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.'
'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
