any rate.'
'I haven't seen you at the other conferences,' he replied, struggling for something approaching authority.
'I've been caught up in some business. Only just found time to get in on the act.'
My new companion looked nervous. 'I can't imagine he liked that.'
'Oh, he was understanding. We go way back.'
He looked at me with mingled horror and respect. Then, catching himself, he said, 'Well, no time to waste, eh?'
'No time at all,' I agreed.
He hurried on, and I paced nonchalantly beside him, as though it were the most natural thing in the world that we'd be taking a stroll together through the nocturnal streets. Still, I couldn't think of anything in the way of casual conversation that would be in keeping with my tough-guy act. I was glad when we turned into a side road and he exclaimed, with a nervous laugh, 'Well, here we are.'
I pulled my hood up and dropped back, just out of sight of my companion but close enough that anyone would assume we were together. One hint of trouble and I'd run. That was the length and breadth of my plan — one whisper of suspicion and I'd flee as I'd never fled before.
Ahead, an open gateway led into one of the smaller estates. Three men stood on guard. I tried not to look at them too closely. Nevertheless, it was easy to see what they represented. One was a uniformed family retainer, the second a scimitar-armed northerner with a beaded mane of hair and beard, the third an anonymous thug of the kind the city was so well stocked with. In short, they perfectly embodied the three factions involved in Altapasaeda's sudden change of fortunes.
My companion hurried forward, only to nearly trip over his feet before the guards. 'Lord Rufio Eldunzi. Of the family Eldunzi.'
'Boss said come alone,' grunted the thug, with a tilt of the head in my direction.
'Oh no,' stuttered Eldunzi, 'he's, ah…'
I was ready to flee — more than ready. Yet at the last moment, words came bubbling unsummoned from my mouth. 'Don't mind him, my lord,' I said. 'He's just a lowlife with ideas above his station.'
Suddenly, it was all very simple. The thug would kill me on the spot, or else he'd back down. It all depended on how high the weak-kneed cretin beside me featured in the pecking order. If he was some nobody lordling hanging off the bottom of the invite list, I was as good as dead.
''Pologies, milord. Go on in.'
I don't know who was more relieved, me or Eldunzi — but I'd like to think I hid it better. Eldunzi practically sprinted down the gravelled carriageway, while I did my best to follow at a reasonable pace. He ignored a grandiose coach house and the manor's porticoed main entrance, carried on towards a smaller doorway. As he ducked inside, I was close on his heels.
Within, a long hall was lit by flickering oil lamps set around the walls. Benches had been set up in the main space and were already almost full. Perhaps forty persons occupied those seats, and despite the copious cushions, not one of them looked comfortable.
I was glad when Eldunzi settled for a place near the back. I slipped in beside him, letting my gaze follow his towards the head of the room. A low stage had been erected there, and on it stood a half-dozen men. None of them looked like the sort I'd willingly tangle with, but even amidst that unsavoury crowd, one stood out — a king rat amongst lesser vermin. He was poised before a podium, clearly preparing to speak to the assembly.
I recognised him — though I'd many a reason to wish I didn't.
What I'd told my newfound companion was true. I really did know our host from way back. First as a supposedly ex-criminal barkeeper. Then as an unlikely resistance fighter. Most recently, as betrayer of his companions, myself included, to a certain invading warlord.
He was the last person in the world who should have been on that stage. Yet I didn't feel any surprise, just a nauseating sense of inevitability.
How had Castilio Mounteban come to be running Altapasaeda?
CHAPTER THREE
Mounteban was imposing; I had to give him that.
He'd always been a bear of a man, and though I was sure some of that bulk must be fat these days, he wore it exactly like muscle. He was dressed plainly, in black cotton shirt and trousers that looked more impressive on him than any fine silks could have. His beard was tidier than I'd seen it, a neat wedge hiding his bullish neck. Even his eyepatch of polished leather was new, and spat back the firelight more arrestingly than any real eye.
All told, he dominated the stage — and given the men there with him, that was no mean feat. I recognised them from the time we'd once travelled together, fleeing Muena Palaiya with Moaradrid on our heels. They were something approaching a bodyguard, seasoned professionals at inflicting bodily harm, and each exuded an air of violence uniquely his own.
The one my gaze kept being drawn to, however, was the one making least effort to be noticed. If I hadn't expected him, I might easily have missed his presence. Uncommonly short, improbably thin, he was altogether too innocuous. He sank into the gloom as though it was where he belonged, found shadows where they had no right to exist in a brightly lit hall.
If I remembered rightly, Mounteban had called him Synza. When I'd known him, he'd been acting as a scout, but I'd known from the moment I saw him that his true proclivities lay elsewhere. Synza was a killer of a more subtle sort than his companions: the kind you turned to when you didn't want the bodies inconveniently floating up out of the river; the kind you called in when something more refined than horrible bludgeoning was called for.
Frankly, just being in the same room as him scared me silly.
An explosive throat-clearing drew my grateful eyes away from Synza. 'Thank you for coming here,' Mounteban said. 'I see you all followed my suggestion and came without your usual retinues. I trust you each had a safe journey regardless. Because the streets of Altapasaeda have never been safer than they are tonight.'
A tense round of applause pattered up and down the room.
'Why are you clapping?' asked Mounteban, his tone abruptly frigid.
The applause died instantly, replaced with a silence that would have turned a pin drop into a thunderclap.
'The credit is your own!' Mounteban cried — and the room heaved such a collective sigh of relief that every light wavered in its cresset. 'In less than a week, you've won a peace for yourselves the likes of which Panchetto and the guard could never have delivered. How did you achieve this marvel, which decades of royal rule and guard brutality failed to achieve? By embracing new allies. By setting aside meaningless differences.'
Mounteban paused to survey the gathering. Instinctively, I dipped my head, let the hood fall further over my face. One hand braced on the edge of my seat, I tensed to run.
I only had to reach the door. I was fast on my feet, and fear always made me faster. Only get out the door and I could outrun anyone. Get out, carry what I knew to Alvantes, take my money, and I could walk away from this damned mess.
I felt his eyes. A word, a hint he'd recognised me and I'd be moving. Just a breath out of place. The muscles in my calves were so tense I thought they'd explode.
Was he still looking at me? If he was, it was all over. I dared to roll my eyes up, twitched the hood a fraction back…
Mounteban's attention was fixed at a point two rows ahead and to my left. 'Lord Purda,' he said, 'you inherited a fortune built by clothmaking and wineries. Black-Eyed Rico, you made your money in extortion and burglary. What difference does that make in the end? You're both men of wealth, of power.'
Lord Purda looked particularly uncomfortable at this comparison, while the man named Black-Eyed Rico smirked and giggled.
'I mean no disrespect to the memory of Prince Panchetto. Still, his legacy is clear. By imposing a regime based on privilege and outmoded tradition, by insisting upon an obsolete social order, he held every one of you
