Crown Thief

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

My first instinct was to forget the guard's spread-eagled body and make a run for it, before the approaching footsteps could catch up.

I was already too late. They were on the stairs. I wondered, absurdly, if it would go more badly for me to be found over a dead guard's body with the crown of Altapasaeda in my rucksack. Or was it so absurd? There were more terrible fates in the world than a swift beheading.

I pressed myself against the wall, as though that would somehow hide me. The steps were quiet, cautious, but rapid nevertheless. None of those characteristics suggested their owner was meant to be here, any more than I was. Yet the fear sliding cold fingers around my throat told me they could just as well be an over-cautious guard — or someone worse.

After all, there was a corpse at my feet. Whoever had killed him might still be nearby. Whoever had killed him might be killing me next if I wasn't careful.

The muffled patter reached the last steps. My lungs clenched in my chest. The footsteps paused in the alcove. I could hear breathing — muted but laboured. I very much wanted to run, I didn't care where… but fear had nailed me in place. I could only stand and listen — to the whisper of a door beginning to ease open…

Fortunately, it wasn't the door in front of me. There came another brief tapping of footsteps. Then the noise was swallowed in silence, and presumably by the night outside.

The wash of relief made my head swim. I almost let out the breath I'd been holding.

Lucky for me I didn't.

Had I been breathing, had I not been mute with fear, I might never have heard the second tread. As it was, I recognised it immediately; the first set of feet I'd noticed upstairs. Just as before, their possessor moved with consummate skill. He — or she, or it — was close upon the heels of whoever had just passed by. They didn't hesitate at the door. Almost before I registered their presence, they too were gone.

I waited. I couldn't guess for how long, except that it seemed like an age. I had no idea what could be going on, or if it was over. What kind of prison was this, where disembodied steps roved the halls all through the night? I felt as if my nerves had been grated. Even by the standard of escape attempts, this was proving extraordinarily stressful.

When I could stand it no more, when I was certain as I could be that neither set of feet was returning and that my heart had stopped trying to wrestle its way out of my chest, I turned my attention back to the corpse at my feet.

It was impossibly convenient that this particular guard should have chosen this particular moment to get himself murdered. Could it be another part in the mystery Alvantes had hinted at? Yet that made no sense. I couldn't believe Alvantes would have gone along with the killing of a royal guardsman, not even to secure his own freedom. Anyway, unless he was capable of plotting and effecting a brutal prison escape whilst chained in a cell, there had to be another explanation.

If so, whatever it was it eluded me. Moreover, given my immediate circumstances, it hardly mattered. For careful inspection had revealed one useful fact. The corpse I stood over was about my height and build.

Not having a clue as to why he was dead needn't stop me from exploiting that fact. Whoever had taken his life had at least been good enough to do so in a fashion that left his uniform — loose trousers and shirt with a knee-length jacket and helmet of studded leather — unmarked by blood. His uniform wasn't so much as crumpled. It couldn't have been more convenient if he'd been left there for my benefit.

Following that logic, I tried to assure myself that stripping his clothes was the only sensible thing to do. Necessity and barely subdued terror helped, making me less squeamish than I might otherwise have been. Nevertheless, I couldn't help cringing every time my fingers brushed his cooling, lifeless flesh.

Left with only a loincloth, however, his corpse looked more pitiful than alarming. I comforted myself with the thought that my own remains would have looked even less dignified if he and his colleagues had had their way. Dead and practically naked he might be, but at least he still had his head.

I hurriedly undressed. My pack was just big enough to hold my clothing; bundled with my cloak, I wrapped it carefully around the crown and telescope. Then I pulled on the guard's trousers, shirt and long studded jacket. I strapped his sword at my waist and drew on the helmet, a cone of leather with flaps across the ears and a vicious spike protruding from the top, presumably for those exigencies when all that remained was to charge an enemy headfirst. After brief consideration, I decided to keep my own boots. If anyone was inspecting that closely, chances were I was already done for.

