of keeping his name quiet.'
I was beginning to see why Alvantes was so worried.
Combined, the household retainers of the many wealthy northern families numbered in the hundreds. Working apart, they'd always kept each other in check. Working together, they amounted to a military force perhaps half the size of the one Moaradrid had invaded with, and considerably better trained and equipped.
Add to that Altapasaeda's sizable criminal underground and the dregs of Moaradrid's army. Now have them put aside their differences in favour of some common goal. What did that leave you?
It left an army.
And if that army was guided by a single individual, there was a good chance we'd done nothing but exchange one would-be tyrant for another.
'Whoever he is, he's smart,' said Alvantes, breaking in upon my thoughts. 'Keeping the city bottled up will make the families even more paranoid, and everyone on the outside too.' He glanced behind him, as though he could somehow see the city through the intervening wood. 'It seems the only concrete answers lie within those walls.'
'Getting inside would be tricky,' said Navare. 'I'd try it myself, but if they caught me and traced me back to the guard…'
'Yes. That could prove difficult. Better to keep our presence secret for as long as we can.'
'They'll be watching the bridge and the wharfs.'
'I think there's a way. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it might work. It would take someone who knew the city, who was familiar with its seamier side. Someone with contacts on the inside, who could pass unnoticed. Someone…'
'Hey,' I said. 'Stop looking at me like that.'
For Alvantes's eyes were firmly fixed on me, and everyone else's had swung to follow. 'Why, Damasco?' he said. 'You wanted to spend a night in Altapasaeda so badly. Now here's your chance.'
CHAPTER TWO
'I get it, I really do. Coalition of dangerous forces, shadowy figure lurking in background pulling strings. I've followed all that. It's quite a problem you have here, Alvantes. Do you know what else I followed? It isn't my problem.'
Estrada looked at me in horror. 'Damasco… if Altapasaeda's in trouble, it's everyone's problem.'
'You see, I'd swear I just covered that point. Alvantes's, yes. Mine, not at all. Not yours, either, Estrada, and definitely not Saltlick's. I say, back off, let the dust settle. There's a fair chance the families and the gangs will fall out and kill each other off, probably sooner rather than later. The streets might run red for a day or two, but after that everything will go back to normal. They'll welcome you with open arms, Alvantes. You can be the hero of the hour.'
Not one of the faces turned on mine showed any hint of agreement. Saltlick's bemused smile came closest, but I was confident it meant he simply wasn't following the conversation. How could they be so stupid? Altapasaeda was like an hysterical child; always wailing over something, only to forget it the moment a new threat or annoyance distracted its minuscule attention. This current crisis, whatever its true nature, was bound to pass the same way.
Well, I wasn't about to let weight of numbers convince me to sign on for Alvantes's suicide plan. I'd started off with flat refusal; moved through anger, abuse, self-ridicule; listed the failings that made me so unsuited to the job; returned to stubborn negation; spent half an hour cataloguing the deficiencies in his logic… on and on, until I began to suspect I'd win by simply dying of exhaustion.
No such luck. Now I only had one argument left — the most obvious, the one I'd found myself shying away from again and again. 'The fact is, Alvantes, I'm through jeopardising my life to solve other people's problems. I'm leaving.'
'I can't stop you,' said Alvantes.
'That's right. You can't.'
'But I can make sure that bag of stolen coins you've been carrying around doesn't go with you.'
I winced. 'It's mine. I've earned it.' And I had. Stealing from half a dozen of Panchetto's guests in a single night had been no easy feat.
'A room full of guardsmen says different.'
There it was, as inevitable as dying. There was a basic incompatibility in how Alvantes and I viewed the world, and the bag of money in my pocket was a prime example of that. I couldn't leave without it. I couldn't walk away empty-handed. Doing that meant returning to the life I'd been leading — a life that had left me desperate enough to try stealing food from a notoriously homicidal invading warlord.
'This is the last time,' I said. 'This cleans the slate. You don't throw my past in my face. You forget about the money. If I do this, Alvantes, it gets you off my back until the end of time.'
It was all the more frustrating that he didn't even pause to consider. 'All right,' he said. 'A clean slate.'
'And the coin stays with me. I might need it in there.'
'You keep a quarter. The rest back when you return with answers.'
'A third. Anything I spend in bribes, you refund.'
'Agreed.'
Far too late, I saw it. Alvantes had known how this conversation would end before he'd ever started it. Moreover, whatever the reasons he'd given for choosing me, it was the one he hadn't said that clinched it. Guardsmen's lives mattered. Mine was expendable.
I felt the first fluttering of panic. Here, then, was the price of my future. One last gamble. One final job.
In my line of work, those never went well.
We'd waited through the remainder of the night and the next day. The hours had passed interminably. I'd slept a little, in bursts that always ended with me starting awake, heart vibrating with vague fear. Navare had fed us, but I'd hardly tasted the watery stew he'd served up, or managed to stomach very much of it. Alvantes's men went out in small groups throughout the day, no doubt to listen for news from within the city. No one spoke much. Even Saltlick, sitting hunched in a corner, looked moody and dejected.
I was almost glad when the time came. Risking my neck couldn't be worse than another minute in that cramped and increasingly ill-smelling room. My relief lasted fully as long as it took Alvantes to insist he be the one to accompany me. Anyone else would have had the decency at least to pretend they weren't keeping tabs on me.
Even long after dark, the Suburbs were a riot of activity. Drinking, gambling and whoring were by far the most popular local activities, and none of those suffered from a lack of daylight. I hoped no one noticed the frown of disgust Alvantes wore beneath his hood as we wandered through the narrow, torchlit streets.
As it turned out, however, no one seemed eager to pay us any attention. Everyone we passed was conspicuously keeping to themselves, and looked shiftier than was required even for the Suburbs. Time and again, I noticed how their eyes darted towards the looming city walls.
'They're nervous,' I whispered to Alvantes, when no one was close. 'Scared of the city.'
'Perhaps they're right to be.'
It was busier still by the waterside, for that was where the majority of drinking dens were to be found. Away from those havens of local culture, however, the din of shouted conversation died to a murmur. It wasn't too difficult to find a spot where we were out of sight — which made stealing a boat that much easier.
'We're not stealing,' muttered Alvantes. 'We're borrowing.'
'That distinction means a lot to you, doesn't it?'
'More than it ever has to you.'
Many of the Suburb-dwellers kept decrepit coracles and rowboats, for communing with passing river barges and fishing useful debris from the Casto Mara. We settled for a mould-blackened skiff that looked as though it might at least last the night. Even then, it floated much as a drunkard would walk, and leaked more than seemed reasonable.
