David Tallerman - Prince Thief

“You can relax,” scoffed Alvantes. “If you were going to be executed, I wouldn’t have bothered to come in person; I’d have sent the city’s sewer cleaners. No, it’s quite the opposite, Mounteban. We’re letting you go.”

Mounteban’s face didn’t change; neither the veneer of courage nor the strain it failed to mask. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand?” Alvantes spat. “You’ve won, damn you. Altapasaeda will get its independence, whether it wants it or not — or else be burned to the ground by its own king. And you’ve poisoned the place so thoroughly that no one will listen to anyone besides you. So get up. Get out. If you really claim any shred of good intentions then make those scum you brought together understand that this city hasn’t a chance without their help.”

“They’re asking for you, Castilio,” said Estrada. “The alliance you brought together is falling apart. They won’t listen to us. And if they don’t listen to someone, the King will simply march into Altapasaeda in a week’s time, with no one to hinder him.”

Mounteban’s only response was a stiff nod, as though he’d weighed what they’d told him and found it credible.

“No gloating?” asked Alvantes, disgust dripping from each syllable. “No grand speech? Not going to explain again how you decided to elect yourself prince of the city for its own good?”

“Do you think I want this any more than you do?” Now that he wasn’t anticipating an imminent demise, some of Mounteban’s self-possession was beginning to return. “Whether or not you believe it, I did have Altapasaeda’s best interests at heart.”

Alvantes gave him a ghastly smile. “Of course you did.”

“Still,” continued Mounteban, “I knew when I started that it might come to this.”

“You thought the King might come knocking if you absconded with his city? How astute.”

“I thought there might be some reprisal. So I planned for it… which is more, it seems, than you did, Guard-Captain.”

Alvantes lurched forward, fist clenched. “I said I’d let you talk to them, Mounteban. I didn’t say what state you’d be in when you got there.”

In a moment, Mounteban was on his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor.

“Stop it! Both of you.” Estrada had advanced too, arms outstretched, as though she’d keep them apart by brute force if need be. “And grow up, damn it! There’s more at stake here than your petty squabbling.” She turned fiercely on Alvantes, who looked both surprised and sheepish. “Leave him alone, Lunto. This isn’t helping anything.”

If he’d realised, as I had, that Estrada was playing subtly to Mounteban’s ego, Alvantes’s wounded expression gave no sign. He stamped to the far side of the room and turned half away, as though not quite willing to admit he was interested in anything Mounteban had to say.

Estrada, meanwhile, gave Mounteban a moment to right his chair and sit back down before she said, “Understand, Castilio, that I will never forgive you for the things you’ve done… to me or to this city. But I’ll work with you now, if that’s what it takes. So if you really care about Altapasaeda, tell us your plan. There’s no time for us to play games.”

“Of course,” Mounteban replied, all surface calm restored. “I was never the one who wanted a conflict, Marina. I’d have gladly worked with you both from the beginning.”

Alvantes gave a snort of derision, silenced abruptly when Estrada glared at him. “All right,” she said. “We’re listening.”

I could tell that was what Mounteban had been waiting to hear, for all his old arrogance had returned as he asked, “I trust you’re familiar with the name of the Bastard Prince?”

Alvantes glowered. “A northerner myth. A phantom to scare the royal court.”

“Not so,” said Mounteban. “The boy is very real.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. Thus far, I’d been deliberately keeping out of the conversation — but having only recently heard of this mysterious Bastard Prince, I realised I couldn’t keep down my curiosity. “Tell me if I’m understanding this right. King Panchessa sires a child on some northerner wench and then covers it up. That child grows up to be Moaradrid, notorious invading warlord, kidnapper of giants and all-round madman.”

Mounteban nodded, with the disinterested air of one teaching obvious lessons to a stupid child.

“But Moaradrid is dead,” I continued. And no one in their right mind would ever refer to him as a boy. Suddenly, I understood. “You’re saying Moaradrid had a son too?”

“His name is Malekrin,” Mounteban agreed. “The Bastard Prince, illegitimate son of an illegitimate son. The King’s only possible living heir.”

“But surely he hasn’t any real claim to the throne?” put in Estrada.

“For our purposes,” said Mounteban, “it hardly matters. What’s important is that the northerners believe it — and that, even after Moaradrid’s failed rebellion, they’re willing to fight over it. If you’re aware of the Prince, Marina, I’m sure you’re equally familiar with the name Kalyxis?”

Alvantes’s expression soured even further. “That witch.”

My inquisitiveness genuinely piqued now, I said, “Let’s assume that not everyone has your or Alvantes’s grasp on the politics of far-distant lands.”

“Kalyxis,” said Mounteban, “is King Panchessa’s one-time paramour, Moaradrid’s mother, Malekrin’s grandmother… and just as she did with his father, she’s been grooming the boy as a potential saviour of the far north. As obvious as it would seem that she’s motivated by spite, she has a remarkable knack for telling her people what they want to hear.”

“It sounds like you two have a lot in common,” observed Alvantes.

“Just so,” Mounteban agreed, ignoring the obvious slight. “Which is why I sent a messenger to her proposing an alliance. I haven’t received a reply, but then given the distances involved that’s hardly surprising. However, it seems to me that Kalyxis and the Prince are still our best hope. Perhaps they can be persuaded to send support, or to harry Ans Pasaeda from the north, forcing the King to cut short his visit. Perhaps just the threat of an alliance will be enough to make Panchessa think twice.”

“I appreciate that you’ve put thought into this,” said Estrada carefully, “but do you really think it could work? And even if it did, as you just said yourself, there’s no way anyone could travel so far and return in time. Altapasaeda can’t stand against the King for more than a few days.”

“A difficulty, for sure,” agreed Mounteban. “But there is a way.”

There was something in the way he emphasised those last words that made everyone, even Alvantes, suddenly more attentive. “Go on,” Estrada told him.

“A tunnel, running west from the palace, through the mountainside. It was built, or perhaps more likely discovered, by the first prince… this in the days when a Castovalian revolt seemed more than likely. At the other end are a dock and a ship. If my sources are correct, even Panchetto wasn’t so confident in his own safety as to leave the passage and vessel unmaintained. It should still be there, and seaworthy.”

“This is all nonsense!” growled Alvantes. “I’d have heard of such a thing.”

“Apparently not,” replied Mounteban. “Then again,” he added with smug good cheer, “Panchetto always did like to keep the City Guard at arm’s length.”

Alvantes was clearly ready to storm back across the room, but catching Estrada’s eye he thought better of it. “Anyway,” he said instead, “in case it’s escaped these ‘sources’ of yours, the palace is occupied. I doubt the Palace Guard would take kindly to us traipsing through. Unless, of course, you’ve somehow managed to deal with them too?”