I looked down at myself. What I saw looked more like a skinny thief in stolen armour than a burly sentry out on his rounds.

I considered procrastinating a little longer; mightn't hiding the dead guard's body delay the discovery of his absence? But it had gone unnoticed so far, and once his desertion was noticed, I doubted anyone would wait for proof of foul play before sounding the alarm. No, I was ready as I was going to get, and every further delay was only stretching my already slim chances.

I hurried back through the door. In the antechamber, the outer door had been left ajar. I could smell the warm nocturnal air, faint odours of old straw from out in the courtyards and even the pungent perfume of nightblooming flowers drifting from the gardens below.

I opened the door fully and darted through. Skipping down the short flight of steps that linked door and courtyard, I barely managed to keep my footing. My intention was a dignified speed for a guard in a hurry, but the swell of panic was close on my heels. Once I reached level ground, it was all I could do not to run.

For all that, the night air felt good, like soothing breath on my skin. I was profoundly glad to be outside. If it turned out that I really had to die, better it be like this.

Still, the courtyard was vast. That alone was enough to keep my nerves jangling. I couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean a thing. Besides the tremendous edifice of the palace and its countless windows and balconies, there were the walls, rolling in serpentine folds, innumerable shadowed nooks formed by their passing. Anybody could be watching from anywhere and I'd be the last to know.

I hurried on. The yard was flagged with white stone, glimmering in the dim starlight. The more my eyes adjusted, the more I felt like a bullseye on a target board. I strove to remember the layout of the grounds from what I'd observed on our arrival, but all I could say for sure was that the opening ahead must be the gatehouse joining this tier to the one below.

It was certain to be manned. There were bound to be questions. They were sure to be the kinds of questions I had no answers to.

I slowed. I needed time to think. Was there another way out? Perhaps across the walls, but there were bound to be patrols. My presence would be even more conspicuous and unexplainable.

I slowed further. The darkness of the gatehouse looked ready to swallow me whole. I was certain I could feel eyes staring. Wasn't I walking straight into the hands of my enemies?

I stopped. I might be the master of bad planning tonight, but even I had my limits. If this was the only route out, then what I needed was some detail to complete my disguise, perhaps the halberd I'd foolishly left propped outside the door, or else…

I finally remembered what I'd seen on the journey in, and cursed myself beneath my breath. The stables. If one thing was guaranteed to complete my disguise, it was a horse. What escapee would have the nerve to steal their own transport on the way out? Only one as terrifically daring and foolhardy as Easie Damasco.

Or so I tried to tell myself. Now that I looked, far to my right where the stables were, I saw lights burning in the stalls at the upper end. Lights meant people. People meant trouble. Yet the only alternative remained trying to walk my way out. All else aside, it might take me the rest of the night to make it to that distant final gate.

Trying to retain a dignified and guard-like pace, I hurried towards the stables. I knew I'd be most convincing if I kept my gaze fixed steadfastly ahead, but I couldn't resist the occasional glance around. Though I knew there must be patrols on the walls, I could still see no one.

As I drew close, I found I could hear the hushed drone of conversation from within the lighted portion of the stables. Nearby was an open side door; the area beyond was sunk in shadow. I weighed the risk of being seen against the potential value of overhearing whatever was being discussed inside — not to mention the fact that my horse-theft scheme was the only one I had left.

That dearth of better ideas was the clincher. I slunk inside. The door led into a region of empty stalls, apart from the wide central corridor where the lantern hung. Ahead, through a gap in slats, I could see two silhouetted figures with their backs to me. One was speaking, steadily and softly, to the other.

I was astonished to realise it was a voice I recognised, though it took me a moment to place it. Gailus… the senator we'd run into on our journey through Pasaeda, who'd warned Alvantes outside the King's audience chamber. His voice was unmistakable — and as I focused my attention, his mumbled tones became intelligible: "…if he acts on two fronts at once. Yet day by day it seems inevitable."

