you want to hide?"

  Alvantes opened his cloak, revealing a rip in the lining. "Who said I want to hide anything?"

  He had, of course. Not explicitly, maybe, but Alvantes wasn't one to ask idle questions – or for that matter, to concern himself with a torn lining. Still, if this was how he wanted to play it, I was confident I could find other ways to satisfy my curiosity. I left him to it and, having stepped outside to confirm that the ferry operators had indeed quit their work, returned to the taproom and settled to a cup of wine.

  The next I saw of Alvantes was well over an hour later, just as dinner was called, when he handed back my needle and a much-diminished spool of thread.

  "May I admire your handiwork?" I asked.

  He drew back his cloak, revealing a neat line of stitches. Well, neat it might be, but there was no way it had consumed such quantity of thread as was missing. What
was
the man up to?

  It was a mystery that would have to wait. I was worn out – from the long day's journeying, from my healing injuries, from the lingering effects of the pain medicine and the shock of my most recent brush with death. Dinner, the promised and surprisingly delicious boar stew, was the straw that broke me. Never mind that my bed was a heap of blankets on the floor; never mind my fears that Synza might have made it across the river. I barely had time to close my eyes before sleep hauled me down into its depths.

 

I woke feeling almost refreshed.

  After a breakfast of stewed plums, Estrada insisted on redressing Alvantes's arm, and I ventured out to check the ferry. It was tied off to the harbour, just as I'd left it. I considered hacking through one of the overhanging ropes, but I doubted Synza would have waited on the far bank, or that the two ferrymen would be in any state to renege on our bargain. No, my best hope now lay in widening whatever start I'd gained.

  With that in mind, I insisted on taking the lead when we set out again, and on maintaining the fastest pace I could without drawing comment from Alvantes and Estrada. When we'd passed this way in the opposite direction, Estrada, Saltlick and I had been forced to travel cross-country, led by that despicable shark Mounteban. This time we followed the winding main road out of Casta Canto, which led east and a little north. If it was quicker, the going was still frustratingly slow and dull.

  Evening found us out of Paen Acha proper, in the eastern region where the forest broke into scattered woodland and wild meadows. We stopped at a small village I was barely familiar with and paid for lodgings in its dingy, weather-beaten inn. The fact that I'd seen no sign of Synza had done nothing to alleviate my worries, so I was glad to find that in place of rooms the inn had two large dormitories, one for men and women each.

  Somehow, despite the fact that most of the beds were occupied by raucously snoring loggers, I managed another sound night's sleep. As we set out the next day, my mood was almost upbeat. We made good speed in the morning, and by lunch we'd joined the north-south highway, the last vestiges of woodland behind us. Far ahead, high above, Muena Palaiya was visible as a spatter of white in the weak sunlight, where its southernmost edge showed above the plateau called the Hunch.

  Only then did I start to realise how misjudged my good humour was.

  It crept upon me slowly – a subtle sense of wrongness. The few people we passed were sullen and uncommunicative, just as the inn's small staff had been the night before. They looked furtive, on edge, expressions that summoned all-too-ready memories of our time in the Suburbs. One or two I could ignore, but each downturned face, each averted eye, reinforced my doubts. As much as I told myself it didn't mean anything, I couldn't believe it.

  We spent the afternoon crawling towards the broadening line of white that was Muena Palaiya. Once we'd passed the crossroads, where the road down from the mountains met the highway, our route began to climb – steadily at first and then more steeply. I found myself watching Estrada. She'd been absent for days. Would it be unreasonable to expect her to look pleased at the sight of her home? Yet as the afternoon wore on, all I could see was tension that set like mortar, drawing her face into harder and harder lines.

  When we crested the edge of the plateau late in the afternoon, I realised the gates were closed. Well, there was nothing so strange in that. They were often kept shut. I couldn't even say why the sight unsettled me.

  I glanced again at Estrada. Her countenance was rigid.

  I knew Muena Palaiya as well as I did anywhere. I couldn't see anything out of place. Had she noticed some detail I was missing? It struck me that there were no guards on the walls either, nor anywhere in sight. Yet even that wasn't entirely unexpected. After all, hadn't most of the local guardsmen died in the fight against Moaradrid?

  We were almost at the gates when Estrada called a halt – and said aloud what I was trying so hard not to think.

  "Can you feel it?" Her voice was stiff with forced calm. "It's not just Altapasaeda. Something's wrong here too."

 
 
 
 

We guided the horses to the side of the road, dismounted at a point where a stand of ragged trees hid us from view. The surest sign of the unease in our small party was that Saltlick didn't immediately start devouring the foliage. Instead, he watched Estrada with a steady, sorrowful gaze, evidently sensing her disquiet but not knowing how to help.

  Would that Alvantes were so tactful. "I'm not doubting you, Marina," he said. "But consider the strain you've been under these last days. Probably what you're noticing is just the disturbance of everything that's happened lately. After all, Muena Palaiya's been without a mayor, and without most of its guard."

  "Lunto… something's wrong. I know this town better than I know myself. You should understand what I mean as well as anyone. It's just like Altapasaeda. You can almost smell the fear in the air."

  "So, say you're right. What do we do?"

  "We?" Estrada shook her head, a sharp judder of resolve. "No. This is my problem. If something's happened here, it happened because of my absence. It's my job as mayor to set it right."

  "That's absurd. We've come this far together. Let us help you. What if it's more stragglers from Moaradrid's army?"

  "Then what can four of us achieve that I can't do alone?"

  "All right, perhaps Damasco could…"

  "Hey! Not a chance," I cut in. "The last time I broke into somewhere for you, I barely got out with my life."

  "It's all right, Easie," Estrada said. "I have friends inside. People I trust. And you three have business you need to attend to, business that's already waited far too long. Not least, making sure Saltlick gets back to his people."

  Saltlick looked more abashed than ever. "Help Marina."

  "Thank you. Really. But Muena Palaiya's my town, and I have all the help I need right here."

  "Marina," Alvantes said, "I won't let you go in there alone."

  The look Estrada turned him would have frozen boiling water. "How exactly do you intend to stop me?"

  I saw the anger flare in Alvantes's eyes – and quickly dissolve into frustration, with perhaps even an edge of helplessness. "I didn't mean it like that. But you can't seriously expect to tell me you'll be in danger and then think I'll let you ride in there alone."

  "That's precisely what I expect. It's how it
has
to be. When we fought Moaradrid, you knew your men needed to see you leading them, that you weren't afraid. It's the same here, with my people. I won't let them down again. But Lunto – it's going to be all right. You really don't need to worry."

  Estrada stepped suddenly forward and reached to put her arms around his neck. Alvantes stood rigidly at first; then, forcing himself to relax, he put his own arms round her back and returned the embrace. For a moment, all the clumsy formality went out of the gesture and they pressed each other close.

  It was Estrada who drew away first. "Thank you," she said. "For everything. Come find me once your business is settled with the King."

  Alvantes only nodded.

  She turned to Saltlick and me. "Easie… take care of yourself. Try to be good."

  "You too, Mayor Estrada. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

  I held out my hand and she shook it, with the faintest of smiles.

  "Saltlick," she said, "will you bring your people to visit on your way home? I promise we'll make you a good welcome."

  "Meet friends," beamed Saltlick. Bending almost double, he offered her his hand as well. Though it was fully twice the size of hers, she managed to wrap her five fingers around two of his and they shook.