to his bloodied lip. Almost within striking distance of each other, the two stood gasping.
'Stop this!'
All eyes were drawn inexorably to the courtyard's gateway — and to Estrada, who stood in the gap there. Beside her, the guardsman Godares glanced apologetically towards Alvantes.
Again, calm but adamantine, Estrada shouted, 'Stop it, the pair of you.'
'Keep out of this, Marina.' There was urgency in Alvantes's voice.
Ignoring him, Estrada addressed herself to Mounteban instead. 'You must realise you can't win, Castilio.'
Mounteban took a step back from Alvantes, his sword levelled. 'Can't win? I can't possibly lose, Marina. You're bluffing and you know it.'
'Put your sword down,' Estrada told him. 'You won't be harmed.'
'Ha! The streets of Altapasaeda are thick with my men. They'll be here at any moment. If you kill me, you'll never make it out alive. If you capture me, you can't hold me.'
'Give it up… this whole mad plot of yours. Come back to Muena Palaiya. Go back to your bar. Help me repair the damage that creature of yours did to our town.' She flashed a glance of utter hate at Lupa, who almost lost his grip on the rooftop as his face flushed with fear.
'Is that your proposal?' asked Mounteban. 'Then here's mine. Alvantes, the offer I passed you through Lupa was meant in earnest. Altapasaeda needs a city guard, and no one will ever trust me to provide it.'
'My first act as Guard-Captain would be to have your head for treason.'
'Then you're a damn fool. What about you, Marina? I'll give you Muena Palaiya back, and no Lupa this time. That was always my intention anyway, once you'd had time to adjust to our new Castoval. Why can't the pair of you listen to sense? Everything can return to the way it was — but better this time, and in our hands.'
Estrada made no attempt to hide her disgust. 'You've made yourself into a tyrant. How could you ever imagine I'd work with you?'
'Oh, Marina. I'm a tyrant? Not that brat Panchetto, who bled this city dry to overload his tables? Not his parasite father, the King who's never cared one whit for his subjects? All I've done is make the Castoval into what you wanted it to be.'
'What?' Now Estrada looked genuinely taken aback. 'That's absurd.'
'Is it really? I know you'll never care for me, Marina. I accepted that long ago. Still, I'd hope you could see the gift I've been preparing for you. A city run by and for its people. A Castoval led by Castovalians. A republic where once there was only oppression.'
'Will you really stand there pretending you did this for me?'
'Think about what I've said,' Mounteban told her. 'Perhaps one day you'll understand. And if you change your mind, you'll know where to find me. In the meantime — leave my city now and I'll make sure you do so safely.'
As though that were the matter settled, Mounteban began to back towards the gate. His bodyguard edged to block the space between him and Alvantes, and then they swung to follow, the cart clattering in their wake, leaving Estrada and Godares no choice but to move hurriedly aside.
'Damn you!' cried Alvantes, 'don't you walk away from me.'
'What about me?' wailed Lupa from his rooftop.
Mounteban ignored them both. He disappeared, as the half-opened gates hid him from view. A moment later and even the bulk of the cart had vanished.
Alvantes hurried after, his face a snarl of rage. Navare and the remaining guardsmen came close on his heels. Watching them rush by, fear caught in my throat and refused to budge. It might have been the fact that they were charging into a fight they were sure to lose. Yet my feet were moving — because along with that suffocating fear came almost irresistible curiosity. I had to know what came next. It was as though we'd arrived at a precipice, and there was nothing left to do but fall. I was practically sprinting by the time I cleared the gates.
There were Mounteban and his men, crowded into and around their cart.
There were Alvantes and his small troop, already almost caught up.
There, ahead of them all, was Mounteban's army.
It was just as he'd promised. The street was thronged with his men. The courtyard backed onto White Corn Road, which joined with the main street running from the north-west gate, and I'd no doubt that the approaching throng were the defenders who'd been gathered there. Now, realising the giant attack for the sham it had been, hearing that the guardsmen's assault on the west gate had ended almost before it had begun, they'd come hunting for a real threat.
Some were evidently lowlifes from the city gangs, some retainers from the families; a few were leftovers of Moaradrid's invasion. But those signs of old allegiances were fading now, and these men were no longer a rabble. In a mere few days, Mounteban had turned them into a real city guard. All wore armour be neath their matching crimson cloaks; all bore weapons appropriate to their function.
Moreover, they outnumbered our tiny band fifty to one — and Alvantes's men were already dead on their feet. If it came to a fight… but then, it wouldn't. Because many of them had bows, and we hadn't a shield between us. The best I could hope for was that Alvantes and Estrada hadn't completely blown our slim hopes of surrender — or failing that, for a quick and unexpected death.
All of which begged the question: why did this approaching army look so scared?
Only then did it occur to me that what I'd taken for the tumult of marching feet must be something more. Even so many men couldn't have made the noise I was hearing, the roar of storm-tossed waves pounding a granite shore. As it grew closer, the very stones beneath my feet began to quiver. In nearby buildings, shutters rattled in their frames.
The mob didn't slow as they drew near. They hardly seemed aware of us, or even of Mounteban. These men weren't attacking us. They weren't rushing to Mounteban's aid. They were fleeing for their lives.
They broke around us like white water round rocks, flew past as if we were invisible. I did my best to shield my face and plant my feet against the cobbles, terrified I'd be swept away and trampled. All I could hear besides the thrash of feet and clatter of armour was Mounteban screaming, 'Stop, you fools! Stop! How many times did I tell you? They won't fight! They can't hurt you!'
On and on he bellowed, his voice somehow rising above the cacophony. I didn't see one man even pause to listen. Only when the giants tumbled into view did he finally quieten — and for all he'd said, the fear was clear in his eyes.
Saltlick, of course, stood at their head. His mock armour, sheets of cheap painted board strung together with frayed rope, was ragged and studded with arrows. The first drab rays of morning sun struck glints from the crown around his neck, lighting his broad face from below.
'This wasn't the plan,' I told him.
Saltlick smiled toothily, picked a splinter of what could only have been the north-western gate from his shoulder. 'New plan.'
'That isn't how these things work!' I said. 'You can't just…'
Can't just…?
Just spot a chance to turn a double bluff into an outright victory? I'd hoped the defenders would recognise the giant assault for the ruse it was; I'd gambled they'd assume the guardsmen's assault on the west gate was the real threat, when in truth it was every bit as much a diversion. What I hadn't considered was how that would leave the north-west gate undefended — or that, while the giants might not fight, nothing in their moral code forbade them to smash a defenceless barrier to smithereens.
I hadn't. Saltlick had.
'You couldn't have timed it better,' I said.
Saltlick's grin threatened to split his head in two. But all he said was, 'Help friends.'
'You have. You really have.'
If proof were needed, Mounteban provided it amply. He stood alone now. Even his entourage of bodyguards were gone. Even the cart had been carried away in the rush of fleeing bodies. However much loyalty he'd bought, bullied or cajoled, it didn't extend to facing down a hundred giants.
Alvantes's battered guardsmen had already moved to surround him. Now, Alvantes himself stepped forward. 'Here's one last deal for you, Mounteban,' he said. 'Help repair the damage you've done, help weed out the vermin you've set up in unearned positions of power — and maybe, just maybe, you'll live out your life.'