"Can the boy really be so much worse than his father?"

That voice I definitely knew — incredible as it was that its owner should be here. I nearly burst in there and then, but something made me hesitate for Gailus's reply.

"Not the boy, his grandmother. Or so we hear. Still, the situation might yet be contained… if circumstances were different. The King is sick with rage and grief. To lose them both, after everything that had happened. For it to happen how it did. And the rage is stronger in him, now, than his sadness. Well, you saw firsthand." Gailus's voice took on a weight of added weariness as he finished, "Then again, perhaps it was always that way."

Intoned with grim seriousness it might be, but Gailus's speech was just as unintelligible as the ranting of Alvantes's senile father had been. Time was too short to be wasted on indulging lunatics. I stepped from the shadows.

"Guard-Captain. Senator. Always a pleasure."

Alvantes wheeled. "Damasco!" He recovered himself quickly. "So you made it."

"Of course." I noticed then that he'd changed his clothing, for a uniform much like mine. "You've been busy, I see."

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'd say escaping the same distasteful fate as you, except it seems you'd rather catch up with old friends."

"This is none of your affair."

"He has a point, Lunto," Gailus interrupted. "Sunrise isn't so far off. Your father told me he'll be waiting in your grandfather's shadow. Anything more you need to know he can tell you. You should join him, while you still can."

Two horses were already out of their stalls and saddled, their reins wrapped loosely round a post. Gailus freed the nearer set and passed it to Alvantes, who led his new mount out into the courtyard. The second Gailus handed to me.

Did that mean I'd been included in Alvantes's escape plan? That however he'd secured his freedom, he'd intended to take me along with him? If so, I wasn't about to get sentimental. It wasn't as if I'd needed any help. Well, not except for the locked door, anyway… and maybe the guard… and…

My steed was good enough to divert me with a shrill snort. He was eyeing me nervously. No doubt it was a novel and unwelcome experience to be dragged from his stall in the middle of the night. I stroked his nose and whispered a few soothing words in his ear while I led him outside.

Alvantes swung into the saddle and I did likewise. My horse took a couple of quick sidesteps and then settled.

"Thank you, Gailus," Alvantes said. "Take care."

The senator smiled, an expression more sinister than mirthful in the lamplight. "I'm a politician. I'm always careful."

We set out at a trot, heading back towards the gatehouse. I tried to assure myself that being on horseback made my disguise more convincing. Perhaps it did — but only fractionally. I was still wearing an ill-fitting uniform, I doubted my riding style would have passed muster, and speaking more than a couple of words would reveal my Castovalian accent. All told, if the urge to panic had retreated for the moment, it hadn't gone far.

Trying to distract myself, I hissed at Alvantes the most pressing of the many questions I had. "I take it you had nothing to do with the dead guard then?"

Alvantes started. "What? Where?"

"At the bottom of the staircase." My brain filled in another gap in the events of the last few minutes. "If you'd turned right instead of going straight on, you might have tripped over him."

"That spells trouble."

"A dead body spells trouble? With those deductive skills, I can see how you flew up the ranks to guardcaptain."

Alvantes dropped his voice to a tremor. "Quiet. Slow down."

He reined his mount to a steady walk. I followed suit, though the reduced speed only heightened my unease. The darkness in the mouth of the gatehouse was all-consuming. As we broke the threshold, my breath snagged. Thanks to the decline, all I could see amidst the thick gloom was a half circle of dim light far ahead — as though I were staring out the throat of some great monster.

"Late business?" The words came from nowhere and hung like phantoms. I couldn't say for sure if they were meant as challenge or polite inquiry. To me they seemed an accusation coughed up by the dark itself.

Fortunately, Alvantes's nerve was stronger than mine. "So it appears," he said. "And us supposed to be on day watch."

To stay in character, I yawned exaggeratedly. That, at least, I could do without giving away my accent.

