David Tallerman - Crown Thief

"Manners, please. Remember the terms of our arrangement."

Alvantes reached into a pocket. "Easie Damasco, it's my honour to return to you this bag containing your hard-earned gains. May they bring you great and unceasing joy."

There was something oddly charming in his woeful attempt at sarcasm. "It's been a pleasure doing business, Guard-Captain."

"Damasco… you did good work in there. I only wish you could have done it of your own free will."

"And I wish every night for a mansion made of gold. But I'll still wake up tomorrow in this reeking shed."

Alvantes shook his head. "Thank you. Whenever I'm fool enough to imagine there might be hope for you, I can rely on you to prove me wrong."

I offered him a weary bow. "Disappointing expectations is what I do best."

• • • •

If I'd expected sleep, it was a vain hope indeed.

For a start, there was Saltlick, who could have comfortably occupied the room by himself. As if that weren't enough, Alvantes insisted on cordoning off another corner to preserve Estrada's modesty, presumably to protect her against those of us with the ability to see through blankets and layers of clothing in pitch darkness. That done, there remained roughly enough floor space for four people to bed down, assuming they didn't value comfort even slightly.

Including the guardsmen and Navare, there were sixteen of us.

I ended up in the square of ground beneath the small table, knees and elbows tucked in to minimize contact with my nearest neighbours. The thought of even trying to rest made me despondent. In desperation, I asked, "Does nobody want to hear the story of how I made it out of Altapasaeda alive?"

"Sleep well, Easie," said Estrada from somewhere in the darkness.

"Says the only person in the room with an actual bed," I told her, and shut my eyes.

I woke from nebulous, alarming dreams to agony that made my earlier discomfort seem like bliss. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to stretch my arms and legs properly again, and my flesh felt like one colossal bruise reaching into the depths of my bones. These sensations came to me hazily, though, through a murk of half-awakeness — and were all the worse for that. I lay caught between the hope of somehow drifting into a sleep too deep for pain and of the morning arriving to offer some reprieve.

I was actually glad when Alvantes rose and one by one roused the guardsmen. I rubbed the life tentatively back into my legs, stretching them by increments until I was confident they'd hold my weight. That done, getting to my feet was merely excruciating. A hesitant inspection of my calves and forearms revealed compelling evidence that I'd been beaten from head to toe. I supposed that falling through roofs, however flimsy, might give that impression.

I didn't need to see outside to know we were up well before dawn. A dull sense of wrongness told me I was awake at an hour never intended for human activity. Alvantes, however, seemed as impervious as ever to a need for physical rest. Had the King arrived just then and demanded an inspection, I had no doubt he'd have passed with a commendation.

He gave us time enough for a brief breakfast — some flavourless, hard biscuit pitted with flecks of dried olives Navare had a store of — before launching into the morning's speechifying.

"Guardsmen, here are your instructions. Sub-Captain Gueverro will travel back to our barracks to command the men there. You'll remain here under the leadership of Navare, who henceforward also bears the rank of sub-captain. In brief, your orders are these: Learn what you can; keep your presence hidden; do not attempt to enter the city or interfere with Mounteban's regime in my absence. I know how you feel. I feel the same. But we are not mercenaries. Our first and foremost duty is to King Panchessa, and it's for him to decide what happens next."

Though the only reply was a chorused "Yes, sir," it was easy to sense the dissatisfaction in the room. These men were Altapasaedans born and bred. The City Guard had a tendency to inherit wayward sons from the wealthier families, whilst amongst the middle classes it was deemed a mostly respectable mode of employment. Every one of them had family inside those walls; every one had more vested in ridding the city of Mounteban than Alvantes did.

So would they obey him? Probably, for a while. Absurd as it was, there was an aura to Alvantes, a palpable air of nobility that made it difficult even to think of crossing him. Words became inarguable simply by leaving his mouth. Still, he wasn't going to be around to keep them in check. How long would auras and fine-sounding words last in his absence?

Whatever the future might hold, Alvantes had more immediate worries. As he was making the last preparations to leave, Estrada touched his shoulder. "You're not going anywhere," she said softly, "until I've cleaned and rebandaged your arm. Ointment to hurry the healing and medicine for the pain would be a good idea as well."

"Marina," Alvantes replied gruffly, "there's more at stake here than my discomfort."

For someone who'd once been romantically entangled with our good lady mayor, I was frequently amazed by how little Alvantes seemed to understand her. I'd recognised her tone, even if he hadn't, and it brooked no argument. "Perhaps," she said, "but there's nothing more important than your ability to lead. These men and everyone in Altapasaeda are relying on you to make the right decisions. If you carry on like this, you'll be in no state to do that."

"Are you suggesting I haven't made the right decision?"

Estrada sighed heavily. "What I'm suggesting is that you've recently suffered an appalling injury, lost copious amounts of blood, been through terrible exertion and stress and are in constant pain, and maybe, just maybe, you should address those facts, lest your judgement be clouded or you simply collapse."

"I've no intention of collapsing," said Alvantes.

In a flash of inspiration, I said, "Estrada, why don't Saltlick and I buy medical supplies while you two collect the horses? We can meet where the north road leaves the Suburbs."

Alvantes looked at me with unveiled suspicion. "You've got your money back, Damasco. If you want to sneak off then there's nothing to stop you."

I did my best to look hurt. "Like I said, I'll meet you on the north road. Weren't you the one who said I ought to be pulling my weight? I can save us time and you'll be a little less likely to pass out on us like an old drunk."

"Thank you, Easie," intervened Estrada, "that sounds like an excellent solution."

This time, there was no talk of hiding Saltlick. Mounteban knew we were here, and the odds of Navare and the guardsmen staying hidden were greatly improved by his believing we'd left.

None of that made Alvantes any more patient as Saltlick struggled to manoeuvre through the toosmall opening. One slip and he'd likely have removed the entire front wall; if anyone happened to be passing at such an hour, it was a spectacle they couldn't possibly miss.

That suited me. So did Saltlick's company. If Synza was somehow following me, I couldn't think of any discreet ways to assassinate a giant, or to kill someone they were walking beside without said giant noticing. And if we ran into any other of Mounteban's lackeys, they'd be unlikely to know how harmless Saltlick was, or be inclined to tangle with someone fully twice their size.

I bid Navare and the others a brief goodbye and set out in the pre-sunrise gloom. I didn't see anyone in the darkened street. By then, I hardly expected to. Beneath the first grey light of day, it no longer seemed likely that Synza should have spent the night scouring the Suburbs for my trail. Far more probably, he'd returned to Mounteban with a report of how I'd fallen from the walls with a knife wound to the head. He had no reason to assume I'd survived, or even to waste time investigating.