Crown Thief

CHAPTER TEN

I suspected I was taking our detention better than Alvantes.

Arrest, after all, was hardly a novelty. In fact, there was something almost comfortingly familiar about the presence of armed guards. Given the turmoil and uncertainty I'd endured in recent days, there was a lot to be said for knowing exactly where I stood.

In credit to Alvantes, however, for a man who'd just had the fundamentals of his existence turned on their head, he was bearing up as well as could be expected. I'd imagined he'd pick a fight with Ludovoco, or start raving about his honour. Instead, he'd clammed up completely. His mouth was set in a jagged line; his eyes were the barest slits. He followed directions with only the most terse of nods.

Ludovoco had made no attempt to explain our unorthodox treatment. My knowledge of local customs might have been meagre, but it didn't seem to make much sense. As we set out towards the capital, I amused myself with the possibility that this was what passed in Ans Pasaeda for humour; that at any moment Ludovoco and his men would break down in fits of laughter. As they marched us along the grand treelined boulevard joining harbour and city, I imagined giggling courtiers behind each tree. Drawing near the walls, I pictured the King himself leaping out, amidst general hilarity.

Needless to say, none of those things happened. Instead, we were forced to wait while the sentries in the gatehouse, who must have recognised Ludovoco, laboured to open the titanic portals via some mechanism inside. That it would have been far easier to let us through the smaller side gate apparently occurred to no one. The impracticality and needless ritual of it seemed a clear indication of the authority Ludovoco wielded.

While the gatekeepers struggled to make way, I craned my neck to gain my first direct impression of Pasaeda. Like Aspira Nero, the capital was built with its back to the mountain. Here, however, the diminishing crags split in a great crook that the city nestled within. From above, Pasaeda would appear as a rough diamond, with the fortifications completing the other two sides and this gate at its lowest tip.

And they were most certainly fortifications. No other word would do. They were higher even than the ramparts of Aspira Nero, receding in a series of shallow indents with a tower at every junction. There was no point on our side that couldn't be observed clearly from left or right. I caught glimpses of men within the towers, and others upon the walls — more than I'd have expected of any peacetime city.

Before I had time to wonder at that, the gap in the gates widened enough to admit us, and Ludovoco waved us on.

It was dark within the gatehouse and the day was bright. I was half-blind as I first stepped into Pasaeda. All I could see was a collage of incandescent shapes. Slowly, my eyes focused. Still I found I was hesitant to trust them. It was easier to believe I was still dazzled than that anything made by the hands of men could be so splendid.

I'd always thought the wealthier portions of Altapasaeda were the height of opulence. Now I realised that even at its grandest, Altapasaeda was only a shadow of the place it was named for. Here were no cramped alleys, no shabby markets, no homes that could possibly stoop to accommodate the poor — or if there were, they were well hidden.

Every house within view could have competed with and bested the finest of Altapasaeda's mansions. The reason the city blazed beneath the morning sun was that every single wall and roof was startlingly white. Unlike the buildings south of the border, however, that whiteness wasn't the result of stucco or paint but of luminous stone. Every surface was then carved into friezes, porticoes and columned arcades, which in turn were enriched by subtle designs in silver and gold. Gates and sections of ornate ironwork offered glimpses into meticulously tended grounds, where lush blooms bigger than my head tumbled amongst wide-fronded trees and mammoth, wavering ferns.

I continued to gape as Ludovoco marched us through the city streets, all thoughts crammed out of my mind by the desire to soak in every detail. Who could have imagined there was so much money in the world? Truly, the thieves of Pasaeda must live like lords.

Then again, maybe thievery in Pasaeda might not be such a lucrative career after all. There were armed guards everywhere, all robed and turbaned in the same smoke grey the gatekeepers had been wearing. On the face of it, they actually seemed to outnumber the populace, for aside from their presence the streets were all but deserted. We saw only a few passing rich folk, travelling without much apparent sense of purpose on foot or horseback. Men and women both were dressed in long pale-shaded robes much like the guards, though in their cases jewellery and the obviously fine material set off any hint of austerity.