"Could be a worse night for it," pointed out the disembodied voice.

"There's that," Alvantes agreed.

When no further inanities materialised from the gloom, I heard Alvantes urge his horse to a walk. Once more, I followed his lead.

Seconds later, we were in the open air once more.

Here were the gardens, clambering in elegant tiers to either side of the wide concourse, split in turn by islands of tilting palms and ornate fountains that still chuckled to themselves despite the hour. If anything, the countless stepped beds of flowerbeds smelled more fragrantly than they had in the day. The way the night muted their colours into endless shades of blue gave them a simple elegance they'd lacked in sunlight.

Less pleasant were the silhouettes of guards patrolling the parapets. Of course, it made sense that the defences would grow more vigorous as we neared the exit. On the other hand, it made equal sense that the further we got, the more likely anyone seeing us would assume we were meant to be there.

"Keep slow," hissed Alvantes.

This time, I didn't need to be told. A little of my courage had come back. We'd gotten farther than I'd have imagined possible. If I could keep my head, I might have a chance — well, to keep my head, for a while longer anyway.

It didn't take us long to reach the second gatehouse. My eyes had grown better adjusted by then. I could just make out the dim forms of two guards waiting within the entrance. One greeted us with a disinterested "Evening," which Alvantes returned in the same tone.

Two more guards waited at the far end. They acknowledged us with a nod.

We were through.

The final courtyard was, if possible, even bigger than those we'd already passed through. Various buildings clustered round its edges, and a few even had plots of cultivated ground attached, as though someone had caught up a village and scattered it like dice against the walls. I guessed these must be homes of craftsmen and farmers whose goods were in constant demand at the palace.

The guards upon the walls were even more numerous than those above the gardens. Yet they barely deigned to notice us. I felt almost courageous. I'd been right. The fact that we'd made it this far and were heading out rather than in was enough to shield us from suspicion. One more courtyard, one more gate, and we were free.

"Keep steady," muttered Alvantes. "Follow my lead."

"I get it."

"But if I say go…"

"I get it."

Growing more and more accustomed to our assumed identities, we walked our horses across the vast expanse of paved ground as though it were natural as breathing for us to be there. Only as we drew near the last gatehouse did my nerves begin to trouble me again. For unlike the previous sets of gates, these were closed. There was no way we were getting past without a confrontation.

This time, Alvantes initiated it. With impressive feigned confidence, he called, "Gates open, ho."

There was a small room built into the walls next to the gate. It had its own door, and even a narrow window. A tall guard stepped out and asked, "Late errand?"

"For the stablemaster. Says if he doesn't get some liniment for his back he'll have to close up and take the whole day off. Where we'll find it at this hour is anyone's guess."

"Sounds about right for old Pieto." The guard motioned through the small window. An instant later, a hidden mechanism began to rattle and grind. The gates parted, and split by slow degrees. A sliver of city grew in their absence.

Strange to think I'd been awed by the wonders of the palace only a few hours ago. Now, that growing shard of nocturnal street seemed a thousand times more beautiful. Watching it, my heart swelled with joy.

"You two new here then?"

Exuberance turned leaden in my chest.

"He is," said Alvantes. "I just don't have a memorable face."

It sounded convincing. But I couldn't see the guard's expression. He still had his hand raised. He could halt the opening gates at any moment.

"What did you say your names were again?"

"Go!" cried Alvantes. At the same time, he spurred his mount forward.

I didn't need to be told twice.

Alvantes made it through the opening with the barest clearance. The noise of the gate mechanism had changed, assumed a deeper, more grinding pitch. Even as my horse surged forward, I realised with horror that the gap was no longer widening. In fact, it was contracting.

Time warped. Somehow, the gates were closing with unfeasible speed, whereas my horse was plunging through treacle. I tried to scream something motivating, but no sound came. I could feel the animal wanting to shy, lest he dash his brains out on the reinforced wood. I lashed his side with my heels. He gained speed — but we were still too slow. Alvantes, ahead, seemed an impossible distance away. The street might have belonged to another world.

