'I don't doubt it,' I said. But I do have something I think will interest Castilio quite a lot. Far more than my head. Something, in fact, that he'd find so intensely interesting he might even overlook just how long it's taken you to follow his order.'
'You run the risk of wounding my feelings. I've made no secret that my performance in this matter has been unsatisfactory. But that is a concern for me and my master only.'
'Still, a little added incentive couldn't hurt. Say, if you were to take me back alive, with the one thing he wants most in the world. The thing I'd been planning to take him anyway, to bargain for his protection. Since we're here, I don't see why the negotiations shouldn't start a little early.'
'I struggle to know whether you're entertaining or annoying me,' said Synza. 'Very well. For the sake of ending our unduly long acquaintance on an agreeable note, why don't you explain?'
I began to shrug my pack from my shoulders.
'I don't need to tell you that you shouldn't make any sudden moves,' he added. 'Or that no move you make could possibly be sudden enough.'
The average tortoise would have been unlikely to describe my movements as sudden; but I slowed even further, inching the straps off by degrees. Once they were free, I laid the pack on the strip of tousled grass between me and the edge. If I still wasn't sure how I could turn my one hole card into a genuine bargaining tool, common sense suggested that placing it in jeopardy was a good start.
I unbuckled the pack's straps, folded back the flap, loosened the drawstring within. I reached inside, drew out my bundled cloak and placed it delicately beside the bag. I didn't need to look to know I had Synza's interest. Making my movements all the more deliberate, I peeled back the layers of cloak and clothing as though they were the skin of some impossibly delicate fruit.
I only looked up when the first glint of gold was revealed. Now I had his attention, all right.
'Is that what I think it is, Damasco?'
'If you think it's the royal crown of Altapasaeda,' I said, 'the one object that could consolidate Castilio Mounteban's authority over the city beyond doubt or question, then yes, it's what you think it is.'
'How did you… no, that's a redundant question. You're a thief and, as I've observed more than once now, improbably lucky. Let that be explanation enough. Give it to me now.'
I picked up the crown with my good left hand — but instead of passing it to Synza, I held my arm straight out behind me. 'I could do that,' I said. 'Or I could just let go.'
'Not before I got to you.'
'Maybe.'
'And not without abandoning your only hope of bargaining for your life.'
'Is that what we're doing, then?' I asked. 'Bargaining?'
'Perhaps we are.' His tone was grudging.
I shifted closer to the edge. 'I think I'm going to need something a little more definite than 'perhaps'.'
'It's all you'll get with such transparent bluffing.'
'You're really willing to chance it?'
'Perfectly so.'
This wasn't going well. Then again, what had I expected? Synza was right. I was bluffing, it was obvious, and it was getting me nowhere. I was tempted to hurl the crown off the cliff, just to reclaim a shred of dignity before my inevitable demise.
The thought must have shown in my face — because unexpectedly, Synza said, 'Since the advantage is in every way mine, however, why take chances? Bring it to me, and we'll discuss the possibility of your continuing existence.'
'What guarantee do I have?'
Synza sighed with mock weariness. 'None at all. I could make you a promise you'd have no reason to believe, if it would make you feel better. You have my word that we'll discuss the matter. It's all you'll get.'
Fair enough. I had no intention of giving him the crown anyway. I just wanted to get closer, while anger and frustration were blunting his killer instincts. The crown might not be heavy, exactly, but it had some heft. Anyway, this was my one and only option. Synza would certainly spot an attack, probably faster than I could conceive it. His knife would be acquainting itself with my guts in a flash. It was a chance, though. If nothing else, it was a chance.
'With your right hand, please.'
There went my chance.
'I hurt my arm,' I said, sounding even more pathetic than I'd intended. 'It's useless.'
'Nonsense. You've suffered a slight fracture. If you should survive the next few minutes, and if you're careful, it will heal within a week. If you weren't such a coward in the face of pain, you could use it perfectly well.'
I almost asked how he could possibly know such a thing. Then it struck me that if anyone would understand the intricacies of the human body, it was a man who'd spent a lifetime studying how to damage it in imaginative ways.
I tried to flex my fingers. Pain thundered up from them, nailing itself in my shoulder. But my fingers moved, if slightly. I tried again. The pain redoubled. So did the degree of movement. Synza was right, damn him. If I could only endure the excruciation, the arm was useable.
Gritting my teeth, I transferred the crown from my left hand to my right. That meant clasping my fingers all the way, and that meant a rush of liquid fire, as though every drop of blood from the tips of my fingers upwards had spontaneously combusted. I was determined not to give Synza the satisfaction of hearing me scream. However, the whimper I made instead was far from manly.
I kept my arm as outstretched as I could stand. Now the crown was suspended over thin air — and my threat was suddenly far less empty. In fact, it was all I could do not to drop it.
I took a short step forward. Synza put his free hand out. The knife was in his right, forcing him to use his left. One pace would bridge the gap between us.
'I give you the crown and we'll talk?' I asked.
'We'll talk.'
'About you letting me live?'
'Absolutely.' He made no effort to hide his impatience.
I edged forward. 'You promise?'
Synza reached for the crown, still just barely out of his reach. 'I promise.'
I shuffled another short step. 'On Mounteban's life?'
'On Mounteban's…? For the love of…'
I hit him in the face with the crown.
It might have been the weakest blow ever struck by one grown man upon another. It definitely hurt me a thousand times more than it did him. Still, Synza looked inordinately shocked. He licked a trickle of blood from his lower lip. 'Did you really just…?'
I hit him with all my strength. This time, I used my good hand and aimed specifically for his jaw. I felt it crunch like a bag of grit.
'You did.'
He lurched towards me, knife first — or rather, towards where I'd been the barest instant before. Synza wasn't the only one who could move fast when circumstances called for it. Now there was no Easie Damasco where he expected me to be. Now there was only my outstretched leg.
If he'd been even remotely calm, I'd never have got away with it. That made the bewildered anger contorting his face all the more satisfying.
I only got to enjoy it for a moment.
Synza spun into a crouch, in one long-practised defensive movement. It was graceful, elegant — and performed on the verge of a sheer drop. Further, it was a sheer drop that a body had been kicked off not so long ago. The ground was already loose and broken.
Synza realised it just before I did. But not in time to stop himself. A hunk of dirt and stone shuddered and sank. It happened to be the only thing supporting his left foot. The chunk of cliff edge tore free in an explosion of dirt, and disappeared.
Synza's foot followed. Then his leg. Then the rest of him.