For people who lived amidst such magnificence, they didn't look particularly grateful, or even very happy. Certainly, they were quick to look away whenever their eyes chanced on Ludovoco and his men.

Which made it all the more startling when someone nearly rode into our small convoy. The guards snapped to attention and Ludovoco looked furious — at least until he recognised the rider. The man was advanced in years, though well preserved in the fashion only wealth could accomplish, and dressed in robes of crisp crocus yellow. He was flanked by two guards of his own, their outfits a more muted shade of the same.

Something about him put me in mind of a tall water bird, perhaps a crane, and his voice — a little high pitched and warbling — did nothing to dispel the image. "Commander Ludovoco," he cried gladly.

Ludovoco considered the new arrival with barely stifled distaste. "Senator Gailus."

"And who's this with you? The aspect seems familiar. Do my eyes deceive, or is that Furio Alvantes's boy?"

"We're accompanying Guard-Captain Alvantes to the palace," replied Ludovoco, leaving no doubt in his tone as to whose business he considered the information.

"On royal affairs?"

"Are there any other kind?"

Gailus gave a shrill chuckle, though there'd been no hint of humour in Ludovoco's question. "Not for the likes of us, eh?" He trotted his horse leisurely around our little gathering, as though we were street sellers and he was appraising our goods. "If I didn't know better," he said, "I'd think you had our friend here under armed guard."

"Under escort," said Ludovoco.

Gailus chuckled again. "It so happens we're also riding to the palace. We'll accompany you."

"Of course," said Ludovoco. The look he gave Gailus said, Since we both know I can't stop you.

As Gailus fell in beside us, I noticed how his men exchanged hard looks with Ludovoco's. What enmity had we stumbled into now? I saw from Alvantes's face that he recognised this Gailus, but nothing gave me the impression they were friends or allies. This day was worsening by the minute — and it had hardly started well.

That conclusion had barely crossed my mind when Gailus proved it beyond doubt. Turning to Alvantes, he said, "I'm sure you appreciate that Commander Ludovoco is merely doing what he deems necessary."

"I've no doubt," said Alvantes. He even managed to sound like he meant it. Ludovoco, meanwhile, stared straight ahead. The only indication he was following the exchange was a nerve ticking rhythmically in the corner of his eye.

"The fact is," continued Gailus, "these last days have seen a dearth of information from across the border… no news even from our dear Prince Panchetto. Commander Ludovoco has been waiting in Aspira Nero, so I hear, to try and gather information."

"So I understand," Alvantes agreed.

"Until now, he's only been able to send back rumours, all disturbing. If his behaviour seems heavy-handed, I'd ask you to bear that in mind."

Ludovoco had had enough. The nerve in his eye gave one more compulsive shudder and he said, his voice like frosted iron, "If I may, Senator, Guard-Captain Alvantes will be thoroughly debriefed once we reach our destination."

"A polite way of telling an old man to mind his own business."

"I would never tell the senator what is or isn't his business. I'd only ask that he be careful how he speaks of mine."

Gailus chuckled once again. "I'll say no more."

After what I'd seen, I doubted very much that Gailus would be able to keep his word. It seemed I'd under estimated him, however. He trotted alongside us, his men to his left, and his only lapses from silence were to give one of his characteristic gurgles of mirth, as though his mind was still digesting whatever aspects of his conversation with Ludovoco had so amused him.

With the show apparently over, at least for the moment, I turned my attention back to the marvels of Pasaeda.

At the point we'd reached, a barricade of temples cut off the residential districts from the palace, just as in Altapasaeda. Though these were infinitely grander, their decoration was fundamentally the same. Festooned with flowers, perfumed with incense, hung with birdcages and strung together by arches, they formed an immense hive of worship that must have traversed an entire quarter of the city. Statues representing the gods loomed in every recess and burst forth from every prominence. Weird minglings of men and women with animals, birds and fish, which held the most unlikely things: a child's rattle here, a bucket or a three-pronged sword there. Some I recognised from Altapasaeda, many more were new to me; all were bizarre and terrifying.

