Crown Thief

CHAPTER ONE

"Things are looking up for Easie Damasco."

"Hrm?" Saltlick stared down at me questioningly. That, at least, was how I interpreted the expression smeared across the giant's lumpish features. In truth, it could have been anything between mild annoyance and indigestion.

"My luck is on the turn," I explained. "Yours too. Take my word for it."

Saltlick's face broke into a grin, and he nodded enthusiastically.

Ahead, the small militia we travelled with — half amateur soldiers gathered from around the Castoval, half guardsmen from nearby Altapasaeda — chose that moment to break into song. Or rather, songs, for the minute the Castovalians struck up a bawdy tavern ballad, the Altapasaedans countered with a clamorous northern marching chant.

It was an amiable enough competition. Here were men who'd helped defeat the despotic Moaradrid, foiled his plans for the Castoval, and now were heading home as heroes; those all seemed good enough reasons for high spirits.

I shared the soldiers' cheerfulness, if not their musical inclinations. My belly was full, so was my purse, and no one was trying to kill me. Together, those facts made for a vast improvement on my recent circumstances. Saltlick, too, trudged along with a slight but steady smile. While it took a lot to disturb his natural contentment, for once even he had his reasons to be happy. Moaradrid's plot to enslave his people had ended conclusively with the warlord's death. Now it was only a matter of uniting his tribe and returning home, and I'd seen enough of the giants' idyllic mountain enclave to appreciate how appealing that prospect must be.

Only Alvantes and Marina Estrada, riding just ahead of us, were exempt from the general good cheer. Alvantes had hardly spoken since we'd set out yesterday. I'd noticed time and again how Estrada watched him, obviously wanting to penetrate his gloom but not quite daring. She'd pressed her horse closer to his on a dozen occasions, only to fall back when he failed to so much as notice her presence.

Now, however, she seemed finally to have steeled herself. Encouraging her mount to a trot, Estrada pulled a little ahead of Alvantes. "They don't mean to be callous," she said softly. "They haven't forgotten the friends they've buried."

Alvantes reined in sharply, almost forcing the entire procession to a halt. "You think I don't know that? It isn't a soldier's way to wail and weep over death." Then, plaintively, "Marina… I'm sorry. That was inexcusable."

"No, it wasn't. But I wish you could talk to me. Is it…" She finished the sentence with her eyes, which lingered for a moment on Alvantes's bandaged wrist, now resting uselessly across his horse's neck. The hand that should have been there was buried behind us, amidst the grave plots of his fallen guardsmen — one more notch on Moaradrid's sword.

"It hurts constantly," he admitted. "It itches, too, which is almost worse. But no, it's not that either."

"Then what?"

"Honestly… Marina, if I knew, I'd tell you. I suppose I can't help wondering what my life means now. Am I still guard-captain of Altapasaeda? Can I rebuild the guard, with so many of them gone? Will the King even allow it after we failed to protect the Prince?"

Estrada reached to touch his arm, let her fingers hang there for a moment. "Maybe you're expecting too much of yourself. You've been through a lot, Lunto."

"Maybe if I'd expected more of myself," he said, "it wouldn't have come to this. Maybe if I'd done my job I wouldn't need to go and tell the King his son has been murdered."

"And if you hadn't intervened, Moaradrid might have murdered the King himself by now. You saved the Crown."

Alvantes started at that, as though she'd struck an unexpected nerve.

"You did everything you could," Estrada went on, apparently not noticing. "Even the King has to understand that. As for the rest… just give it time, will you? Let yourself heal."

"Of course. Thank you, Marina." Alvantes made an effort to sound like he meant it. If it didn't fool me, it certainly wouldn't fool Estrada. Nevertheless, she let her mount fall back, leaving him to his despondency.

Poor, stubborn Alvantes. Of all of us, save perhaps Saltlick, he'd suffered most from Moaradrid's brief, bloody visit to the Castoval. Now the man was too damn noble to realise he'd won. I didn't know whether I felt more like slapping him or giving him a manly hug.

