Alvantes leaned close to me. 'We should never have left her here.'
There was no denying it now. I'd thought there was nothing Estrada couldn't handle — but whatever was going on in Muena Palaiya, whatever had cast this pall over the place, it felt too big for any one person to handle.
Well past the centre of town, our guides veered into the narrow side streets. I followed hesitantly, nervous that this wasn't an area I knew. As far as I could judge, we were close to the southern gate, in the region reserved for trades that serviced Muena Palaiya behind the scenes. Here were slaughterhouses, warehouses, tanning and drying sheds — and if memory served, somewhere in one of its less noxious portions, the mayoral offices.
We came eventually to a narrow courtyard. In it stood a large building, considerably higher than the single- storey constructions round about and built of white-daubed stone, like almost everything in Muena Palaiya. It had evidently once been a grain barn, for there were still traces of ancient seed ground into the mud round its large double doors. Two men, dressed like our guides, stood guard upon those doors.
There was a brief, hushed conference. The guard who'd spoken from the gates ducked inside, leaving the other three to watch us hawkishly. A minute later, he returned and said, 'Go in. Your horses will be safe with these fine gentlemen.'
One of the door guards sniggered into his fist, as though this was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. His colleague scowled at him, marched forward and snatched the reins from us. I patted my horse's neck as he was led away, and fell in behind Alvantes. The two who'd brought us entered first, and we kept close behind them.
Since the outside was to all intents and purposes a barn, my expectations hadn't been high for the interior. Therefore, it was a shock to discover something more akin to a mansion house than a dilapidated seed store. Then again, the more I looked, the more the analogy that fit best was to a high-class brothel. Rugs and lush carpets were scattered everywhere, tapestried hangings hid most of the walls, lamps of iron and brightly coloured glass hung from the rafters, and tables had been scattered through the space apparently at random, many burdened with statuettes and varied ornaments.
Yet, while everything was obviously expensive, the arrangement had been done without a hint of taste or logic. All the evidence pointed to a desire to create the impression of wealth, without any actual understanding of its benefits.
Once I'd recovered from the decor, the first thing I noticed was the presence of more thugs at intervals round the room, lounging on chairs or lolling against walls. Each was dressed in guardsman's livery and every one was looking in our direction.
My gaze roved on. A platform had been erected at the end of the room, the hasty carpentry disguised by yet more rugs. Two chairs had been set on the raised tier, one large and ornate enough almost to qualify as a throne, the other plain and more discreet.
Upon the larger chair sat a man I dimly recognised. He had a gargantuan head and body, from which hung disproportionately small arms and legs that dangled over the edges as a child's would. His jowly moon of a face was rimmed with beard and slicked hair that failed to hide either his grotesqueness or his considerable bald patch.
Beside him, on the smaller chair, sat Marina Estrada.
Alvantes saw her as I did. He jerked forward three abrupt steps — to the obvious alarm of our handlers and their cronies around the room. I caught up quickly and grasped his elbow, trying by movements of my head to indicate how hopelessly outnumbered we were.
Whether or not he understood, Alvantes covered the remaining distance at a steadier pace. 'Marina. Are you all right?'
Estrada smiled wanly. 'Better for seeing you,' she said.
'Has this creature harmed you? Is he holding you here against your will?'
The fat man cleared his throat — a greasy, molten sound. The way he occupied the overlarge chair had already made me think of a basking toad, and the impression was made a hundred times worse when I heard the flat croak that was his voice. 'I assure you,' he said, 'that my co-mayor has not been molested in any fashion.'
Alvantes ignored him. 'We're getting out of here,' he told Estrada.
'Guard-Captain Alvantes, I assure you that whatever you imagine this situation to be, the truth is quite otherwise.'
Only then did Alvantes acknowledge the fat man's presence. 'Guiso Lupa. Nothing you've done since the day your mother spat you out was innocent. Will you try to stop me taking this woman from here?'
Of course. That was why I knew him. Lupa had run one of the larger gangs in Altapasaeda, with an emphasis on extortion and prostitution. Before Alvantes had clamped down on the city's thriving crime scene, he'd operated quite openly. In the years since, he'd kept hidden, and his name had dropped from common parlance.
In many ways, he was Altapasaeda's version of Castilio Mounteban. Both had been notorious criminals supposedly cowed into retirement by law and order. From what I'd heard of Lupa, though, he was in many ways worse, with no time for refinements like diplomacy or restraint. He was also famously stupid, with none of Mounteban's guile.
However limited his gifts of character might be, though, Lupa was keeping his patience well in the face of Alvantes's radiating contempt. 'Please, Guard-Captain. While we're certainly glad of your visit, I ask that you mind your tone. Not for my benefit of course, but for that of my men. They can be sometimes overenthusiastic in their desire to serve me.'
'Lunto,' said Estrada, her voice taut, 'I'm not some horse, to be led out by the nose. Please calm down.'
Alvantes looked wounded. 'What is this?'
'As he's tried to explain, Guiso has been… assisting… with the reconstruction of Muena Palaiya.' Estrada's voice was a numbed monotone, as convincing as a bored huckster's. 'He kindly offered the service of his employees to fill the diminished ranks of our guardsmen.'
Translation: Guiso Lupa had seen an opportunity and exploited it, just as Mounteban had. It was no coincidence. An image flashed through my mind; Mounteban as a bulbous spider spinning his web through every crack and corner of the Castoval.
'So you see,' inserted Lupa, 'we're all friends here. And as it so happens, your arrival is fortuitous. Since I left Altapasaeda to offer my assistance here, I've received instruction from Governor Mounteban.'
'Governor?' Alvantes fairly spat the word.
'Indeed. Amongst other matters, he asked that I convey his greetings should we ever meet, and that I pass on how interested he'd be in speaking with you.'
'And what does Governor Mounteban imagine we have to talk about?'
Lupa gave a gelatinous cough. 'He believes your presence would be a — shall we say, calming influence in the current affairs of Altapasaeda. Further, he feels the city would benefit if you were to resume your vacant position. Perhaps not in quite so unrestricted a fashion, but otherwise much as you're accustomed to.' Lupa turned hooded eyes in my direction. 'In return, he would guarantee that neither you nor your… associates… should fall afoul of any unfortunate misunderstandings that might arise from recent events.'
Alvantes's face left no doubt of what his reply was about to be. If I could see it, the dangerous men lurking in the shadows, fingers already resting on blade hilts, could too. I caught his arm once again, dug my fingers deep, and did my best to hang on under the look of fury he turned on me.
'Alvantes has endured a lot of late,' I said, 'and is more than usually quick-tempered. Lest he should answer rashly, perhaps we could take a little time to confer?'
'Absolutely,' agreed Lupa, sounding more relieved than anything. 'Take as long as you need.'
'Also, we left some friends waiting outside town. We should let them know we're safe and that all's well.'
'Friends?' It was startling how suddenly Lupa's solicitousness turned to open suspicion.
'Peasants we met on the road,' I said quickly. 'You know how it is.'
'I can't say I do.'
'If we're going to deal,' inserted Alvantes with unexpected calm, 'you'd do better not to doubt our word.'
'Not yours,' replied Lupa, his pinprick eyes darting between us. 'No, not yours, Guard-Captain. Of course… who am I to keep you from these peasant acquaintances of yours? And in return, I'm sure you wouldn't mind one of my men accompanying you?'
'Not so long as he doesn't mind having his throat cut.'
For a moment, Lupa looked as though Alvantes had spat in his face. He recovered quickly. 'No, no. Quite