It was a relief when we eventually broke through to the district of the palace — at least until I got my first proper look at it. Nestled deep in the crook of the mountains, its monolithic grandeur was the final move in Pasaeda's game of architectural one-upmanship.

The palace struck an unlikely compromise between splendour and defence. Somehow, it managed to be half plaster and glass confectionary, half unassailable fortress. In contrast to the rest of the city, it was also a riot of garish colour. Every window was stained glass, every roof a mosaic, every wall illuminated with bright curlicues or murals or clutters of interlocking geometry.

It should have been chaotic — and it was. Yet it didn't seem to matter that nothing matched when every column and balustrade was a masterpiece in its own right. The palace crept — in layers of roof and archway and balcony, through endless juts of tower and spire and cupola — up the sheer face of the cliffs, like an ornate beetle clambering to safety.

All told, it made the palace in Altapasaeda look like a dung-collector's cottage. I'd never wanted to steal anything so badly in my life.

As we drew close, however, the fortress aspect of its character grew more apparent, and by the time we entered the palace grounds I felt more intimidated than impressed. We were ushered through a gatehouse in the outermost layer of defences, across a courtyard as big as many a Castovalian village, through another gatehouse, down a wide street bordered by tiers of exquisite garden, into yet another gatehouse in yet another set of walls into yet another courtyard — where Gailus left us, drifting off towards the stables with a jovial "Goodbye!" — and up a flight of marble stairs, through enormous double doors… until I found myself, at last, within the palace itself.

By then, I'd had my fill of marvels. My head ached to match my feet, and I barely glanced at the colossal hall we'd ended up in. I chose to stare at the floor instead, which was mercifully plain, at least in comparison with everything else.

It seemed too much to ask that someone would offer us lunch, or at least a cup of wine. Minutes passed, punctuated with low-whispered conversations between Ludovoco and the palace staff. Just as I was sure I'd topple over, he ushered us on towards a small, draped archway.

Before we could pass through, however, a voice called, "There you are!"

It was Gailus — and I couldn't escape the feeling that he'd been waiting for this moment, though I hadn't seen him. He trotted over at a leisurely pace, to Ludovoco's obvious frustration.

"Off to the reception hall?" Gailus asked. "Why don't I take over from here?"

Ludovoco tensed. "Take over?"

"I'm a friend of young Alvantes's father, as you're no doubt aware. Since I agreed to hold my tongue on affairs of state, mightn't it be reasonable to ask for a minute to discuss affairs of family?"

"Alvantes is in my custody," said Ludovoco.

"He must pose quite a threat if you daren't leave him alone for even a minute."

"Not so far as I know."

"Or else be determined to escape?"

"There are… protocols."

"One minute, Commander, is all I ask. Your men can stay close to ensure our friend the guard-captain does nothing uncharacteristically treasonous."

Ludovoco froze. It was clear he wasn't used to being talked to this way. I suspected a part of his brain was already busy plotting harsh reprisals.

The rest of him, however, seemed paralysed by the unfamiliar prospect of conceding defeat. Eventually, he tipped his head. Without a word, he led us through the curtain, down one long corridor and another, and off into a much smaller room, which I took from its sparse furnishings to be some sort of antechamber.

"Wait here," he told Alvantes. Gailus he carefully ignored. He motioned his men to one side of the room and disappeared through the drape that hung across the room's only other exit.

Scowling at Ludovoco's men, Gailus beckoned Alvantes and me towards the farther corner. "With all due respect to the Crown Guard," he intoned loudly, "I'm sure your father would prefer his private affairs to stay that way." When we were as far away from our black-clad escorts as the space allowed, he dropped his voice and added, "We don't have long."

In that moment, his manner was unrecognisable. Gone was the cheerful, buffoonish figure who'd ridden beside us through Pasaeda.

"How is my father?" asked Alvantes. He seemed just as thrown by Gailus's changed tone as I was.

"Anxious for news. He thought you might try to come here. One of our men on the walls was ordered to send signal if there was any sign of you."

"Our men?"

