David Tallerman - Prince Thief

“This is a real opportunity for the city,” he said, “A new beginning.”

An odd thought occurred to me. “I can’t see Malekrin carrying on the way Panchetto did, charging taxes just to keep himself in banquets. In fact, I can’t see him staying on as prince for any longer than he has to. Today might be the first step towards a free Altapasaeda… a free Castoval, even, in time. Wasn’t that Mounteban’s dream?”

Alvantes scowled. “Perhaps a better version of it,” he said gruffly, “if we get it right.”

“Anyway, Easie,” put in Estrada, “this brings us to the reason we wanted to talk to you. If I’m going to stay here with Lunto, someone else will need to look after Muena Palaiya. The charter allows me to nominate a proxy to serve until the next election, but obviously it can’t be just anyone. It would have to be someone who knows the town, who cares about it… someone I can rely on to do the right thing.”

“Good luck with that,” I said. “Just finding anyone who knows the place and likes it could take all of a month.”

“Yes,” agreed Estrada, “it’s occurred to me that town politics isn’t for everyone. Of course, honesty isn’t really a prerequisite; in fact, it’s probably a disadvantage. It took me a while to appreciate it, but half the time it isn’t about what you can do, it’s about what you make people think you can do. What the job needs is a sincere heart and the mind of a swindler.”

“So you’re looking for an honest crook to run your town?” I said. “Good luck with finding one of those.”

Estrada smiled. “I’ve only ever met the one.”

“Well,” I told her, “you should probably ask them then. Of course, if they have half the sense you credit them with, they’ll probably say no, and… Estrada, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like… like… Wait, you don’t mean me ?”

“Easie,” she said, “you’re selfish, rude, insensitive, and probably the most bloody-minded person I’ve ever come across in my life.”

“Hey!”

“But from the moment I met you, I knew you could be far more than you were — and you haven’t let me down. Look what you’ve helped accomplish in these last months: Moaradrid defeated, the giants rescued, a war averted. You do things your own way, and it’s invariably the wrong way… but I’d say the results have been worth it.”

Suddenly my heart was beating far too fast. Had the woman gone mad? I couldn’t imagine anything worse than politics — and after my recent experiences, my imagination had plenty of scope. How did she think I could look after an entire town full of people, when I could hardly even look after myself?

Reading my reaction from the dread surely etched across my face, Estrada added gently, “Look at it this way, Damasco… can you honestly tell me you have anything better to do?”

I was ready to turn her down. The words were halfway to my tongue. Had Estrada said something else, anything else, I would have refused, and kept refusing until there was no breath left in my lungs.

Somewhere beneath the whirling panic that my thoughts had become, a small, detached voice observed that the woman had come to know me too damn well. Because, could I truthfully claim I had anything better to do than be mayor of Muena Palaiya?

I couldn’t. I really couldn’t.

There was no getting around it; I just wasn’t the thief I’d been. And maybe, just maybe, that meant it was time to try something new. “When I accidentally burn the town down,” I said, “or single-handedly start a war with Shoan, it will be on your head. You understand that, don’t you?”

Estrada smiled. “It’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”

I offered her my hand. “Then in that case, I accept.”

She shook. “I thought you would.”

As she released my palm, I fought against the dizzying sensation that my world had finally, irrevocably tumbled off its axis. How had I come to this point? I’d accidentally crossed a lunatic warlord, inadvertently stolen something of inconceivable value. I’d fallen in with dangerous sorts like Estrada and Alvantes, the kind of people who believed in such perilous notions as heroism and self-sacrifice. I’d learned, to my great shock, that when I made mistakes, people other than me got hurt. And at the beginning of it all, I’d rescued a giant who wanted to fight even less than I did, never once imagining I might end up calling him my friend.

But Saltlick was gone — and the thought that he wasn’t here to share in our victory, that he’d never even know he hadn’t left us to our deaths, twisted like a cold blade in my guts. I finally, truly understood then the choice he’d had to make; save his people, or abandon everything he believed in to try to rescue his friends. It was a choice, and a sacrifice, that were bound to torment him for the rest of his days.

I couldn’t have that. And I wasn’t willing to let my friend go, either — not without a fight.

“A horse,” I cried. “Estrada, I need a fast horse!” Then I remembered my past experiences of riding. “But perhaps not too fast,” I added.

It was early afternoon by the time I caught up with the giants.

Had I thought the expedition through, I’d have taken along some water and a little food for my lunch. By the time I crested a rise and the giant column came into view in the far distance, I was parched and dusty, intent upon the grumbling of my stomach. Yet seeing them there, like pale pebbles cast upon the smudged grey of the road, knowing that the tiny figure at their head must be Saltlick, I realised that for once I was surprisingly unconcerned with my bodily discomforts.

Once I’d reached the tail end of the giant line, I rode along beside them, slowing so as not to agitate my horse. She was a good-tempered chestnut mare, and I was grateful to her for managing a commendable balance between speed and not scaring me half to death. Now, though, she was clearly unsure what to make of her enormous travelling companions, however much she tried to affect nonchalance.

As we passed the giants one by one they glanced down at us curiously, and I tried not to notice in turn what a bizarre sight they made, pacing with their heads bobbing at the level of the treetops. I was perhaps halfway to the front when Saltlick registered the clack of hooves over the tramp of giant feet and looked around. In a moment, his face was transformed: by astonishment at first and then, straight after, by joy. “Easie alive!” he roared.

“Of course I’m alive, you idiot,” I shouted back. “Did you really think anyone could kill Easie Damasco?”

“No fight?” he asked, as I drew nearer — and it was odd to hear those oft-spoken words of his posed as a question.

“No fight,” I agreed. “No war. No king breathing down our necks with his army. Not anymore. It’s over, Saltlick.”

I doubted anyone in Altapasaeda had looked as relieved by the news as Saltlick did just then. He held up a hand and spoke a word in giantish, and as the instruction was passed along, the column ground to a halt.

Once I caught up to him, I hurried to dismount. I was glad to note that Saltlick still wore the crown of Altapasaeda around his neck; it was better off in the world of giants than men, I was sure Malekrin could manage without it, and it was strangely comforting to know that at least one thing I’d stolen had managed to stay stolen.

“It’s good to see you,” I said.

Saltlick beamed down at me. Yet now that his initial delight had passed, it was impossible to miss the curiosity hovering in his eyes. I knew he’d never be so indiscreet as to ask what I’d come for, why I’d ignored his explicit request that I leave him and his people alone. Still, the questions were there, just waiting to be answered.