more extravagant guest chambers, for visitors the Prince valued more than political refugees and their hangers-on. Each room was about twice the size of mine, so far as I could judge. The passage was wider too, and furnished with tapestries and potted palms no doubt imported at huge expense. I spent a minute making sure of my bearings, worrying all the while that a guard would appear. Once I was certain, I selected a doorway, and pushed through the covering drape.
What drew my gaze first was the large sunken pool filling much of the floor space. Steam rose in fragrant curls from its surface, and it looked hugely inviting. Less welcoming was the expression of the small but colossally fat man lying up to his triple chins in the water. He sat up on seeing me, with a splash that sent wavelets flooding into the corners of the room. Our eyes met. His were tiny, round, and a little bloodshot. We stayed like that for a while, my feigned surprise just as exaggerated as his genuine alarm.
'I don't remember having a pool in my room,' I said.
The fat man stood up, and — apparently only realising then that he was naked — grabbed a robe from a chair beside the pool and hauled it round himself. 'This is my room!'
'Are you sure?'
'Absolutely I am.'
I nodded thoughtfully. 'Well, I definitely didn't have anything like this.' I grinned. 'My mistake. I'm Easie Damasco, by the way.'
He looked at me blankly.
'I'm with Mayor Estrada.'
That sparked a little interest in his beady eyes. 'Oh really? But… well, I'd expected you to be… I mean, you're very small for a…'
'For a…?'
'Well, I'd have expected a giant to be a little more giant.'
'Oh. No, I'm the other one.'
'Ah, the… other one.'
I'd watched his mouth form around the word 'thief'. Panchetto hadn't been shy about announcing the presence of his unusual guests.
'Well, I'm sorry for bothering you. Perhaps we'll meet again at the banquet tonight?'
'Oh yes, I always come to the Prince's parties. First at the table, last to leave, that's me.'
'An excellent attitude. Sorry once more.'
I backed out through the curtain. The fat man waved and lost his grip on the towel. The last I saw, he was scrabbling to conceal his very limited assets.
I hurried back down the passage, up the stairs, rushed into the familiar corridor, and barely avoided colliding with Estrada and Saltlick. They were being led by two of the palace guards, the four of them heading away from our rooms.
'Damasco,' Estrada said. 'Where have you been? We've been waiting for you. The banquet's already started.'
CHAPTER 17
Say what you like about Panchetto, the man knew how to throw a party.
We'd been led once more through the labyrinthine passages, to be deposited this time in a hall somewhere deep within the southern wing. It was grand even compared to the rest of the palace: a long space measured by high arches that supported open crescent windows, in turn giving way to an oval cupola set with blood red glass. The tables, following the northern fashion, were set at knee height and bordered not with benches but with heaps of embroidered cushions. Braziers burned at intervals along the arcades, and the ceiling threw back the firelight in shimmering slants.
The entertainers were already in full swing, undeterred by the lack of an audience. A large band played on a stage set in the shadows of the far end; the music was sinuous and complex, so subtle that it hardly registered on the ear. Tumblers and jugglers threaded around each other, performing outrageous stunts with blank-faced composure. There was even the promised dancing bear, though its performance bore little relation to the murmur of pipes and guitars, and was marred by its expression of stolid misery. I decided I'd rather watch the serving girls, who were manoeuvring through the chaos wearing little besides handkerchiefs and smiles.
Panchetto had spared no trouble or expense. Here was a space devoted utterly to the repose of body and mind, and I couldn't help but be impressed by the single-minded lavishness of it all.
It was only a shame that so much effort had been wasted. He could have relaxed us just as well by hurling us into a pit of rabid dogs.
For there, waiting with perfect stillness in an aperture half way along one wall, stood Moaradrid. He was flanked by two bodyguards, neither of them taking any pains to disguise their function. It was clear too that the warlord had picked his position for the vantage point it offered over the chamber. His only concession had been to relinquish his armour for a simple cream robe, belted with a wide bruise-purple sash. I thought for a moment he'd even come unarmed, until I noticed the dagger worn where his scimitar would have been.
Moaradrid's disdain stood out all the more in the absence of other guests. The scattered bunches soon swelled into a crowd, however, as new arrivals appeared by ones and twos. In a few minutes, Moaradrid had been mercifully hidden from view, and I could think about something other than his eyes boring into me. Saltlick, Estrada and I had kept together until then, a gloomy island amidst the throng. I was considering an attempt at conversation when Estrada broke away, and flitted through the shifting mass of bodies towards the entrance. Guard-Captain Alvantes, newly arrived, saw her coming and greeted her with a nod. He was out of uniform, looking uncomfortable in a plain shirt and open waistcoat. A pathetic part of me hoped she'd drag him back to join our group. No such luck. They stayed near the archway and didn't as much as glance in our direction.
I glanced around, hoping to spy someone I could at least say 'hello' to. It was galling to realise that, apart from Saltlick and possibly Estrada, everyone I knew there would have cheerfully seen me dead. I had as much in common with the rest as rat droppings to diamonds. My new clothes, which had seemed so elegant in the privacy of my room, were now just barely tailored enough to distinguish me from the servants.
My desperation reached a peak. I began seriously to consider attempting a discussion with Saltlick. I was spared by a gong sounding from the stage, a deep, throbbing note that set the whole room aquiver. The entertainers dissolved away, a pair of handlers manoeuvred the bear out, and the serving girls began to guide us to our allocated places. The pulse of a dozen different conversations fell quiet. All eyes turned expectantly to the head of the table, where Panchetto was the only one left standing.
Arms held high, hands fluttering in the air as though showering invisible delicacies, the Prince cried, 'A thousand welcomes to my beloved guests! You honour me with your presences. Most of you have attended my little gatherings before, however some are joining us for the first time, and their company is especially delightful. I refer of course to our visiting dignitaries, Moaradrid of Shoan and Mayor Marina Estrada, and to their entourages.' Panchetto motioned almost imperceptibly towards Saltlick, and the faintest tremor of laughter ran around the room. 'I hope you'll all show them the esteem they deserve.'
I hadn't imagined it. Panchetto had just mocked us to his friends. Until then, I'd naively accepted his claim that the get-together was for our benefit. It struck me belatedly that it was a hundred times more likely we'd been shoehorned in as an easy solution to an awkward dilemma — or worse, as titillation for his bored friends. I'd underestimated him. I might almost have been impressed, but for one thing: he in turn was underestimating Moaradrid, and I'd learned myself how catastrophic that could be. For Moaradrid's expression was like a storm shadow; if I was being overly sensitive, I wasn't the only one.
Of course, it might have had as much to do with being seated within spitting distance of myself. We were at the farthest end of the table: me, Saltlick and Estrada on one side, Moaradrid and his grim bodyguards on the other. Captain Alvantes had been placed next to Moaradrid, which could easily be read as a further snub. Was this Panchetto's way of showing the barbarian his true standing in the grander scheme of things?
If so, I could think of easier ways to commit suicide.
It was as though someone had carved a line through the table, dividing the two extremes by a fathomless