"The faction of which your father is a part — as I am also. He thought it would be more discreet if I met you in his place."

"I don't know anything about factions," Alvantes said, sounding unexpectedly defensive. "I've come here in service to the King."

"We're all in service to the King. But lately, it grows harder to know how best to serve. His Highness feels himself assailed by enemies… and not without reason. The reports of Moaradrid's death have done nothing but fan the flames in the far north."

"I heard such talk in Aspira Nero."

"No doubt. The Bastard Prince. A joke that has long since ceased to be funny."

There was that name again. What was going on in the far north that had everyone so nervous? As far as I knew, Moaradrid's rebellion had begun with him. I'd assumed until now that it had ended in much the same way.

Any last hint of levity left Gailus's voice as he asked, "Are the rumours true? About Prince Panchetto?"

Alvantes looked uncomfortable. "The news I have should reach the King's ear before any other."

Gailus nodded. "Then they are. Your commitment to duty does you credit, Lunto — but be careful. Enduring so much has made His Highness… unpredictable."

It was obvious he had more to say, but Ludovoco chose that moment to reappear from behind the door hanging. He looked at Gailus and Alvantes with unconcealed suspicion, and to Alvantes said, "Go through. His Highness will arrive shortly."

"Well… your father will be glad to hear you're well," said Gailus. He'd unblinkingly resumed his previous character, with the ease of someone pulling on a favourite overgarment. "Pass on my regards to the King, won't you?"

Alvantes replied to Gailus with a short bow, which he noticeably failed to extend to Ludovoco. Then Alvantes led the way through the narrow doorway Ludovoco had left and returned by, and I followed close on his heels.

The room beyond was large and hexagonal, built around a raised stage at its centre that echoed its shape. Opposite where we'd entered, a throne of elaborately engraved, gold-inlaid wood perched on a stepped dais twice the height of the platform. Along the other five walls, high-backed benches were arrayed. There was ample space for a hundred people, so seating a mere dozen men and a couple of elderly women left them conspicuously empty. All of those present were finely dressed, at least, more than enough so to show up our own travel-stained garb.

Alvantes took a seat on the bench to our left, and I sat beside him. As though our arrival were a signal, discordant pipe music blared immediately from behind another drape in the wall to the left of the throne. I couldn't help noticing how the three men waiting nearby jerked to their feet and edged away.

The music died abruptly. The curtain swept back. In the space beyond was nothing but darkness.

Then two figures danced out with rapid steps and leaped onto the stage. They wore long, open robes over loose shirts and trousers. Alarmingly, their faces were covered with cloth masks, blank apart from narrow slits for eyes and mouth. Masks and clothing both were patterned with interlocking diamonds, black and white endlessly alternating. Any two diamonds appeared identical, yet together the effect was chaotic, seeming to shift whether the pair moved or not. Worse, their costumes were contrastingly chequered, as though each was a distorted reflection of the other. Between their disguises and the bagginess of their clothing, it was impossible even to guess at their sex.

I knew I'd never seen them before, or anyone remotely like them. Yet I couldn't escape a sense of familiarity. The sight as they took up opposite places on the stage, the rippling, ever-shifting black and white, the inhumanly blank masks and a certain too-quick, almost insect quality in their movements all made my skin want to crawl off my bones.

I didn't feel any better when they each pulled fanned handfuls of knives from the recesses of their cloaks.

What followed was indescribable, even as I watched it. It possessed qualities of a juggling act, an acrobatic display and a sadistic fight to the death, all in apparently random combination. Knives flashed through the air, were caught — with hands, feet, occasionally teeth — and ricocheted back, in a blur of blades and limbs that was impossible to follow, let alone make sense of.

I had no idea how long it went on for. It felt like hours. When they stopped — when they finally stopped — I let out a long-held, shuddering breath, and realised my forehead was slick with cold sweat. I'd sat paralysed through the performance. Now, every muscle ached with the exertion of stillness.

I didn't think I'd ever been as relieved as I was when they closed with a jagged bow and scuttled off the stage, back into the waiting darkness behind their curtain.

