Crown Thief (33 page)

  "Where's the Patriarch?" I snapped, irked by her tone. It occurred to me that I'd never thought to ask his name.

  "That scoundrel? Gone. Run off, and taken all of our old folks with him. I'm his daughter, for my sins, so anything you want with him you might as well say to me."

  "Run off? Run off where?"

  "To Muena Palaiya. Senile old fool!" Despite her initial hostility, it appeared I'd found a subject she was eager to discourse on. "Why else would I be wasting my time here and not working where there's a living to be earned?"

  I'd noticed on my previous visits that Reb Panza's population seemed to be restricted to the young and old, with no apparent middle ground. "You work away?" I asked.

  "What else? Try to farm this dust?" She waved irritably at the surrounding country. "We hire with our men up in the fields near Pan Marco. It's easiest to pass our nights there and come back when we have a day or two off. Now, thanks to my pig-headed father and whatever fool gave him money, the women of Reb Panza are stuck here caring for our spoiled children!"

  "Oh." If it wasn't an adequate response, it was all I had in me right then. My heart had been sinking with each word, as I realised the extent to which my good intentions had foundered.

  "Oh indeed! How can we live now? This village was already on the verge of collapse, even before that foreign beast burned it half to the ground. If our parents don't come back soon, we'll have to leave this place to the rats."

  "I'm sorry."

  I must have sounded sincere, because her tone was a touch softer as she replied, "Well, it's hardly your fault." She stepped out from the doorway. "Anyway, those are my problems. How about you? What brings you to a cesspool like Reb Panza?" She looked me up and down. Then her gaze travelled further – and she froze, mouth open. An incomprehensible sound gurgled free. She tried again. "Those are… those are…"

  "Yes. Giants."

  She recovered just slightly. "I was going to say monsters."

  "Oh."

  "They said something about a giant – our parents, and the children. We thought it was a game they'd been playing."

  "That was Saltlick," I told her. "My friend."

  She looked at me. "You're friends with a monster?"

  "A giant," I reminded her. "Now what would be the chances of lodgings for the night?"

 

Having calmed down a little, the woman introduced herself as Alba. In the end, all I could think to do was give her one of my remaining handful of onyxes to rent two shacks, one for Alvantes and me, the other for Huero and Dura, who had caught up with the convoy while I'd been negotiating.

  From their doorsteps, the other women of Reb Panza eyed the giants with horror. However, after countless assurances from myself, Huero and Dura, they did agree to let their children out. Given how they'd taken to Saltlick on our previous visits, they were overjoyed to discover his brethren camped on their doorstep – and the giants, in turn, were every one as patient as Saltlick had been in the face of their zealous attentions.

  While they kept each other busy, Huero and I pondered the giants' sleeping arrangements. It promised to be another mild night, and I was confident they'd be all right outside. Even if they weren't, there was nothing we could do. Few of the shanties in Reb Panza were big enough to hold even one of them.

  Still, I felt a little guilty to leave them for a warm bed. When I finally slept, I did so fitfully, troubled by the unreasonable burdens suddenly piling upon me. I tried to trace what twists of fate had left the responsibility of a hundred giants on my shoulders, to rationalise how my attempt to set things right could have left Reb Panza more destitute than I'd first found it. It was all too much for a simple thief to be expected to bear.

  However, I was pleased in the morning to find the giants no worse for wear, and even in good spirits. It didn't take much effort to get them moving; now that their journey had begun, they were obviously eager to reach its end. While they set out under Huero's administration, I took a moment to say my goodbyes to Alba.

  "It so happens we're headed to Muena Palaiya," I said. "Maybe I can find your errant old folks and convince them to return." In truth, there was no "maybe" about it. I'd drag that thieving Patriarch back by the scruff of his wrinkled neck if I had to. Still, there seemed no point getting her hopes up.

  "If you do," she replied, "only make sure to give him a good hiding first. And make sure to mention my name as you do it."