If I attempted either, he'd undoubtedly break my arm, so I settled for the third option of trying my best to ignore him. My plan to travel on with him to notify the King of his son's death was already beginning to seem absurd. Why subject myself to Alvantes's dismal company when my world was so full of options? With most of its leadership dead in the battle against Moaradrid, the Castoval would be in chaos for months. I doubted anyone would be too concerned with my past indiscretions. For the first time since I'd learned to walk upright, I had a clean slate.

"No more being told what to do for either of us," I said, picking up my conversation with Saltlick where I'd left it. "Especially not you. You can rescue your friends and go home the conquering hero." I glanced once more at Alvantes and Estrada. "Women go crazy for heroes. You can find yourself a pretty giantess and settle down. There are pretty giantesses, right?"

Saltlick nodded bashfully.

"Hey, don't look like that! You should have more confidence." I studied his features for some compliment-worthy trait. The general impression was of a knobbly, milk-white turnip. The best I could say was that it was basically proportional, and I wasn't convinced that would do much to bolster his self-esteem. "You have a good heart," I finished weakly. "Women like that too."

It was enough to bring back his smile, at any rate.

My stock of compliments exhausted, I finished with an amiable pat to Saltlick's wrist — the only part of his arm I could comfortably reach — and returned my attention to the rambunctious troops. The Irregulars had moved onto a song I knew, "The Farmer's Other Donkey," while the Altapasaedans were countering with another deafening march. Singing over each other at the tops of their voices, all but blocking the road, they were quite a spectacle.

The thought reminded me of something that had troubled me vaguely since we'd started back towards Altapasaeda. This was the less commonly used route to the south-eastern Castoval, relegated to a back road by the grand stone bridge known as the Sabre that the Altapasaedans had constructed. Even taking that fact into account, I'd have expected more traffic than we'd seen. Not a soul had passed us. No one had stopped to gawp at the column of armed men blocking the road from verge to verge.

Even for a back road, that was curious. More, I couldn't deny that it made me a touch uneasy. With Moaradrid dead and his surviving troops scattered, shouldn't everything be returning to normal?

A black-edged cloud drifted over the sun. I cursed beneath my breath.

"Things were looking up for Easie Damasco," I muttered.

At that moment, the road crested a low rise, and for the first time our objective revealed herself: Altapasaeda, greatest and only city of the Castoval, lay across the northward horizon like a drunken hussy sprawled on her divan.

Altapasaeda, grandiose marvel of needlessly baroque architecture and frivolous design. In theory, it was the one real intrusion of court-controlled Pasaeda into the Castoval, the bastion of our Ans Pasaedan oppressors from beyond the northern border. However, under Panchetto, there'd never been much in the way of oppression. The Prince had held little interest in anything that wasn't edible or quaffable, and had mostly concentrated on ensuring his life remained a never-ending party — at least until Moaradrid ended both party and life. In the meantime, his spell on the throne had cost his subjects little besides the infrequently levied taxes that funded his indulgences.

All told, I could imagine worse obituaries than He was a hopeless oppressor, but he could certainly put away the truffle-stuffed grouse.

"This way," barked Alvantes. He'd ridden some distance in front, past the head of the column. "Left at the junction."

I struggled to remember what lay to our left. I vaguely recollected the turn-off he referred to, a dirt track slanting towards the hills. Somewhere in that direction lay the road that skirted the western edge of Altapasaeda, one I'd studiously avoided because it passed so close to…

Of course. The barracks of the Altapasaedan City Guard.

So what did Alvantes want at the barracks? I supposed I'd find out soon enough. Then again, given the difficulty the corner was causing those ahead, it might be a while yet. The Altapasaedan guardsmen had swung round easily, but the change of direction was wreaking confusion amongst the undisciplined Castovalian Irregulars. There followed much swearing and squabbling, at least until Alvantes angrily intervened. By the time we got moving again, it was hard to imagine these were the same men who'd been singing their hearts out mere minutes ago.

