I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready for something like this.
'Let's just get it over with,' I said.
Alvantes caught my eye — and did I see the faintest flash of something that might conceivably have been respect? Then his gaze darted once more across the gathered faces, weighing each of his men, lingering lastly on Estrada.
'All right. Like the man said… let's finish this.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The city had grown quiet, at least compared with its earlier uproar. As we skulked through the alleys, the fact of the giants' withdrawal became more evident with each passing moment.
Saltlick's instruction had been to disguise their retreat until the very last instant. With Mounteban's ragtag defenders already panicking, any movement on the giants' part was bound to look like a ruse at first, and to send them into further fits of alarm. Increasingly, though, the shouts that drifted to us over the rooftops of Altapasaeda had one note in common: exultation. By the time we drew close to the Dancing Cat, there was no question of it. The distant clamour had settled to the gleeful celebration of men who believed they'd somehow managed to drive monsters back from their walls.
Soon enough it must occur to them that so halfhearted an attack looked a lot like a diversion. How long after that before someone thought to wonder what they were being diverted from? And if anyone were too quick to draw those obvious conclusions, it would go very badly for us.
Lucky then that we had one last card up our sleeve.
Another uproar arose to the west. Though fainter this time, drawn thin by distance, in all other respects it sounded much like the last uproar. Its base rhythm was of hoof beats, a great many. Its high notes were two screams in close succession, followed by distant thuds. If I'd had to guess, I'd have identified those as the last moments of two men falling from on high, probably with arrows stuck in them for good measure.
To anyone curious as to what they'd just been encouraged not to see, here was an appropriate answer: Altapasaedan guardsmen mounted on any horse they could beg or borrow, and Castovalian Irregulars with crude battering rams, all charging hard upon the western gate.
What had I told Alvantes, back in Paen Acha? The trick with misdirection is to give them something they expect. If they expect to find something and do, nine times in ten they'll stop looking. Who would have guessed thievery and military strategy had so much in common?
The timing was perfect. Across the street from the alley mouth we'd reached stood the Dancing Cat, a high- class tavern of considerable repute tucked in the band of well-off streets between the upper Market District and the mansions of the South Bank.
It was a long way from Mounteban's previous haunt, the Red-Eyed Dog, in every sense. Yet I found something amusing in the fact that even with an entire city at his fingertips, Mounteban couldn't shake free of old habits. He could have set himself up in any mansion he fancied, perhaps even the palace itself. Nevertheless, here he was, skulking in the back rooms of an inn like the gangster he would always remain at heart.
There were thugs on the door, of course. It wouldn't have been Mounteban without thugs. While their presence was undoubtedly off-putting, at least they provided reassurance that we were in the right place. In addition, they both looked more than a little nervous. If Mounteban's best men were close to soiling their undergarments, there was hope yet.
One, I realised, was the former bouncer of the RedEyed Dog, who I'd stabbed in the leg on my last visit. He obviously hadn't taken that reversal of fortunes as a sign he was in the wrong career.
Perhaps there was time to educate him yet.
I sauntered into the street. 'Good evening. I'm looking for a washed-up crime boss posing as a politician. Could either of you gentlemen point me in the right direction?'
The former bouncer reacted before his colleague. He looked surprised at first, then relieved. Whatever terrors he'd been expecting, one lone and skinny thief wasn't amongst them. By the time he was halfway to me his expression had made its way round to anger, of a very personal sort. He'd finally recognised this particular skinny thief.
'You'd know if you saw him,' I said. 'He gets uglier and fatter by the day. Though he's still not quite so fat or ugly as your…'
The sentence choked in my throat, as the cudgel he'd wielded all those days ago materialised from the folds of his cloak. Its length about halved the distance between us. I tried for a step backward and found my feet more interested in pitching me onto my backside. I hurled my arms up instinctively.
That was a shame, because I almost missed Alvantes cold-cocking the one-time bouncer. It was a perfectly neat blow, the hilt of Alvantes's sword connecting cleanly with the side of his head, and it sent the large man crashing sideways like a bag of grit.
His companion, lagging a little way behind, reacted with astonishing speed. Quicker than I could follow, he had his sword in hand and much of the space to Alvantes already covered. I might have been worried, were it not for Navare keeping silent pace behind him. Still, Navare left it a little longer than I'd have liked before he too struck down his mark, with a sharp tap to the nape of his neck. The second thug went plummeting, to land neatly beside his partner.
'You took your time,' I pointed out.
'Into the alley with them,' hissed Alvantes, ignoring me in favour of the guardsmen lurking in the shadowed thoroughfare behind us. They swarmed round, hoisted the two prone bodies and were gone like a moon shadow.
'When you said distract them,' I added, 'I didn't realise you meant by letting them cave my head in.'
'You're not dead. We were quick enough.'
I had to concede that point. In truth, I knew it was only nerves making me argumentative. Alvantes and Navare had worked their way round through the side streets as quickly as I could have hoped. Everything had gone smoothly. But this had been the easy part. Even getting into the city had been the easy part, compared with what came next.
Behind the grim, black-panelled door of the Dancing Cat? That was the hard part.
'Marina,' said Alvantes, 'you'll stay here. You too, Godares,' he added, signalling one of the guardsmen. 'Stay out of sight. Watch for anyone leaving and mark their direction, but don't follow. No arguments.'
Even by Alvantes's standards, his tone was rigid. Estrada had the sense merely to nod her agreement.
'So do we have a plan?' I asked him.
'Absolutely,' he said.
Alvantes set out at a march towards the door, beckoning his men to fall in around him. By the time I realised this wasn't a prelude to the plan but the plan itself, he was running straight at it. His shoulder struck with a colossal, teeth-rattling thud that rebounded him into the street. Unfazed, he charged again, and again. The door quivered like jelly. On the fourth blow, it sprang inward.
I'd seen Alvantes fight often enough. The Boar of Altapasaeda was strong as his namesake. It wasn't his strength that had done the trick this time, however. A thickset man in a leather jerkin had torn the door open, and held a great club at the ready. It was meant as an ambush — and it might have worked had Alvantes hesitated for even an instant. By the time the door opened he was already halfway through it, and by the time the thickset man realised, Alvantes was through him too. The impact hurled him halfway across the room within, and Alvantes didn't even slow.
His guardsmen were at his heels — and for all I didn't want to be, I was at theirs. I felt like flotsam caught in their wake. Turning back now was impossible.
Close as I was, I couldn't believe how rapidly events had developed inside the Dancing Cat. I was looking at a war boiled to its essence, crammed into a single room. The air was thick with shouts and the clang of blade on blade. Alvantes's handpicked guardsmen had thrown themselves without pause into the combat. Mounteban's handpicked protectors had been ready and waiting. Our side was outnumbered; but in the confines of the densely furnished taproom, they were close-matched.