 

It would have been dull to cross the barrens of the Hunch once more but for one thing. To the giants, every sight was fresh and strange, and their enthralment was infectious. Now that they'd begun to accept their freedom, they chattered softly amongst themselves, pointed out new discoveries, and generally behaved much as the children of Reb Panza would have if they'd been suddenly transported to the giants' enclave.

  We maintained a good pace, and passed no one – perhaps because any travellers scurried to hide when they saw us approaching. By late evening, we'd drawn close to Muena Palaiya. Educated by previous experience, Alvantes and I left Huero and the giants out of sight and rode on alone to the northern gates.

  It was no surprise to find them closed at so late an hour. That the walls were still bare of guards, though, was certainly strange. Estrada would never have let the town's security slip to such a degree, now less than ever.

  Alvantes dismounted before the gates and rapped violently. Yet for a long while, no response came. Just as I was sure there was no one beyond to hear, a nasal voice called from the walls, "Who's there?"

  Alvantes paced back to see, and I followed. A man with grimy, grizzled black hair and a hatchet face stared down at us from a platform atop the gates. He was dressed in the livery of a Muena Palaiyan guard, but even I could tell he was no guard. The livid crescent scar inscribed around his neck, the sneer, the short curved knife he wore slung across his chest and the way his fingers stayed near it, all spoke of someone used to killing first and skipping questions altogether. In fact, now that I looked carefully, wasn't he one of the interchangeable cut-throats who'd thronged around Castilio Mounteban's bar?

  It was obvious Alvantes had come to similar conclusions, for his voice was sharp-edged as he called back, "We're here to see the mayor."

  The guard sniggered, an unpleasant sputtering sound. "Not from around here, are you? Not very up on current affairs?"

  "We've been away," Alvantes conceded.

  "Right. Of course. I could have told you that." The guard grinned from ear to ear. "Because if you hadn't, you'd know better than to go asking for the mayor – when what you meant to say was
mayors
."

 
 
 
 

If Alvantes's fingers twitched near his waist, compulsively reaching for a sword hilt that wasn't there, every other part of him was rigid with self-control. "We would like to see the mayors," he said.

  "Now we're getting somewhere," the guard replied jovially. Then his tone changed. All the scornful glee vanished in an instant. "Only, the mayors don't bother with just anyone."

  I had a mental image of Alvantes somehow climbing the sheer wall one-handed to tear the man's throat out with his teeth. However, though his voice was rich with menace, he merely said, "My name is Alvantes, former Guard-Captain of Altapasaeda. My companion is Easie Damasco. I think they'll bother with us."

  The guard froze. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe they will at that." He ducked behind the walls – then bobbed back to order us, "Wait there," before vanishing again.

  Long seconds later, the heavy gates began to shudder open. When the gap was sufficient, the counterfeit guard appeared in the opening with a companion, similarly garbed and just as ill-suited to his uniform. "Get off the horses," said the first guard. "Follow us."

  We did as we were told. I sensed Alvantes would have been happier killing them both on the spot and for once I had trouble faulting his logic – except that there were clearly things we needed to know here. Fortunately, it appeared Alvantes had controlled himself enough to recognise that fact. If the violence in his eyes was anything to go by, our guides had better hope he didn't forget it.

  They led us up Dancer's Way, the main and indeed only proper street of Muena Palaiya. As on any day, it was thronged with people even at so late an hour: beggars, market sellers and their overflowing stalls, men leading animals for sale or slaughter, and many simply making their way across town by this swiftest of routes. However, if the scene was familiar, the atmosphere was changed entirely. The hawkers and stall owners mumbled more than shouted; the usual hubbub of angry shouts, raucous laughter and bellowed greetings was stilled altogether. Wherever we passed, men turned their eyes away. I knew it wasn't Alvantes and me they were afraid of.

  Alvantes leaned close to me. "We should never have left her here."

  There was no denying it now. I'd thought there was nothing Estrada couldn't handle – but whatever was going on in Muena Palaiya, whatever had cast this pall over the place, it felt too big for any one person to handle.