I tried to speak, managed a muffled squeak. With a struggle, I calmed myself enough to form actual words. "What — who — what was that?"

"They call themselves Stick and Stone," murmured Alvantes. "Rumour has it, they're brothers. They're the King's favourite entertainers."

"That's funny. I feel the exact opposite of entertained."

If it was possible, Alvantes's voice sank even lower. "Rumour also has it they've been known to operate in other capacities."

Then I understood why they'd seemed familiar. The way they'd moved — it had reminded me of Synza. It was the absolute, incontestable confidence of men who could kill without qualm or effort. I said, "Someone has a funny idea of keeping us amused."

"Perhaps."

"You think it was some sort of warning?"

"I think someone doesn't want me here. Or else wants me here for reasons I wouldn't like."

"Alvantes, why do I get the feeling none of this is going how you intended?"

His mouth turned up slightly, in a smile that went nowhere near his eyes. "You know what they say, Damasco. If you want to make the gods laugh…"

"What? Tickle their feet? Let them win at cards? Given the state of their creation, I'd think the difficulty was getting them to take something seriously once in a while."

"You tell them your plans," he replied.

A fanfare of trumpets sounded from somewhere invisible — and Alvantes's faint smile vanished. Everyone, Alvantes included, slid from his or her seat and onto the floor, where they kneeled with heads hung low. I followed their example — just too late for the King's entrance, so that his first impression of me was my falling face first into the clumsiest grovel imaginable.

For the instant it took my head to smack the tiled floor, I got a clear view of him. He arrived from the right of the throne, flanked by four black-robed guards. I wasn't the least surprised to see Ludovoco amongst their number.

King Panchessa was recognisable as Panchetto's father — but barely. The same features were there, the bulbous nose and broad lips, the piggy, jewel-like eyes. However, the softness that had defined his son was entirely absent; what had been fat in the son was bulk in the father. Panchessa was imposing, despite his age. It was as if those indulgences that had kept Panchetto a plump, extravagant child had turned inward, been focused into something altogether less pleasant. I couldn't guess what was going on behind those gimlet eyes, but it was hard to imagine I'd like it.

In fact, it was someone altogether other than Panchetto he put me in mind of. Someone who shared that impression of violent intensity, of darkness shifting beneath a still facade — someone who'd set my nerves on edge in exactly the same way.

Strange as it was, Panchessa reminded me not of his son but of the man who'd murdered him.

One of the guards stepped forward — though not so far as to place him in front of the King. With a look and a wave, he dismissed everyone else in the room, one by one. They appeared more resigned than annoyed, and I guessed this wasn't the first time they'd waited, only to be unceremoniously banished.

When the chamber had emptied, the guard called to Alvantes, "Step forward."

Alvantes raised his eyes, not enough to meet Panchessa's gaze. "Yes. Altapasaeda is in the hands of enemies. Northern soldiers, many of the families — perhaps under duress — and an alliance of criminals led by a man named Castilio Mounteban."

Panchessa nodded, slowly and deliberately. "Then my son…" he asked, letting the question hang like a sword blade.

"With the greatest sorrow and shame, I must tell Your Highness that Prince Panchetto is dead. He was killed by Moaradrid, in a cowardly and unprovoked attack."

Panchessa's voice remained cold and level as black ice. "And Moaradrid?"

"Dead as well. It was… an accident, of sorts."

Panchessa reached out one hand to the throne, steadied himself just slightly. The four guards edged closer. He warned them away with his free hand.

"My sons…"

Or so I thought I'd heard, and the sentence hung tantalisingly unfinished. Surely he must have meant to say "son's". But his son's what? His son's body? Could he be asking about the crown?

Then he drew himself erect, not looking at Alvantes. Abruptly, he turned to leave, and his entourage fell in around him. At the last moment, Ludovoco — who until then had played no part in proceedings — leaned to whisper something in his ear.

The King stopped. With a gesture, he picked out two of his personal guard. Without turning, he motioned to where Alvantes still stood on the stage.

"Take him to the dungeons," he said, "and cut his damned traitorous head from his body."