Crown Thief (3 page)

  All my irritation at being dragged up there in the dark and cold vanished immediately. "Is that what I think it is?"

  "If you think it's a telescope."

  "Where did you ever come across that?"

  "From my father. It was a farewell gift."

  I took it from him, trying to keep my fingers from trembling. The telescope was worth all the money in my purse and more. To my knowledge, no one in the Castoval or Ans Pasaeda had quite figured out how to make them, and the few floating around had originated in some distant land or other. I'd seen one once in Aspira Nero, much larger than this; but actually to use one was another thing altogether. I gasped as I pressed it to my eye and the distant walls sprang into focus. It took me a few disorientating moments to find the two figures, but once I did, it was as though they were standing just before me.

  Whatever they were wearing, it wasn't guard livery. One was smartly dressed, with a cape over a brigandine of leather armour, an insignia on the breast. The other wore a full cloak with the hood drawn up. It didn't disguise his bulk. Of the two, he stood at least a hand taller, and was even broader in the shoulder. From the way he slouched against the battlements, he had none of his companion's discipline. In fact, the two had nothing obviously in common except their position, and their postures suggested both were aware of that fact.

  Once I was certain I'd seen all there was to see, I turned back to Alvantes. He held out his hand, and I grudgingly placed the telescope in it. If and when we parted ways, it would definitely be coming with me.

  "The leftmost is likely a retainer from one of the wealthy families," I said, and described his uniform.

  "Likely a house guard for the Orvetta family. The other?"

  "Could be anyone. If I had to guess, though… he's big and he likes to keep his face hidden. They don't trust each other one little bit. I'd say he's muscle for one of the city gangs."

  Alvantes nodded.

  "You don't look surprised," I said.

  "I'm not. It's what I expected. I only wish it wasn't."

 

We hurriedly rejoined the others. "There are sentries on the walls," Alvantes told them. "Our priority is to get past without being identified. We'll travel fast, but don't risk the horses. If you can't keep pace, whistle."

  He swung into the saddle and the rest of us followed his example. Hardly glancing to see whether anyone was following, he set off into the blackness ahead.

  Under normal circumstances, it was quicker by far to cut through the city than to take this narrow, wind ing back road around its western side. As such, it was little more than a dirt track in places, pitted and overgrown. Negotiating it at speed in utter blackness was only a little shy of suicide.

  Unfortunately, I had no say in the matter. Saltlick, capable of matching any horse with his huge strides, was crashing along close behind me. Watching Estrada, just ahead, gave me my only indication of the road's twists and turns. As every moment threatened to hurl me from the saddle, I struggled against rising panic. The damp wind stung my face; tears blinded me to even the few dim stars. Even if I could have pursed my lips, no one could possibly have heard me whistle. Worst was the feeling of falling. Plunging into blackness, my mind threw up the image of a gaping pit and held it.

  All I could do was grip my mount's reins with all my strength and struggle to believe she knew what she was doing. She was a guard horse. Surely, she knew this road. Likely, she remembered every pit and rut.

  She didn't let me down. After a while, I even began to relax a fraction – as much as was possible when hurtling through pitch-darkness on a road with no right to the name. I even dared to look up. There were the walls, close on our right. There was the gatehouse. Above, I could just see the sentries' torchlight. It bobbed and weaved, perhaps responding to our passage. Someone called out, the words whipped into nonsense by the wind. Then we were past.

  The guards must have seen us. Or – they'd have seen riders. Perhaps only heard our horses. We could have been anyone. Unless, of course, they'd happened to pick out one particular silhouette, fully twice the size of any man.

  Even once we were in the clear, it was a long time before Alvantes called, "Rein in! Stop here." Motioning towards a muddy side road, he summoned two of the guardsmen with a snapped, "Panchez, Duero, follow me," and to Gueverro, added, "Be watchful, Sub-Captain."

  They weren't gone long. Their return was heralded by ear-racking sounds of squeaking and braying. When they came into view, Panchez was leading Duero's mount and Duero was guiding a mule, which in turn drew a small, ramshackle cart.