My mount's head entered the waning breach. Forced to commit, he surged again. A flash of fire washed my thighs as they scraped the wood to either side. I gritted my teeth, crushed myself flat and narrow.

He gave a brief, high shriek. It could only mean we were trapped, about to be crushed by the inexorable apparatus of the gates…

No. Still moving. Cobbles flickered by beneath his feet. I glanced back.

The gates were shut. The tip of the poor beast's tail had stayed with them.

But we were through.

Alvantes was still riding hard ahead, though there was no way we could be followed immediately. Closing the gates had backfired, and bought us a breathing space from any pursuers. I encouraged my horse to forget his foreshortened tail with another tap of my heels, and did my best to close the distance.

We were in the crescent of temples that curved around the palace, on a wide thoroughfare that appeared to stretch the entire length of Pasaeda. By the time I caught up with Alvantes, he'd slowed slightly, and was turning his mount into a side road.

He rode hard for the next few minutes, leading us by twists and turns through the starlit streets until I'd altogether lost my sense of direction or any notion of where we were. Eventually, he slowed to let me draw alongside. We were approaching a small square. At its centre was a circle of cultivated woodland, and in the midst of that a squat building of white marble. From its roof rose a statue, also of marble, representing some ancient warrior brandishing his sword towards the heavens.

"Thanks for the tour," I said, "but was this really the time?"

"It won't have taken them long to follow," Alvantes replied. "At least that route should keep them chasing their tails awhile."

If Alvantes had really bought us time, I felt I was overdue an answer to some crucial questions. "So what's going on here? If you and your father have cooked up some conspiracy, I've a right to know."

"Conspiracy? It's nothing like that."

"Yet one minute you're locked in a prison cell and the next you're catching up with old friends."

Alvantes shrugged resignedly. "All right. As you must have realised, my father's a senator in the Court. Back in the cell, he passed me a message. A simple code."

"A code?"

"Something we settled on years ago. A message hidden in the final words of each sentence."

How had I missed it? I'd been so quick to write Alvantes Senior off as senile that I'd hardly bothered to consider what he was saying. From what I could remember of his diatribe, I could even piece together a little of what he'd told his son. There had been directions in there — and hadn't he mentioned something about the stable? All those strange allusions to times made a lot more sense now.

Thinking back brought another realisation — one I'd have made at the time if only I'd been paying attention. "He gave you the key to your shackle, didn't he? When he hit you."

"Yes."

"Then he arranged for the door to be left open and the guard to be drugged."

"Something like that. If the details are so important to you, ask him yourself."

We'd almost reached the wooded glen and the small columned building with its militant passenger. It struck me almost in the same moment that it must be a tomb, and that a figure on horseback was just visible in the thick arboreal shadows.

"Good morning, Father," said Alvantes.

Alvantes's father walked his horse out to meet us. "Gailus passed you my message, then?" he said. "I half-expected him to forget."

Alvantes tipped his head towards the statue. "He remembered. Grandfather, at least, looks well."

"Sometimes I envy him. He fought his battles in simpler times."

"Probably they didn't seem that way to him."

"Perhaps. Perhaps the fights never seem straightforward when you're in the midst of them." Alvantes's father sounded weary — more so even than a man of his age would normally be for staying up all night. "It's good to see you free. But you should never have come to Pasaeda, Lunto."

"I did what I had to do," said Alvantes.

"Maybe. Either way, you're ahead of schedule. I take it they know you've escaped?"

Alvantes nodded.

"No time for pleasantries then. We'll talk as we ride." Alvantes Senior turned his horse's nose toward a road other than the one we'd arrived by, and set off at a trot. He waited for us to match his speed before he continued, "Panchetto's loss was a terrible blow. For the King and the kingdom. For all of us."

Alvantes hung his head, much as he'd done when they last spoke. "I know. Believe me."

