David Tallerman - Crown Thief

"Fine. I'm in. Now, can I please get a little sleep?"

Having expected my brain to wheedle its way out of my promise to Alvantes overnight, it was a shock to wake the next morning with a sense of urgency coursing through my muscles. I'd never felt anything like it. It had qualities in common with the sensation before a particularly risky job; but where that had been all raw, jangling nerves, this ran deeper and slower, like the ache from an old hurt.

For the first time in what seemed an age, we didn't set out with the dawn. Estrada arrived early in the morning with clean shirts for Alvantes and me, mine picked out in a suitably dark shade, and forcibly suggested we wash before changing. While I was at it, I stripped off Alvantes's makeshift splint, satisfied that my arm was well on the way to healing.

Once we'd ventured outside in our new clothes, Estrada insisted we eat a proper breakfast together, giants and all. There was fruit and vegetables for them, eggs, corn bread and fresh fish for us. We had an audience almost from the beginning, as early rising townsfolk were drawn by the commotion. Word spread fast, and the crowd grew rapidly. All except the children looked both fascinated and nervous, as though half-suspecting they might soon end up on the giants' menu themselves.

Perhaps Saltlick recognised their distrust — for while the others ate, he insisted on taking a small party to repair the section of wall damaged in last night's hostilities. That news travelled quickly too. Even from the other side of town, I heard the raucous cheer that went up once the last stone was replaced, and the ebb of tension it brought in our own spectators was obvious.

Intentionally or not, Saltlick had achieved his first act of politicking as temporary chief of the giants, not to mention monarch of all the Castoval. If I couldn't help but feel a little proud, it was also a reminder that I still had my own loose end to tie up.

With Estrada's help, it wasn't hard to find the place I was looking for. The inn, once the home of a wealthy local trader and nowadays known as the Red Cockerel, was even more imposing than the one I'd passed the night in. Its distinguishing feature was an excess of red-framed glass on its ground floor; three entire walls were interrupted by window after window, and must have cost a not-inconsiderable fortune.

Within, the foyer of the Red Cockerel was highceilinged, enlivened by dark wood and gilt, and distinctly pleasant. As I pushed through the entrance, a sour, well-dressed man who could only be the proprietor gave me an odd look, and said, "Haven't you heard? We're full."

"Not for much longer," I told him, shoving my way past.

The main room was long and deep, bright with the daylight from outside. Despite the mildness of the day, a fire was lit in the huge fireplace at the far end, making the space stickily hot. The air was heavy with sweet, stale odours of wine and tobacco. The only furnishings were low divans and tables, the latter untidy with halfemptied cups and plates bearing scraps of food.

It could have been many a high-class dive in the Red Quarter, except for one major difference: on every divan, alone or in pairs, were slumped the elderly populace of Reb Panza. A few of them I recognised; where they recalled me in turn, they looked less than elated. That was nothing, however, to the alarm draining every drop of colour from the old Patriarch's face.

"Get up!" I snapped. "Get your things. You've five minutes to be out of here and on your way home."

"What? How dare you?" he replied — but his voice was quavering.

"Thanks to you, Reb Panza is on the verge of collapse. This holiday is over."

"What? We've been away only a day or two. Why shouldn't we indulge ourselves a little? How many times have our ungrateful children stayed out drinking while we remained to watch over their offspring? Shouldn't there come a point in life where a man can finally tend to his own needs?"

"You've been away for a fortnight," I told him. "And in answer to your questions — shut up, and be glad I'm not kicking you around this room for stealing my money."

"Stole? At worst, misappropriated." Bluster was starting to restore his confidence. "We're here now, and we've paid for our presence with good coin. Now you come and tell us we have to leave? I hope you have an army to back you up, you contemptible reprobate!"

Mentally I thanked him for playing so neatly into my hands. "An army? That's a tall order. I'm not sure I could rustle up one of those for a corrupt old ass and his cronies. There must be something I can manage instead, though."

On cue, the doors behind me swung open, to clatter against the walls. I'd thought the Patriarch's face had already grown as pale as human features could, so I was pleasantly surprised when he managed to blanch another shade.

I probably had the cudgel Alvantes carried to thank for that. I was pleased he hadn't lost the last night's unexpected gift for theatre.

"Would an irate guard-captain serve instead?" I asked.

I didn't give the Patriarch a moment to even consider replying.

"Not good enough? In that case, I'm sure you know the lady beside him. Marina Estrada. Mayor Estrada, to you. As in, mayor of this particular town."

It must have been her expression that made him tremble so. Given her reaction when I'd explained how he'd come to be throwing money around in Muena Palaiya, I was sure it wasn't all feigned.

"No? Really? All right then. If we're talking actual armies, if it's really going to take an army to get you to face up to your responsibilities… well, maybe you should take a glance through that window behind you."

I could see how badly he didn't want to look. It was as if invisible hands were winding his head.

"Remember Saltlick? Of course you do."

Saltlick had actually volunteered for this one. Given how seriously his people took the binds of duty, I hadn't been altogether surprised.

Neither, apparently, was the Patriarch. Petrified certainly, about to make an unpleasant mess of an expensive couch possibly, but not actually surprised. He barely had time to register the huge and hugely ugly countenance scowling in at him before his eyes strayed on, to the next pane of glass and the next — as I'd known they must.

"Well, Saltlick has a few friends."

He was on his feet before the last syllable left my mouth. His eyes were huge with terror. His long moustaches quivered with the wordless twitching of his lips. He lurched past me, almost tripped over Alvantes and staggered onward. I doubted even he knew where he was going.

He wouldn't get far; not with Huero and a half-dozen more giants waiting in the street outside.

"When I next pass through Reb Panza," I called after him, "I expect to be able to see my face in it."

I suspected Huero was secretly glad of the responsibility for getting Reb Panza's wayward elders home. Now that the giants were recovering from their funk, they no longer needed to be looked after, and journeying on to Altapasaeda with us would take him and his family very far from home.

"I'm not sure what Estrada said," I told him, "but the inn's proprietor has agreed to pay back most of what they spent. Do you think you could check in on them from time to time? Make sure the money goes where it's supposed to?"

"It would be a pleasure," he said — and his expression told me it genuinely would. I'd noticed something in Huero since my return from Ans Pasaeda, a quality I suspected he was only just starting to recognise in himself. He really did enjoy making things better. Maybe my coin alone hadn't done much for Reb Panza, but coin and a man like Huero should make a real difference.

I pointed to the Patriarch. "Just make sure he walks every step of the way."

Huero grinned. "It's going to be a long journey."