  Well past the centre of town, our guides veered into the narrow side streets. I followed hesitantly, nervous that this wasn't an area I knew. As far as I could judge, we were close to the southern gate, in the region reserved for trades that serviced Muena Palaiya behind the scenes. Here were slaughterhouses, warehouses, tanning and drying sheds – and if memory served, somewhere in one of its less noxious portions, the mayoral offices.

  We came eventually to a narrow courtyard. In it stood a large building, considerably higher than the single-storey constructions round about and built of white-daubed stone, like almost everything in Muena Palaiya. It had evidently once been a grain barn, for there were still traces of ancient seed ground into the mud round its large double doors. Two men, dressed like our guides, stood guard upon those doors.

  There was a brief, hushed conference. The guard who'd spoken from the gates ducked inside, leaving the other three to watch us hawkishly. A minute later, he returned and said, "Go in. Your horses will be safe with these fine gentlemen."

  One of the door guards sniggered into his fist, as though this was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. His colleague scowled at him, marched forward and snatched the reins from us. I patted my horse's neck as he was led away, and fell in behind Alvantes. The two who'd brought us entered first, and we kept close behind them.

  Since the outside was to all intents and purposes a barn, my expectations hadn't been high for the interior. Therefore, it was a shock to discover something more akin to a mansion house than a dilapidated seed store. Then again, the more I looked, the more the analogy that fit best was to a high-class brothel. Rugs and lush carpets were scattered everywhere, tapestried hangings hid most of the walls, lamps of iron and brightly coloured glass hung from the rafters, and tables had been scattered through the space apparently at random, many burdened with statuettes and varied ornaments.

  Yet, while everything was obviously expensive, the arrangement had been done without a hint of taste or logic. All the evidence pointed to a desire to create the impression of wealth, without any actual understanding of its benefits.

  Once I'd recovered from the decor, the first thing I noticed was the presence of more thugs at intervals round the room, lounging on chairs or lolling against walls. Each was dressed in guardsman's livery and every one was looking in our direction.

  My gaze roved on. A platform had been erected at the end of the room, the hasty carpentry disguised by yet more rugs. Two chairs had been set on the raised tier, one large and ornate enough almost to qualify as a throne, the other plain and more discreet.

  Upon the larger chair sat a man I dimly recognised. He had a gargantuan head and body, from which hung disproportionately small arms and legs that dangled over the edges as a child's would. His jowly moon of a face was rimmed with beard and slicked hair that failed to hide either his grotesqueness or his considerable bald patch.

  Beside him, on the smaller chair, sat Marina Estrada.

  Alvantes saw her as I did. He jerked forward three abrupt steps – to the obvious alarm of our handlers and their cronies around the room. I caught up quickly and grasped his elbow, trying by movements of my head to indicate how hopelessly outnumbered we were.

  Whether or not he understood, Alvantes covered the remaining distance at a steadier pace. "Marina. Are you all right?"

  Estrada smiled wanly. "Better for seeing you," she said.

  "Has this creature harmed you? Is he holding you here against your will?"

  The fat man cleared his throat – a greasy, molten sound. The way he occupied the overlarge chair had already made me think of a basking toad, and the impression was made a hundred times worse when I heard the flat croak that was his voice. "I assure you," he said, "that my co-mayor has not been molested in any fashion."

  Alvantes ignored him. "We're getting out of here," he told Estrada.

  "Guard-Captain Alvantes, I assure you that whatever you imagine this situation to be, the truth is quite otherwise."

  Only then did Alvantes acknowledge the fat man's presence. "Guiso Lupa. Nothing you've done since the day your mother spat you out was innocent. Will you try to stop me taking this woman from here?"

  Of course.
That
was why I knew him. Lupa had run one of the larger gangs in Altapasaeda, with an emphasis on extortion and prostitution. Before Alvantes had clamped down on the city's thriving crime scene, he'd operated quite openly. In the years since, he'd kept hidden, and his name had dropped from common parlance.