Looking past, I saw the metal-bound chest beside it. My heart clenched.
'Did you look in there?' I asked, pointing.
'It's locked.'
Well, of course.
'I'm sure Moaradrid would have mentioned that. It's probably just stiff.'
I walked over to it and kneeled down. It was large and decorative, made of some reddish wood and ornamented with a flowing geometric pattern along the metal bindings. All that really interested me, though, was the lock. It looked like a standard five-pin tumbler, and not a very sophisticated one at that, for all its artistic embellishment. I kept my body between it and my escort and drew my picks.
'Are you sure there's nothing on that table?' I called.
'I've looked.'
'Well look again, can't you? Perhaps if you lit that lamp we could both see better.'
Sliding in a pick, I sought for the back pin. When I was sure I'd found it, I followed up with the tension wrench. The back pin and the fourth broke easily, and I started to feel confident.
'What are you doing?'
'I think it's caught on something. Give me a moment…'
The third was trickier. I kept misjudging, and losing it. At last it broke, with a definite click. I moved straight to the second, and an instant later, that went too.
There were footsteps on the carpeted floor. He was coming towards me.
The front pin was another difficult one, or my nerves were getting in the way. My fingers were greasy with sweat.
'Get away from there…'
My tension wrench turned as the cylinder popped. In one motion, I palmed my picks, swung the lid up, and reached in with my free hand. 'Ah, there we are. There's nothing in here, though, only clothes. I'm sure he said…'
My fingers closed on rough leather. I snatched my hand back and let the lid drop.
'No, nothing,' I said, slipping the bag inside my cloak and into the hidden pocket I had sewn there. 'How about you?'
'Stand up,' he said, 'and get away from that.'
'Fine. I told you, there's nothing here but clothes. Have you found it?'
His hands were clearly empty. Instead of answering, he glared as if he'd like to strangle me.
I pointed past him. 'What's that?'
It was the pot flask he'd originally brought out, sat on the shelf where he'd left it. I marched over before he could stop me, and called, 'This might be what we're after.'
'That,' he said, anger dripping from every word, 'is the one I gave you.'
'Is it? Are you sure?'
I pulled the stopper, sniffed, and tried not to gag at the familiar odour.
'Really? Now that I think about it, it does smell something like medicine. Could it be…?'
I turned back to him, an idiotic smile plastered across my face.
'Wait, there's writing on the bottom: 'For inflammations, distensions, and eruptions'. This must be it.'
I didn't like the way his fingers were twitching around the hilt of his sword.
I went on quickly, 'You've been a huge help. I'll make sure to mention that to Moaradrid and skim lightly over how obstructive you were earlier.'
I bounded to the flap and ducked under it before he could decide that chopping my head off might be worth the subsequent aggravation.
'Look, Saltlick,' I cried, 'we found the medicine. Your agonies will be over in just a minute.'
I heard the tent flap rustle as my watchdog came out behind me. I darted towards Saltlick, who was where I'd left him, thankfully, still kneeling on his colossal haunches.
With his bulk between the guards and me, I made a noisy show of emptying the contents of the flask into the mud, calling, 'Just a dash, old friend, this has to go round your companions as well.'
I pocketed the bottle, leaped up, and hauled myself back to my perch upon his shoulder. I was gratified to find that both guards had resumed their posts and were glaring back at me. As long as they weren't trying to kill me, that was just fine.
'Gentlemen,' I shouted, 'your help has been indispensable.' To Saltlick I added, 'Hurry, back up the hill.'
He did as instructed, and moments later we'd reached a point where other tents obscured the view between Moaradrid's pavilion and us. I let out a shuddering breath, and realised how terrified I'd been, how close I'd come to gambling my life away. It was worth it. Revenge and wealth both in one, and all for five minutes work! No one would take Easie Damasco lightly ever again, not now that I'd proven myself the greatest thief in all the lands.
I knew our departure was long overdue. But I could feel the moneybag bulging against my stomach, and what difference could a few seconds more make? A glance around told me that neither the main force nor Moaradrid's guards were on our heels.
I reached in and drew it out. It was satisfyingly weighty in my hand. I loosened the drawstring, pried wide the opening, gazed inside.
I nearly choked.
CHAPTER 4
I avoided looking in the pouch for the next few hours. Nothing was worth the way it made my heart palpitate.
It would have been difficult, in any case. Saltlick pounded along the road for mile after mile, seemingly immune to fatigue or distraction, and I hung on for dear life, bemoaning the sore spots multiplying across my body and trying not to think about what was inside Moaradrid's moneybag.
We passed alongside rice paddies at first, endless expanses of green rising out of mottled water. Farmers sloshed amongst their crops, old men with their wizened chests bare and women with sodden dresses scrunched around their thighs. Their skin was tanned to leather and regardless of sex they wore widebrimmed hats, leaving every face disguised by shadow. They hardly looked up at our passing, showing the traditional peasant aptitude for ignoring things that were none of their business.
The rice fields began to peter out towards noon. We'd travelled mostly across the flat until then, with the road always within sight of the Casto Mara, flowing bloated and sluggish on our right. As we drew closer to the region called the Hunch, that wide offshoot of hillside that splits the whole eastern portion of the Castoval in two, the river began to drop out of sight. It would only be for a moment at first, when it was obscured by a turn; but the periods soon became longer, as our path took us further inland or the waters disappeared into a stretch of gully.
I was glad to reach the Hunch. A man riding by on a giant was the kind of thing the locals would pick up on, however much they feigned disinterest, and there hadn't been a speck of cover amongst the paddies. While the lower slopes of the Hunch weren't much better, there were dips and rises on the top that would hide us. The more the day wore on, the more I was convinced we were in need of hiding.
The camp had been out of sight all morning thanks to a low mound just beyond its southernmost boundary. It came back into view as we started up the fringe of the Hunch, flecks of black and occasional colour in the far distance shifting like an ant nest. About a third of the way between the camp and us, a column was threading along the white surface of the road. I estimated a hundred men on horseback. It seemed incredible that they would be after us. The obvious and sensible course would have been to send an officer and at most a dozen fast riders. Saltlick and his brethren might have been formidable in the confines of the battle, but out in the open we'd be helpless to archers. One well-placed shot — through my head, say — would settle any fight. To commit any more men than that made no sense. They'd travel more slowly, and if they kept together they'd be easier to evade.
Perhaps that column was heading south for some other purpose, then. Yet that didn't make much sense
