drawn in and tied off, as he swung out the gangplank.
'Here we are,' he called. 'Altapasaeda, glorious lady of the south.'
Now was the time for him to put Estrada and Saltlick to shore. It would be a moment's work to cast off and withdraw the plank. We'd be gone before they knew it. But all Anterio did was stand there, hands on hips. When his two boys scampered ashore, he made no move to stop them.
Suspicion got the better of me. I sidled up to him and hissed, 'What's this? What happened to our arrangement?'
Anterio looked at me with disgust. 'What kind of man would try to abandon his pregnant wife and her poor, deformed brother? The lady warned me you'd try something like this.' He pressed four coins into my hand, adding, 'Less one, to teach you a lesson.' Placing a palm on my back, he shoved me roughly down the gangplank.
When I looked back Saltlick was descending, blocking any hope of escape.
I was trapped in Altapasaeda, and there wasn't a thing I could do.
CHAPTER 14
We'd been in Altapasaeda all of three minutes before things started to go wrong.
Captain Anterio had said a deferential goodbye to Estrada, glowered at Saltlick and me, and turned his attention to negotiating with a pair of dockhands. All the while, I'd been working out the odds of making a run for it.
It couldn't be too difficult to find a vessel amongst the many moored there that would give me passage in exchange for coin. Performing my escape in plain view of Estrada would lack subtlety, however, and I'd no chance of outdistancing Saltlick if he decided to intervene. The ensuing ruckus would be bound to draw attention.
Just as I'd reached that conclusion, attention found us anyway. Two guards, distinguished from the greys and browns of the dockside by their long scarlet coats and tricorn hats, had been inspecting a heap of crated cargo on the higher level. One pointed towards the far bank, and as his gaze followed his own finger, it swung over us. He elbowed his companion. They both looked in our direction, first at Saltlick and then at me. The one who'd spotted us mouthed something. I was sure it was my name.
'Estrada,' I muttered.
'What?'
I tried to point by tilting my head. 'Company.'
'Oh.'
Now they'd started briskly down the steps that joined their level to ours, making a point of looking anywhere but at us.
'We could run.'
'And then what?'
'We could jump in the river.'
'Damasco…'
I cursed her silently for saying my name loud enough that the nearer guard could hear. He covered the last distance at a jog, and skidded to a graceless halt in front of us. 'So… Easie Damasco.'
Over his shoulder, I could see his colleague waving other guards over, whilst nervously eyeing Saltlick. Both were keeping their hands very close to their sword hilts.
'You're mistaken. I'm his brother, Santo. People say we look similar, though I fear Easie fared better in the looks department.'
Estrada's expression said 'shut up' more capably than words could have hoped to. 'I'm Marina Estrada, incumbent mayor of Muena Palaiya. These gentlemen are my travelling companions, and we're here to see Prince Panchetto.'
As much as she spoke with authority, Estrada's declaration would have carried more weight if she hadn't been filthy with river mud and reeking of rotten turnips. A small crowd of guards was gathering around us. None of them looked very convinced. The one who'd first spoken repeated to his colleagues, 'That's Easie Damasco.'
'It is,' said Estrada, managing to sound only a little exasperated. 'If we can see the Prince then I'm sure we can straighten out any questions.'
'She says she wants to see the Prince,' the guard continued, as though they hadn't all witnessed the entire conversation. Perhaps he was a congenital idiot, or an officer.
Either way, it was his companion who took the initiative. With a furtive glance towards Saltlick, he said, 'I think you should probably come with us, madam.'
'I hate to say 'I told you so'. Wait, no, I actually quite enjoyed it.'
'Everything will be fine.'
'For you, maybe. The closest thing I can see to a bright side is that I'll never have to buy another hat.'
'It won't come to that.'
'Oh really? They might let me off with a bit of light torture and life in the dungeons? Now that I think, I did hear something about the Prince having a soft spot for career criminals.'
'Shut up,' said the nearest guard, clipping me sharply across the head. 'Don't you talk about His Highness.'
The blow stung enough to keep me from reminding him that we wanted to see the Prince, and that arranging an appointment would be difficult if we couldn't mention him. It was becoming apparent even to Estrada that they had no intention of leading us to the palace.
We'd left behind the grandiose functionality of the harbour, and were trudging in convoy through the Lower Market District which bracketed it to the west. We were making more of an impression than I'd have liked. The cries of hawkers had died away to nothing, and every merchant and shopper turned to watch our passing. It was small comfort that they were all watching the giant striding at our rear and hardly sparing a glance for Estrada or me. I knew how fast gossip travelled through Altapasaeda. Even if Estrada somehow managed to talk our way out of this current predicament, Moaradrid couldn't fail to hear of our arrival.
Our guards seemed just as disconcerted by the attention we were drawing. They'd taken up positions in a loose oval around us, and now were marching at a respectful distance. That distance was considerably more respectful around Saltlick, making the egg shape more of a pear. There wasn't much they could do if he chose to resist, and his compliance — against all the traditional logic of guard-criminal relationships — only seemed to be making them more nervous.
An archway led us abruptly out of the Lower Market District. The stalls were replaced by stucco-fronted shops, decorated with metal balconies and shutters of black wood. Here were perfumeries, delicatessens, florists, vintners, and more than one huge aviary, with cages suspending multitudes of brightly plumed birds over the streets. These streets were less tightly thronged, and their occupants more extravagantly dressed. The men wore long-tailed frock coats, the women wide, bright dresses. More discreet than the market folk, but no less inquisitive, they tried to disguise their gawking with waving of fans and quick turns of heads. That only added to our guards' discomfort. They looked as though they'd cheerfully let us go to avoid more publicity.
I was about to suggest the possibility when our route veered off the main concourse into a narrow backstreet. It ended in a grand plaza that I recognised all too well. Red Carnation Square was picturesquely named for the worn block on a plinth at its centre, and the great quantities of blood that had flowed out from it. Two fears had blighted my brief spell in Altapasaeda. The first was that blackstained wooden oblong, rutted by the presence of countless arms, legs and necks; the second was the building of white stone squatting behind it. It had many windows, but all of them were barred, and few passed through its door that didn't end up on the block outside.
We were ushered to said door, a small panel of dark wood reinforced with bands of tarnished metal. For what was the only way in or out of the most feared prison in the Castoval, it was disappointingly innocuous. The lead guard rapped on the door, and it opened soundlessly. I realised I was holding my breath, and that my knees were suddenly weak.
However, there was nothing beyond except a small office. The gatekeeper — an elderly man wearing pincenez glasses and the standard guard uniform, though with a skullcap in place of a hat sitting badly skewed on