  The look Estrada gave Alvantes was questioning to the point of accusation.

  "Borrowed," he said, not meeting her eye.

  I smirked. Interesting how it had a different name when guard-captains did it.

  To Saltlick, he added a curt, "Get in, please."

  Saltlick eyed the vehicle uncertainly. Alvantes had used this trick to smuggle him out of Altapasaeda, but that had been in a large wagon full of straw, not a donkey-cart covered with a scrappy tarpaulin.

  Nevertheless, with considerable effort and obvious discomfort, Saltlick managed to scrunch himself into the back. Once he was settled, Duero drew the tarpaulin over. To my trained eye, the end the result looked much like an extremely cramped giant covered with an extremely small sheet.

  "That should fool anyone," I said. "So long as they're blind. Or stupid. Or a very great distance away."

  Alvantes glared at me. "All the more reason to hurry."

  However, the cart, amongst its many failings, had been designed for neither speed nor the weight of giants. It was a long and miserable hour later before we turned east into the outskirts of the Altapasaedan Suburbs.

  The Suburbs was so called because Altapasaedans didn't like to use the word "slum". The choice of nomenclature did nothing to change its nature. It was a dingy and ever-changing shanty town, sprung up long ago in the lee of the north wall and somehow never made permanent. In short, it was everything Altapasaeda wasn't: poor, filthy, tumbledown and given over to degrees of crime that the guard hardly bothered to interfere with.

  Or so I'd always thought. We hadn't travelled far through the mazy streets before we came to a building more solidly constructed than those around it – built of sturdy timber, rather than wood that looked as if it had been dragged from the river, and with a door that would resist anything shy of a battering ram.

  Alvantes dismounted and rapped three times, followed by two short taps, a pause, and one last knock. After a few moments, the door swung open, a slit at first and then fully. A swarthy, dark-eyed man stood in the gap. As he turned his head, I saw that the whole left side of his otherwise handsome face was puckered by white blotches of scarring. "Guard-Captain," he said. "It's good to see you, sir. With the stories flying around, I wasn't sure I would again."

  "Not here, Navare." Alvantes turned to the rest of us. "Quickly… get the giant inside."

  To his credit, Navare barely looked shocked when Duero whipped the tarpaulin back and Saltlick began to unfold himself from the cart. He was certainly quick enough to move out of the way, though.

  "Gueverro, Estrada, Damasco, go in. Duero, see that the cart's returned – discreetly, please. The rest of you, find stabling for the horses. Not all in the same place if you can avoid it."

  Navare greeted each of us with a tilt of his head as we went by, and to Gueverro said, "Good to see you, too, sir."

  The interior consisted of a single room. If it was large for the Suburbs, it was small by any other standards, housing only a camp bed, a stove and a table. The low ceiling left Saltlick no option but to squat in the middle of the floor, and his presence left precious little space for the rest of us.

  Closing the door, Alvantes said, "I know you'll have questions, Navare, but they'll have to wait. These are my travelling companions. The giant is Saltlick. This is Marina Estrada, mayor of Muena Palaiya. Easie Damasco… well, no doubt you remember the name." To the rest of us, he explained, "Navare acts for the guard's interests in the Suburbs."

  Navare offered a lopsided grin. "A suitably ambiguous description of a particularly ill-defined role."

  "The guard always had explicit orders from the Prince not to make its presence felt in the Suburbs. I followed those orders, of course – to the letter. Navare is a gatherer of information, and a discreet solver of certain kinds of problem."

  Navare's grin widened. "Well put, sir."

  "I trust you've been keeping up your duties in our absence?"

  Abruptly, all humour vanished from Navare's expression. "Of course, Guard-Captain. But truth be told, I doubt I've found much you haven't already guessed. There are rumours aplenty, but facts are tough to come by."

  "Go on."

  "Well… four days ago, a contingent of Moaradrid's troops entered the city. Soon after, all the gates were barricaded from the inside. I've seen northern soldiers, family retainers and men I recognise from the gangs, all apparently working together. The place is sealed up tighter than a priestess's…" Remembering Estrada's presence, Navare caught himself and finished weakly, "No one's been in or out, sir, except I heard they destroyed the barracks – and even that they did at night."