As if on cue, the darkening clouds above chose that moment to unburden themselves, further dampening everyone's mood and entirely soaking their bodies. The pace picked up immediately.

The westbound road here was confined by banks of dry earth and shale, already glistening and running in the downpour. We were heading somewhat upward, and it was difficult to see much through the cascading water. I knew it couldn't be far to the barracks, but the journey seemed interminable. Then, from the head of the column, came the beginnings of a ragged cheer — that turned rapidly into murmurs of shock and indignation.

We stopped abruptly.

I couldn't see anything for the blockade of bodies. I turned an inquiring glance on Saltlick, whose extra height should have equated to an increase of perspective. His only reply was a shrug of massive shoulders. I realised he had no idea what he expected to see. Left to rely on patience, I made a few unsuccessful attempts to jump on the spot, drawing irritated looks from those in front.

Alvantes waited just long enough for my clothes to become utterly sodden before he called, "Move on. Keep your eyes open. Tread quietly."

We did as instructed, so much as was possible in hammering rain. It was falling so heavily by then that when the barracks came into view, a bleared smudge against the hillside, I couldn't tell what the fuss was about. It took a brief reprieve in the violence of the shower to make me understand.

The building was a heap of blackened timber.

Estrada had dismounted, off to one side of the devastation. I hurried over to her. "What's happened?" I said. "Who did this?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think Alvantes does either."

It could have been anyone with a grudge against the guard. That didn't exactly narrow the list. However, another more immediate worry had struck me by then. "Could they still be here?"

"I doubt it. Look at the damage."

I did — and I saw what she meant. Even in this downpour, the ruins would still be smoking if the fire were recent.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Alvantes, behind me, said, "It was set a day ago, at least. Still, I've sent scouts out."

I scowled at him. "So which of your many enemies do you think got there first?"

Speaking to Estrada rather than me, Alvantes said, "It wasn't anyone who knew what they were doing. I suspect there was rain here yesterday as well. The blaze was doused before it completely took hold and they didn't stay to see the job through."

"Does that mean we could get some shelter?" Estrada asked hopefully.

"I've set men to clearing out the most suitable rooms."

"Wait," I said, more irritable for being ignored, "what do you mean? Why sit huddling in your burned-down barracks when we could be safe and warm in Altapasaeda?"

Alvantes finally looked at me. "Where do you think whoever burned it most likely came from?"

"I don't know. Or care. The only thing that's kept me sane these last days is the thought of a warm meal and a soft bed."

Alvantes wheeled his horse away. "Then I'm sure that thought can hold you a while longer."

It wasn't long before the troops had returned a sizeable space to habitability. Even better, the ruined portions had supplied enough dry, relatively uncharred wood for a small fire. With heavy blankets hung over the makeshift doorway — actually a portion of collapsed wall — and the smoke losing itself amidst the cloudladen sky, not even Alvantes could find anything to complain about.

When his men finally declared the room safe and allowed me inside, I was surprised to see the body of what appeared to be a goat spitted over the blaze, filling the room with a mouth-watering odour. Given Alvantes's oft-stated aversion to stealing, it was anyone's guess where it had come from.

Regardless, dinner proved some compensation for my extended drenching. Though the portions of goat meat were on the stingy side, there was plenty of hard bread and a kind of salty porridge. If none of it was particularly appetising, it was warm food on an empty stomach after a wearisome day's walking. Afterwards, I felt somewhat restored, if barely less soggy or badtempered.

Alvantes's first act after dinner was to call a conference in a small and partially collapsed side room. In attendance were Estrada, Sub-Captain Gueverro and two of the guardsmen Alvantes had sent to scout, as well as two representatives from amongst the Irregulars. Practically everyone who was anyone in our party, in fact — except for me.

So that was how it stood. No matter that I'd shed blood in service of the Castoval, no matter that I hadn't stolen anything in days! I still wasn't good enough to be part of Alvantes's precious inner circle.

