David Tallerman - Crown Thief

I raised my fist to knock — and froze. I couldn't put a name to what I'd felt, but it was exactly what had saved my life up on the tower. Yet when I glanced back the way I'd come, there was no flicker of movement. Were my nerves playing tricks? Could I really have lost Synza? He'd shown himself a more than capable tracker when I'd travelled in his company. Then again, I'd seen almost no one, it was a dark night and I'd taken care to leave no signs of my passage. However good Synza might be, he was only human.

I strained my eyes against the gloom. When Synza once more failed to leap from the shadows, I turned my attention reluctantly back to the door. I mentally repeated Alvantes's complicated knock, and once I was sure I had it right, played it out on the boards: three raps, two short taps, a pause and one final, sharp beat.

I'd barely finished before the door swung inward — and I found myself staring down the groove of a loaded crossbow. By the time I'd registered that development, a hand had darted to drag me inside and the door had slammed behind my back. The crossbow, however, never left the vicinity of my face.

"Nice toy," I told Navare, forcing the tremor out of my voice.

"Quiet." A single candle lit the shack. Alvantes was a brutal silhouette against its glow.

There were others. As my eyes began to adjust, I realised everyone who'd been here when I left was still crammed into the confined space. Saltlick was a hulking outline in one corner; Alvantes's guardsmen were arrayed along one wall. No wonder the air was close and noisome.

"A good job I didn't trust you to wait for me," I told Alvantes. "I'd be swimming the Casto Mara with a dozen arrows in me by now."

"With the commotion you caused, it's a miracle either of us made it back. What the Hells did you do in there?"

Navare lowered the crossbow, grudgingly. "And were you followed?"

Did I tell them about Synza?

I wanted to. The burden of knowing he might be still hunting me weighed heavily. Why should I bear it alone? It might even be that someone could suggest a way out of this mess that didn't involve my sudden death.

Or, far more likely, they'd show not the barest interest in my survival. In fact, Alvantes might even tether me outside as bait. Even if, against all odds and his own character, he sympathised with my plight, what could he do? What could anyone do? Either Synza had returned to Mounteban and reported his failure, or my continuing existence was numbered in days at best.

Whatever the case, my best hope of survival lay in company. This room was as safe a haven as I could hope for. Four sturdy, windowless walls, a reinforced door and a dozen guardsmen would be proof against even the finest of killers. Until I had a better idea, it made sense to keep myself and everyone else here for as long as I could. Moreover, I stood a better chance of manoeuvring Alvantes if he was in the dark about my motives.

I realised whole seconds had passed since Navare's question, and that he was now staring at me with obvious suspicion. "I don't think so," I told him, trying to sound as though I'd been musing over the possibility. "I was chased, but I lost them at the walls." As far as I knew, it might even be the truth.

"Let's hope so," he replied, not trying to hide the distrust in his voice.

Alvantes stepped closer to the candlelight. "What did you find? I assume they weren't turning the city upside down looking for you for no reason."

"You won't like it," I said.

"I didn't expect to."

"It's Mounteban. Castilio Mounteban is running Altapasaeda."

There was a gasp from the darkness. It could only have been Estrada. Given their history — Mounteban's puppyish affection, which had almost ended in rape when he realised just how unrequited it was, and his subsequent betrayal of her and her cause to Moaradrid — I could understand that the name might provoke a certain reaction.

Alvantes's face, meanwhile, was blank as uncut stone, and bloodless in the flickering half-light. "You're certain?"

"I saw him," I said. "I heard him speak. He's brought the heads of family together, along with the gang leaders and I'd guess a couple of Moaradrid's generals. He was talking about a coalition, running the city and then the whole of Castoval. Only knowing Mounteban, it's going to be a coalition of one by the time he's done."

"This changes things."

"Damn right it does. So what's the plan? Mounteban was talking about reopening the gates. You lie low for a few days, wait for things to quiet down and then…"

"How many armed men did you see in there, Damasco?"

Taken aback, I struggled to add up the numerous patrols I'd passed with the ones I'd subsequently been chased by. "A lot."

"Let's suppose that's only a fraction of the forces at Mounteban's disposal," Alvantes continued.

"I'd say that's a safe assumption."

"And it isn't only numbers. As much as they might not like him or his methods, Mounteban's telling everyone what they want to hear — in some cases, what they've wanted to hear for years. We can't walk in there to arrest him and expect the city to just fall in behind us."

"Who said anything about arresting? I was thinking something more along the lines of…"

Alvantes shook his head. It seemed more for his benefit than ours. "It would get too messy," he said, "and it would take too long. Moreover, with the resources we have, it would probably go against us. Anyhow, I made a vow and I intend to keep it. The King has to know his son is dead. If he can forgive me that failure, perhaps he'll offer the help we need."

"What?" I stared in disbelief. Similar expressions were upon the dim faces watching from around the room. "Isn't your job to arrest criminals? Mounteban's only gone and stolen an entire city."

"Guard-Captain…" began Navare, and trailed off, leaving the obvious strain in his voice to say what words had failed to.

"Mounteban's juggling fire trying to hold so many factions together. He has to keep up the illusion that his way is better for everyone… at least for the moment." I'd never heard Alvantes sound defensive before. It fit ill with the bass growl of his voice. "Navare, I know you — I know all of you — want to see this done. But it's already gone beyond a simple question of guarding the city. We topple Mounteban and what happens? Who takes his place? No. This is the King's business as much as it is ours."

What was wrong with the man? Where had this sudden rush of caution come from? My only shot at safety was rapidly diminishing. I racked my brains for some argument that might sway him, some memory of Mounteban's speech that would demand urgent action.

Then it struck me. Any attempt I made to convince Alvantes was bound to have precisely the opposite effect. I was the last person in the room he'd listen to. All I could hope now was that Synza had given up the chase — or else, for a quick and relatively painless end.

It seemed the mood of the whole room mirrored my own. With the conversation ground to a halt, quiet hung heavy. It was Estrada who eventually broke the silence, and she made no effort to hide the deliberate change in subject. "You must be exhausted, Easie."

I'd hardly noticed it for the still-ebbing adrenalin of the chase, my many bruises and the rising pain of where Synza's knife had nicked my head, but she was right. The fatigue of the night's travails was creeping up on me fast. If I didn't lie down soon, I'd collapse where I stood. Perhaps the morning would offer an argument to sway Alvantes, some way to duck the noose that seemed to be abruptly closing round my neck.

One matter, however, couldn't wait. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I asked Alvantes.

His expression clouded for a moment. Then he said, "Of course. You want your thievings back."