  "I didn't know about the troops. I'd hoped they'd flee back north," said Alvantes darkly. "That makes it even worse."

  "What about the families?" asked Estrada. "Even with Panchetto gone, would they really be desperate enough to side with criminals?"

  "They think of themselves as Ans Pasaedans, even after all these years," replied Alvantes. "To them, Altapasaeda is an island surrounded by enemies. The gangs are as Castovalian as anyone else, and more dangerous than most. On their own initiative, it's the last thing they'd do."

  I thought I followed his implication. "So if it's not their own idea, it's someone else's," I said.

  "I've heard word there's one man pulling the strings," agreed Navare. "If it's true, he's doing a damn fine job of keeping his name quiet."

  I was beginning to see why Alvantes was so worried.

  Combined, the household retainers of the many wealthy northern families numbered in the hundreds. Working apart, they'd always kept each other in check. Working together, they amounted to a military force perhaps half the size of the one Moaradrid had invaded with, and considerably better trained and equipped.

  Add to that Altapasaeda's sizable criminal underground and the dregs of Moaradrid's army. Now have them put aside their differences in favour of some common goal. What did that leave you?

  It left an army.

  And if that army was guided by a single individual, there was a good chance we'd done nothing but exchange one would-be tyrant for another.

  "Whoever he is, he's smart," said Alvantes, breaking in upon my thoughts. "Keeping the city bottled up will make the families even more paranoid, and everyone on the outside too." He glanced behind him, as though he could somehow see the city through the intervening wood. "It seems the only concrete answers lie within those walls."

  "Getting inside would be tricky," said Navare. "I'd try it myself, but if they caught me and traced me back to the guard…"

  "Yes. That could prove difficult. Better to keep our presence secret for as long as we can."

  "They'll be watching the bridge and the wharfs."

  "I think there's a way. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it might work. It would take someone who knew the city, who was familiar with its seamier side. Someone with contacts on the inside, who could pass unnoticed. Someone…"

  "Hey," I said. "Stop looking at me like that."

  For Alvantes's eyes were firmly fixed on me, and everyone else's had swung to follow. "Why, Damasco?" he said. "You wanted to spend a night in Altapasaeda so badly. Now here's your chance."

 
 
 
 

"I get it, I really do. Coalition of dangerous forces, shadowy figure lurking in background pulling strings. I've followed all that. It's quite a problem you have here, Alvantes. Do you know what else I followed? It isn't my problem."

  Estrada looked at me in horror. "Damasco… if Altapasaeda's in trouble, it's
everyone's
problem."

  "You see, I'd swear I just covered that point. Alvantes's, yes. Mine, not at all. Not yours, either, Estrada, and definitely not Saltlick's. I say, back off, let the dust settle. There's a fair chance the families and the gangs will fall out and kill each other off, probably sooner rather than later. The streets might run red for a day or two, but after that everything will go back to normal. They'll welcome you with open arms, Alvantes. You can be the hero of the hour."

  Not one of the faces turned on mine showed any hint of agreement. Saltlick's bemused smile came closest, but I was confident it meant he simply wasn't following the conversation. How could they be so stupid? Altapasaeda was like an hysterical child; always wailing over something, only to forget it the moment a new threat or annoyance distracted its minuscule attention. This current crisis, whatever its true nature, was bound to pass the same way.

  Well, I wasn't about to let weight of numbers convince me to sign on for Alvantes's suicide plan. I'd started off with flat refusal; moved through anger, abuse, self-ridicule; listed the failings that made me so unsuited to the job; returned to stubborn negation; spent half an hour cataloguing the deficiencies in his logic… on and on, until I began to suspect I'd win by simply dying of exhaustion.

  No such luck. Now I only had one argument left – the most obvious, the one I'd found myself shying away from again and again. "The fact is, Alvantes, I'm through jeopardising my life to solve other people's problems. I'm leaving."