Looking for someone to complain to, I glanced about for Saltlick. There was no sign of him. I could hear the rain still hammering upon the tiled roof; though it never seemed to bother him, I doubted he'd rather be outside than in. Eager for a task to take my mind off Alvantes and his superciliousness, I decided to track him down.

I slipped beneath the blanket that covered the inner-facing door, drawing my hood up. The barracks, in its unconflagrated state, had consisted of a hollowed square of buildings around a large parade ground. From within that quadrangle, I could see how the north and east wings had been reduced to heaps of collapsed stone and jutting black timbers. On the other two sides, the destruction was more erratic. As Alvantes had suggested, it was clear how the fire and rain had fought over the building.

Apart from the area picked for our lodgings, one other portion had more or less escaped damage. Though its door and windows had also been covered, I could make out the muffled glow of torchlight through the heavy cloth. Even before I drew the curtain, I recognised the musty odours exhaling from within. It was no surprise to see the guard horses housed comfortably in their own stalls.

Four guardsmen were in the process of brushing them down, while half a dozen others laboured in the half-darkness at the far end, where the fire had brought down great portions of roof. They'd already dug free a trapdoor in the cobbled floor and were busy hauling sacks from the depths. Presumably, these underground stores were where the bulk of our evening meal had come from.

As for Saltlick, he'd ensconced himself in the farthest stall, amidst a mound of straw. He was eating grain from a bucket, scooping it in handfuls and emptying it into his maw.

"They're taking care of you, I see."

Saltlick smiled and nodded. "Good."

If his vocabulary had improved over the last weeks, his preferred mode of speech still leaned towards the concise. On those rare occasions I actually wanted to hold a conversation, it was less than helpful.

"Alvantes has called a meeting. Needless to say, we're not invited." I sat down next to him. "Another stop on the way to rescuing your people. I hope it's not raining like this where they are. Either way, I doubt they have a roof over their heads or grain to eat."

Saltlick put down his bucket and looked at me enquiringly.

"I suppose it isn't anyone's fault, really. Of course, the way Alvantes is going on, it could be days before we set out again."

He looked crestfallen. "Days?"

"Weeks, even, if Alvantes has his way. It seems there's some problem in Altapasaeda. Isn't there always? Anyway, no doubt Alvantes will be wading in to try to sort it out. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't rope you into his harebrained scheme."

Another feature of conversation with Saltlick was how much of what went through his mind could be gleaned by watching the play of his crude features. "Weeks," he grunted, and his brows crumpled together. "Help Alvantes," he added, and the question twitched from eye to eye. Eventually, his face settled into its usual careless arrangement. "Alvantes friend. Help if need help."

I could hardly contain my shock. Not only had Saltlick taken Alvantes's side, he'd done it in what amounted to an entire sentence! Truly, there was no justice amongst men or giants.

"Well, let's just hope there's enough of your friends left to take home when we finally reach them," I said, and marched back out into the rain.

I returned just in time for Alvantes's speech. I should have guessed he wouldn't let the night pass without one.

He'd stationed himself beside the fire. "Listen, men!" he bellowed. Then, when the hubbub had died down, he continued, "As you all now realise, circumstances in Altapasaeda are not as we left them. Clearly, those of us who are guardsmen have a responsibility to investigate. For the rest of you, your help will be welcomed if you're willing to give it… though I'll blame no one who chooses otherwise."

He paused, let this sink in. "A few of us will travel on to the Suburbs in hope of gathering more information. I'll send back news and further orders when I have them. In the meantime — keep sentries, stay out of sight, avoid wearing guard livery or weapons if you do need to go out. If we have enemies in Altapasaeda, our one advantage is that they don't know we've returned. Good luck to you all."

Estrada, appearing beside me, put voice to the question I was in the process of asking myself. "Are you coming with us, Easie?"

"Am I invited?"

"Of course. Alvantes mentioned you specifically."

