However, the man had a boat. As much as I didn't like it, he offered a way out.
Alvantes and Anterio conducted their discussion out of view, behind the tarpaulin-covered mounds of whatever unpleasant cargo Anterio was currently hauling. Their conversation seemed to go on for an unreasonably long time. All the while, I was increasingly aware that my presence was drawing attention. Likely, it was only the local underclass's trained response to anyone in uniform, but it was hard not to feel conspicuous. Ragged uniforms were the kind of thing that stuck in the memory when people came asking questions.
Just as I was starting to give up hope, Alvantes and Anterio materialised on my side of the boat.
Anterio cleared his throat and glowered at me. 'The guard-captain assures me you'll receive due and thorough punishment once he's returned you to the Castoval,' he said. 'That being the case, you may come aboard. Still, you're a vile reprobate, and I won't trust you one jot.'
'You have a point there,' I agreed. 'I doubt there's a viler reprobate between here and Altapasaeda. Very good of you, Captain, to help make sure I get my just desserts.'
Anterio looked me up and down, trying and failing to judge if I was mocking him. 'Quite right,' he said. 'Best hurry then.'
I trotted up the gangplank. As soon as I was on deck, Alvantes pressed past me. 'I'm going to get rid of the horses,' he said. I assumed he meant sell them, though his manner left some doubt.
What composure Anterio had managed to recover vanished once more. 'You're leaving him here?' he asked. 'Unguarded?'
'You'll be safe enough,' said Alvantes.
'It's not myself I'm worried for,' replied Anterio darkly. 'More that I mightn't be able to keep from shoving him overboard.'
'I'm sure you'll restrain yourself.'
Alvantes's tone offered no room for argument. Anterio nodded dumbly.
Still, I felt I should do something to alleviate his concerns — especially if the alternative was a swim in the filthy water lapping the boat's flank. Talking was unlikely to improve matters, so I sat down instead, and swung my feet above the scummy surface of the river.
It didn't help. Whenever I looked up, Anterio was staring fretfully. Each time he caught my eye, he tried to turn his expression to one of menace, which only served to make him look unbearably constipated. On the third occasion, he noticed that the two boys who shared the boat with him — sons, I'd assumed, though it was hard to see any resemblance — were spying from the stern. Anterio waved them away and fell to pacing, with such energy that the vessel shuddered bow to stern.
I willed Alvantes to hurry. If Anterio wound himself up any further, one or both of us was bound to get a dunking.
When Alvantes did finally return, it was from the opposite direction, and the first I knew was the sound of his footsteps on the gangplank. My nerves were so frayed by then that it was all I could do to keep my perch on the boat's side.
'Those were royal horses,' I said, trying to sound jovial. 'I hope you got a handsome price.'
Alvantes scowled and said nothing.
'Best be casting off,' called Anterio to the two boys. It was evident Alvantes's black mood was only adding to his jitteriness.
One boy hopped ashore to free the rope that held us moored, then dashed back up the gangplank and hauled it in behind him, a feat of agility obviously perfected through long practise. The other, meanwhile, having shoved us clear of the docks with a wide-bladed oar, hurried to take the tiller. He swung us in a wide arc, until we'd matched the direction of the river's lazy flow.
'We need to get out of view,' Alvantes told Anterio. 'They may be watching the river junction.'
I hadn't thought to wonder where we'd be passing our time during the journey. Only now did it strike me that the possibilities were distinctly limited.
Apart from its inimitable odour, Anterio's craft was much like any other that plied the broad inland waters of the Castoval and Ans Pasaeda. They were wide and shallow-bottomed, propelled by the currents where possible, by sail when the elements chose to play along, or in desperate circumstances, by oar. The result was a method of transport that had long ago become a byword for inefficiency.
The only shelter on Anterio's boat was a tiny structure, too low to stand up in, rising from the tip of the stern. That must be where Anterio and the two boys slept on colder nights, presumably piled atop each another. Excepting a band across its middle where the mast stood, all the remaining space was filled with Anterio's rank cargo. In short, there was no room for us except the narrow perimeter of deck, and certainly nowhere we'd be hidden from sight.
'This way,' said Anterio, beckoning towards the back of the boat. Catching his eye, I saw a twinkle I definitely didn't like. He paused just before the tiny shelter and with a few vigorous kicks, forced back the edge of the tarpaulin. His efforts revealed a narrow trapdoor; he reached to pluck up a ring laid in its surface and drew it open.
There was only darkness in the cavity beneath — wet, cramped, impossibly foul-smelling darkness.
Now I understood how he'd managed to restrain himself from trying to kick me into the river. Compared to what he'd had in mind, it would have been an act of mercy.
• • • •
What followed were the worst three days of my oftmiserable life.
Three days in blackness, nostrils and throat and lungs filled to bursting with the stink of rotting vegetables. Three days in silence, alleviated only by the ancient craft's creaking threats of disintegration, the stifled noises from on deck and brief periods at dawn and dusk when Anterio let us out to eat. Three days wishing that repulsive boat would finally sink, wishing we'd be found by the King's troops, wishing I'd go mad — longing for anything that would alleviate that interminable torment.
The King's interrogator would have been in awe of Anterio's efforts. The most imaginative sadist couldn't have invented a more hideous torture. The pain in my arm, which had been steadily diminishing since Alvantes splinted it, grew to epic proportions in the boat's cramped hold. The immobilised appendage throbbed and itched abominably — and if reason told me that meant it was healing, reason wasn't enough to stop me wanting to chew it off to end my suffering.
Worse even than the pain, however, was the boredom. Or rather, the boredom made everything else a hundred times more intolerable. Without relief or distraction, all that was left was to dwell on every minuscule detail of my discomfort. In comparison with the inside of Anterio's boat, the sewers of Altapasaeda had been a paradise; the King's dungeon had been the height of luxury. I mentally replayed every hardship I'd ever endured, wondering how I'd ever let myself be discomposed by such harmless provocations.
In short, it was almost a relief when the soldiers came.
I was vexing myself with thoughts of the many things I might have done with my two gold coins when the shouting started. I didn't know how far downriver we were. Even during our limited deck time, conversation had been scant. Neither Alvantes nor Anterio had volunteered any information, and I'd been too busy trying to eat without gagging to ask. If we'd been unlucky with the wind, we might only be halfway to the border. However, I had a feeling, perhaps based on some remembered shoreside detail I'd glimpsed, that we were closer than that.
Mouldering wood and foul produce muffled the raised voices. One I recognised as Anterio's. The other, more distant but nearly as loud, I assumed to be coming from the bank or a neighbouring vessel. The two exchanged half a dozen abrupt sentences. Then the timbers groaned with a new note; the noise of the water roundabout changed from a swish to a dull slap.
We were turning against the current — heading towards the bank.
The sounds from outside seemed to grow clearer. I thought I could differentiate Anterio's slow tread from the quick tap-tap his sons made as they scurried back and forth. I recognised the whoosh of the boat's mooring rope being hurled into wet grass. There was more shouting, not quite so loud this time, and the distinctive creak of the gangplank.
Then came the thud of booted feet.
I counted. The gangplank gave a particular groan whenever anyone crossed its midpoint. A dozen feet. Six men.
Even Alvantes couldn't handle six men. Not singlehandedly — and especially not now that he was single-
