career he'd make a fine pickpocket, and the thought almost made me laugh aloud.
Our route this time took us briefly back into the upper-class end of the market district, before spilling us onto the wide boulevard of A Thousand Gods Way. I knew it as the main thoroughfare of the temple district.
As dubious as the rest of the Castoval found the Northerner religion with its bizarre and endless panoply of deities there was no denying its results were spectacular. Everywhere great arches reared, trailing flowering fronds over our heads; half-human, half-bestial figures gazed down, waved curious weapons, leered madly or smiled secretive smiles. No building lacked columns, minarets, windows of coloured glass, hanging baskets or countless other ornaments, arranged in apparently random combination.
It was somewhat overwhelming, and I was glad when we veered off the concourse. The relief was brief. Ahead was the palace, and as gaudily magnificent as the temples had been, they paled in comparison.
Here was the home of Prince Panchetto, only son of King Panchessa, and his not-inconsiderable court. Word had it that the palace was a means for the king to deflect his vacuous son from the business of politics, to distract him with trivialities better suited to his temperament. If that were true, the diversion was well judged. It was hard to imagine anyone taking anything seriously amidst such preposterous splendour.
Alvantes guided us not through the colossal main gate but through a smaller carriage gate further around. We left our escort behind in favour of two turbaned palace guards, who walked ahead of us through long corridors floored with eggshell white marble, their brilliant azure robes whispering with each stride. Stairs led up to an open courtyard, where four huge, mosaic-engraved fountains spilled water into a central basin. Beyond were further corridors, each so wide that we could have formed a row with Saltlick at the centre and not been cramped.
We drew to a halt in an antechamber where two more guards stood waiting, halberds levelled to block a curtained archway. Alvantes stepped forward and conducted a brief, whispered conversation with the leftmost. Their weapons flicked up, with the most discreet of movements.
Alvantes motioned us onward. 'He told me that His Highness currently has another guest, but will still grant you a short audience.'
Estrada went first. I heard her gasp, a sharp intake of breath that she stifled immediately. I went after, easing the curtain aside. A chamber the size of a barn lay beyond, dominated by a stepped dais and the ornate, cushion-piled chair upon it. Before the dais was a small, plump figure so extravagantly bejewelled that he could only be the Prince.
Another man stood beside him, taller, less gaudily arrayed and infinitely more impressive. Recognition turned my blood ice-cold in my veins.
'Welcome, welcome!' cried the Prince. 'I believe you already know my great friend and brother Moaradrid?'
CHAPTER 15
'How generous of fortune to bring us all together.'
The slightest hint of a smile tugged at Moaradrid's thin mouth. Bowing low, he continued, 'Mayor Marina Estrada, an honour. I believe we almost met on the plains near Aspira Nero. You left before I could properly make your acquaintance.'
Moaradrid looked to me, and I flinched. It was no more than the curl of a lip, but for an instant, the mask of civility slipped. The effect was like standing before an elegant townhouse and realising that a fire was raging behind its windows.
'You must be Easie Damasco, the…' He paused, as though hunting for the right word. 'Shall we say 'adventurer'? Didn't I save you from hanging? A little gratitude mightn't have gone amiss.'
He turned his attention on Saltlick. 'Last, though hardly least, my errant warrior. I can only apologise for any… misunderstandings… while you were my guest.'
I'd have never imagined anyone could describe torture as a misunderstanding so convincingly. It was strange to see Saltlick towering above the warlord, yet almost shaking with fear.
'No fight.'
It was a plea rather than a statement. If Saltlick believed Moaradrid still had the chief stone, would he follow his orders? Estrada could reveal who really possessed the stone, of course, but with that last secret out, our lives wouldn't be worth a cup of rice.
'Now what's this talk of fighting?'
All four of us turned to Prince Panchetto. He'd been smiling contentedly until then, glancing from face to face as though he really believed this was some gathering of old acquaintances. Saltlick's reply had turned the smile into a nervous rictus.
'My apologies, Prince,' said Moaradrid quickly. 'The creature is confused.'
'The creature,' Estrada said, 'is our friend and travelling companion.'
'Indeed.' Moaradrid bowed once more, making no attempt to conceal the irony this time. 'And we must choose our friends wisely.' He turned back to the Prince and added, 'Isn't that so, highness?'
'Of course we must. Yes, as the giant so cleverly said, we mustn't fight amongst ourselves. I sense tension amongst my guests, and that won't do at all.'
'It could easily be resolved.'
'Is that so?'
'A simple matter of…'
'A banquet!' interrupted the Prince, with the energy of a philosopher struck by sudden inspiration. 'Of course, we must all gather tonight for a banquet. Nothing dissolves worries like honeyed wine and fine food. And musicians, I think, a few acrobats, perhaps a dancing bear or two…'
'Highness, my suggestion was…'
'Yes! We'll dine, discuss amusing trifles, and your problems will be laid to rest. Won't you all agree? I'd be hurt if you didn't.' This last was spoken with such childish entreaty that I had to hide a smirk behind my hand. Moaradrid's expression was like a thunderhead about to burst. He looked as though he could cheerfully have lopped off the Prince's head.
Estrada, though, was first to reply. 'Prince, it would be our honour and pleasure. You're right. Our disagreements should be settled in a civilised manner.' She put the barest emphasis on 'civilised'.
'Wonderful! Does the lady speak for all of you?'
'She's got my vote,' I said, 'I've never turned down free drinks in my life.'
'A fine and noble philosophy. Giant, what of you?'
'Food good,' said Saltlick shyly.
'Indeed it is. Moaradrid, you wouldn't spoil our evening of amusement, would you?'
'My Prince,' said Moaradrid, 'I wouldn't dream of spoiling your amusement.'
The Prince rapped a knuckle against a small gong suspended on the pedestal, and four palace guardsmen appeared, two from each of the nearby doorways. With more bowing on our part and nods from the Prince, we were ushered into a side chamber, and Moaradrid was led away in a different direction — the only indication I'd seen that Panchetto had even the most basic grasp of the circumstances between us. It said a lot about the Altapasaedan court that an entire war could pass unnoticed. Perhaps it said a lot about the nature of the war as well.
An official in robes almost as lavish as the Prince's was waiting beyond the curtain. Bobbing almost to the floor, he said, 'It is my honour to act as the voice and hands of Prince Panchetto.' He held out an ornate medallion to Estrada. 'This indentifies you as a dignitary within the palace grounds. Wherever you go, you will be treated with the utmost deference. If there is anything you desire, simply ask and it will be provided.'
'The Prince is very generous,' said Estrada, accepting the medallion and draping it around her neck.
The official nodded solemnly, as if this was the wisest thing he'd ever heard. He reached into a pocket and drew forth three rings, wide gold bands imprinted with the heron sigil of the Altapasaedan court. 'The Prince has extended the palace's credit to you for the purchase of certain articles: food, clothing, entertainment, trinkets and other necessities. Show these rings anywhere within the bounds of the city and you will not be charged.'
Estrada and I slipped our rings onto whichever digits they fit best. Saltlick, who couldn't have worn his over even his littlest finger, clutched it in his hand instead.