I didn't like the sound of that. Nor had I forgiven Alvantes for excluding me from his stupid meeting. Then again, there was nothing behind me but the occasional two-goat village. I could rent a decent bed in the Altapasaedan Suburbs, and travel on from there to anywhere in the Castoval. "I'll come," I decided. "Better that than a sleepless night in this half-demolished barn."

By the time I went outside, the rain had stopped. But the heavy cloud remained, leaving the moon a dim smear of brightness and shutting out all but a few stray stars. Alvantes had a dozen guardsmen gathered round him, including Sub-Captain Gueverro, and all were now dressed in anonymous grey cloaks.

"What I told the men counts just as much for us," he told Estrada, who'd followed behind me. "Until we know what we're dealing with, we'll keep a low profile."

"What about Saltlick?" I asked. "Low profiles aren't exactly his forte."

Saltlick, who was just then squeezing his way out through the hole in the wall, proved my point by dislodging a sizeable chunk of masonry. Sheepishly, he stood brushing stone-dust from his shoulders.

"We agreed we'd bring him with us," hissed Estrada. I realised the words were aimed at Alvantes rather than myself, and that I'd hit upon an already debated sore point.

"We will," he replied defensively. "I'll think of something."

I couldn't entirely blame Alvantes for not wanting Saltlick along. A dozen disguised guardsmen might pass unnoticed, but a giant striding by tended to draw comment. Sooner or later, Alvantes was bound to decide Saltlick was too much of a liability. Judging from Estrada's reprimand, maybe he already had.

Two of Alvantes's guardsmen went back inside. When they returned, they were leading a column of horses, assisted by the men set to work in the stables. One of them handed me the reins of a drowsy-eyed bay mare. Since it was evident we'd be spending time together and that both of us would rather have been allowed to catch some sleep, I decided we should be friends. I patted her muzzle, and received a weary whinny in reply.

We set out in single file, not back the way we'd come but following the road around to the north-east, which would eventually twist back to make its way along Altapasaeda's western edge. Even in daytime, we'd be unlikely to be seen by anyone, for the only entrance on that side of the city was the small gate reserved for the comings and goings of the guard.

However, as soon as the walls came back into sight, Alvantes motioned a halt. "Off the road," he told us. "Stay in the shadows."

Everyone moved to comply, with varying degrees of success. Even knelt on his haunches, no patch of gloom was big enough to hide Saltlick in his entirety.

"Damasco," said Alvantes, "come with me."

"What? Why me?"

"Because it's time you started pulling your weight. And because your insight into the underbelly of Altapasaeda might prove useful."

I wondered what Alvantes was up to that required knowledge of Altapasaeda's underbelly. "I see. You'll look down on me for being a thief until the day comes when you need a thief."

"When did I say I'd stopped looking down on you?"

"Then maybe you should carry out your little mission on your own."

"Unfortunately," he said, holding up his stump, "it requires assets I currently lack."

Damn him, had he really sunk to that? "Fine. I suppose I can spare you a few minutes." It took all my willpower not to say, lend you a hand.

Alvantes climbed down from the saddle, as did I. "The rest of you, stay here," he said. "We won't be long."

Alvantes followed the road for a few paces, before abandoning it in favour of a rough path curling off to his left. I followed at a distance, insulting him steadily beneath my breath. It wasn't long before the path had deteriorated to little more than an animal trail over rocks made slippery by the downpour; only then did I give up my muffled cursing, to concentrate on not twisting an ankle.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour had passed before Alvantes held up his one hand. We were some way up the hillside, with an outcrop of dark rock at our backs and other smaller boulders lined haphazardly in front, interspersed with bedraggled bushes and the occasional lopsided tree. Where there were gaps, I could just make out the walls of Altapasaeda beyond, their highest point now somewhat below us.

"See there?" Alvantes said. His voice was low, though it was impossible anyone could hear us.

I followed his pointing finger. Two figures were just visible upon the parapet of the small northern gatehouse, lit by a glimmer of torchlight. "Barely."

Alvantes reached into his saddlebag, drew out a narrow metal tube about the length of his forearm. "Try this."

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."