David Tallerman - Crown Thief

"If you do," she replied, "only make sure to give him a good hiding first. And make sure to mention my name as you do it."

It would have been dull to cross the barrens of the Hunch once more but for one thing. To the giants, every sight was fresh and strange, and their enthralment was infectious. Now that they'd begun to accept their freedom, they chattered softly amongst themselves, pointed out new discoveries, and generally behaved much as the children of Reb Panza would have if they'd been suddenly transported to the giants' enclave.

We maintained a good pace, and passed no one — perhaps because any travellers scurried to hide when they saw us approaching. By late evening, we'd drawn close to Muena Palaiya. Educated by previous experience, Alvantes and I left Huero and the giants out of sight and rode on alone to the northern gates.

It was no surprise to find them closed at so late an hour. That the walls were still bare of guards, though, was certainly strange. Estrada would never have let the town's security slip to such a degree, now less than ever.

Alvantes dismounted before the gates and rapped violently. Yet for a long while, no response came. Just as I was sure there was no one beyond to hear, a nasal voice called from the walls, "Who's there?"

Alvantes paced back to see, and I followed. A man with grimy, grizzled black hair and a hatchet face stared down at us from a platform atop the gates. He was dressed in the livery of a Muena Palaiyan guard, but even I could tell he was no guard. The livid crescent scar inscribed around his neck, the sneer, the short curved knife he wore slung across his chest and the way his fingers stayed near it, all spoke of someone used to killing first and skipping questions altogether. In fact, now that I looked carefully, wasn't he one of the interchangeable cut-throats who'd thronged around Castilio Mounteban's bar?

It was obvious Alvantes had come to similar conclusions, for his voice was sharp-edged as he called back, "We're here to see the mayor."

The guard sniggered, an unpleasant sputtering sound. "Not from around here, are you? Not very up on current affairs?"

"We've been away," Alvantes conceded.

"Right. Of course. I could have told you that." The guard grinned from ear to ear. "Because if you hadn't, you'd know better than to go asking for the mayor — when what you meant to say was mayors."

If Alvantes's fingers twitched near his waist, compulsively reaching for a sword hilt that wasn't there, every other part of him was rigid with self-control. "We would like to see the mayors," he said.

"Now we're getting somewhere," the guard replied jovially. Then his tone changed. All the scornful glee vanished in an instant. "Only, the mayors don't bother with just anyone."

I had a mental image of Alvantes somehow climbing the sheer wall one-handed to tear the man's throat out with his teeth. However, though his voice was rich with menace, he merely said, "My name is Alvantes, former Guard-Captain of Altapasaeda. My companion is Easie Damasco. I think they'll bother with us."

The guard froze. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe they will at that." He ducked behind the walls — then bobbed back to order us, "Wait there," before vanishing again.

Long seconds later, the heavy gates began to shudder open. When the gap was sufficient, the counterfeit guard appeared in the opening with a companion, similarly garbed and just as ill-suited to his uniform. "Get off the horses," said the first guard. "Follow us."

We did as we were told. I sensed Alvantes would have been happier killing them both on the spot and for once I had trouble faulting his logic — except that there were clearly things we needed to know here. Fortunately, it appeared Alvantes had controlled himself enough to recognise that fact. If the violence in his eyes was anything to go by, our guides had better hope he didn't forget it.

They led us up Dancer's Way, the main and indeed only proper street of Muena Palaiya. As on any day, it was thronged with people even at so late an hour: beggars, market sellers and their overflowing stalls, men leading animals for sale or slaughter, and many simply making their way across town by this swiftest of routes. However, if the scene was familiar, the atmosphere was changed entirely. The hawkers and stall owners mumbled more than shouted; the usual hubbub of angry shouts, raucous laughter and bellowed greetings was stilled altogether. Wherever we passed, men turned their eyes away. I knew it wasn't Alvantes and me they were afraid of.

Alvantes leaned close to me. "We should never have left her here."

There was no denying it now. I'd thought there was nothing Estrada couldn't handle — but whatever was going on in Muena Palaiya, whatever had cast this pall over the place, it felt too big for any one person to handle.

Well past the centre of town, our guides veered into the narrow side streets. I followed hesitantly, nervous that this wasn't an area I knew. As far as I could judge, we were close to the southern gate, in the region reserved for trades that serviced Muena Palaiya behind the scenes. Here were slaughterhouses, warehouses, tanning and drying sheds — and if memory served, somewhere in one of its less noxious portions, the mayoral offices.

We came eventually to a narrow courtyard. In it stood a large building, considerably higher than the single-storey constructions round about and built of white-daubed stone, like almost everything in Muena Palaiya. It had evidently once been a grain barn, for there were still traces of ancient seed ground into the mud round its large double doors. Two men, dressed like our guides, stood guard upon those doors.

There was a brief, hushed conference. The guard who'd spoken from the gates ducked inside, leaving the other three to watch us hawkishly. A minute later, he returned and said, "Go in. Your horses will be safe with these fine gentlemen."

One of the door guards sniggered into his fist, as though this was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. His colleague scowled at him, marched forward and snatched the reins from us. I patted my horse's neck as he was led away, and fell in behind Alvantes. The two who'd brought us entered first, and we kept close behind them.

Since the outside was to all intents and purposes a barn, my expectations hadn't been high for the interior. Therefore, it was a shock to discover something more akin to a mansion house than a dilapidated seed store. Then again, the more I looked, the more the analogy that fit best was to a high-class brothel. Rugs and lush carpets were scattered everywhere, tapestried hangings hid most of the walls, lamps of iron and brightly coloured glass hung from the rafters, and tables had been scattered through the space apparently at random, many burdened with statuettes and varied ornaments.

Yet, while everything was obviously expensive, the arrangement had been done without a hint of taste or logic. All the evidence pointed to a desire to create the impression of wealth, without any actual understanding of its benefits.

Once I'd recovered from the decor, the first thing I noticed was the presence of more thugs at intervals round the room, lounging on chairs or lolling against walls. Each was dressed in guardsman's livery and every one was looking in our direction.

My gaze roved on. A platform had been erected at the end of the room, the hasty carpentry disguised by yet more rugs. Two chairs had been set on the raised tier, one large and ornate enough almost to qualify as a throne, the other plain and more discreet.

Upon the larger chair sat a man I dimly recognised. He had a gargantuan head and body, from which hung disproportionately small arms and legs that dangled over the edges as a child's would. His jowly moon of a face was rimmed with beard and slicked hair that failed to hide either his grotesqueness or his considerable bald patch.