"I'm willing to accept that you'd have saved Panchetto if you possibly could. I think the King would be too, were he in his right mind. Moaradrid's rebellion and the uproar in the far north have been poisoning his thoughts for a long time now; and there are always elements in the Court ready to inject fresh bile."

"Is there any way I can help?" asked Alvantes.

"Absolutely not." His father's voice had acquired a note of iron forcefulness. "Lunto, listen to me now, if it's the only time you ever do. The best and only thing you can do is to go home. Help Altapasaeda however you can. We'll send aid if we're able, but don't rely on it. In fact, for the time being, anticipate the worst."

"What will you do?"

Alvantes Senior shook his head. It struck me more as a response to circumstances in general than to Alvantes's question. "His Highness must not be allowed to become a tyrant. There are many of us in the Court who strive to keep him on the higher path."

By then we were halfway down a long street, quite narrow by the standards of Pasaeda, hemmed on either side by two-storey buildings fronting directly to the road. They were still impressive, but considerably less so than the manors I'd seen on the way in. Perhaps here was the answer to my wonderings as to where Pasaeda's not-quite-so-wealthy citizens resided. Ahead, the walls were clearly visible about the rooftops, no more than a couple of minutes' ride away. Our freedom was truly within reach.

Pulling just ahead, Alvantes Senior wheeled his horse. "We're near the gates," he said. He motioned skyward, where the first light of sunrise was gilding the rooftops. "Unless someone's had the foresight to pass on the alert, they'll be opening the gates at any minute. Go, while you still can."

"The King's bound to realise you helped us," said Alvantes.

"He'll see reason eventually. He'll understand my motives."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then he's still the King," said Alvantes Senior. "Go, Lunto."

There was strain in his voice that hadn't been there an instant ago — controlled but unmistakeable. I glanced at Alvantes, saw I wasn't the only one to have noticed it.

"Come with us," he said. "For a while, at least. Give the King time to calm down."

"It isn't for you or me to predict the moods of a King."

"Father…"

"Don't insult me by asking me to further dishonour our family. I told you to go." If the words were angry, his father's tone betrayed them. The strain had become something more. Could it be fear?

Whatever it was, it sent shivers through me. "Come on," I told Alvantes.

I could see the conflict in his face. But his father's was an inscrutable mask, offering no room for argument.

"Goodbye," Alvantes said.

"Go!" Alvantes Senior stirred his horse into motion and rode swiftly past us, back in the direction we'd come.

After a moment's pause, Alvantes encouraged his own mount forward. Relieved that the family drama was done with, I followed.

We were almost at the end of the road before we heard Alvantes Senior's voice again. It was faint, but there was a clear note of remonstrance in it, as though he were arguing with someone.

I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to look. There was no good reason he'd be arguing with anyone in the street at this hour. Alvantes had already jerked to a halt — as though the sound were a shock of thunder that his gaze had sought out. His expression showed something worse than my own mounting alarm.

It was grief. It was the grief of loss.

There was no way I could have known what to expect. Yet when I looked round and saw them, I felt only a sick sense of inevitability. Stick and Stone, the King's chequered jester-assassins, had come to a halt just ahead of Alvantes's father. They looked absurd, dressed up like that in the middle of the street, all the more so because their horses were piebald — one black but splashed with white and the other white with stains of black. That absurdity did nothing to make them less terrifying. If anything, the opposite was true.

Though they were too distant for me to catch individual words, it was clear Alvantes Senior was protesting. It was hard to imagine any complaint penetrating that grim, clownish exterior, and yet they seemed to be waiting patiently enough.

Or so I thought.

As far as I saw, neither one moved. When Alvantes's father jerked backward, it seemed purely of his own accord. He kept his balance a moment, reaching with one hand to his chest. He might have been struck by indigestion. Then he slid backwards, sideways.

The crunch as he struck the cobbles was loud even where we were.