Captain Anterio's riverboat stank worse than it looked. Unprompted, he explained irritably that he was carrying a cargo of turnips into the city.
"Why do they smell so bad?" I asked, my voice muffled from trying to speak with my hand around my nose.
"Because they're rotten," he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
However malodorous and ramshackle our vessel was, it cut swiftly through the water, propelled by a sharp southerly breeze. I silently cursed both wind and boat. I needed time to think of an escape plan, and it was rapidly running out. We were soon beginning to see signs of civilization, occasional farms and drifts of smoke marking hamlets further inland. What little say I had in my future would be gone if I didn't act soon.
Estrada sat in the prow with Anterio for a long while. I guessed from what snatches I overheard that she was catching up on local news, perhaps even fishing for rumours of Moaradrid or the resistance. It was at least an hour before she stood and walked back to sit with Saltlick. We were passing tracts of pasture, by then, and fields of grain dotted with large farmhouses and barns. I knew we were drawing near to Altapasaeda.
I waited a couple of minutes, then sidled over to Anterio and sat beside him. I tried to judge his age and failed. His face was lined and tanned a ruddy amber-brown, and he could have been anywhere from forty to sixty. I did recognise his jacket, though, as a dress-coat of the Altapasaedan City Guard, and wondered what had led him to be wearing it upon this dingy barge.
He didn't notice me at first. He was concentrating on trimming his beard with a small pair of scissors. It was an occupation he clearly took seriously, though he was dreadful at it. Up close, the wedge of wiry black hair was lopsided and uneven. When he finally looked round, I said softly, "Captain, I have a proposition."
Anterio dropped the scissors into a leather pouch, which he secreted within the folds of his coat. "A good captain is always open to propositions. Some days it's only propositions that pay the bills."
"That's exactly right. In this case," I said, holding out a hand containing five of my remaining onyxes, "it could be very profitable for both of us."
He squinted. "I hope you don't intend any harm to that young lady back there?"
"None whatsoever."
"It might be better for everyone if you drowned the monster," he added vehemently.
"No need for anyone to be drowned. All I ask is this: you drop my companions at Altapasaeda as planned, and then continue upriver until we can find another boat for me, one that's headed away from the city. That's it. Five onyxes for an hour's work."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
Captain Anterio offered me a greasy palm. "Then I accept your proposition."
The rotten vegetable smell had an insidious quality that made it impossible to ignore. I decided, after wrestling with it for a while, to try to live with it instead. I sprawled out on the narrow portion of the deck that was free of mouldy produce and considered a nap.
After our brief conversation, Captain Anterio had devoted his attentions to a series of small jobs about the boat, joined by the two boys, who bore just enough similarity to him that they might conceivably be his sons. Estrada and Saltlick still sat together, speaking in short exchanges. I couldn't guess what it was they found to talk about.
I watched the banks slide by and wondered if my plan could work. Anterio was certainly a man in need of a few extra coins, and it wasn't as though a little additional travel would spoil his cargo. If I could find a boat heading north, I might make it as far as Aspira Nero. Even if Moaradrid came looking for me he'd be hard pressed to catch up. Moreover, since Estrada would have to reveal her possession of the stone or watch her plans go up in smoke, it was unlikely to come to that.
Overall, things looked more promising than they had in days. I found myself almost looking forward to reaching Altapasaeda. The sooner I got there, the sooner I could leave. That nervous excitement and the flavourful stench kept sleep at bay, and I settled for staring into the distance, willing the city to materialise from the haze.
I saw the bridge first. It was the longest and grandest in the Castoval, its arches tall enough for even high-masted boats to pass beneath. They called it the Sabre — for its shape, presumably, and the way it sliced the Casto Mara in two. At that distance, it was a skeletal black outline above the water, and the walls before it just a smudge.
The ground was low and flat. It was possible to see the vast tracts of forest behind us, and even the mountains, a purple border on the edge of vision. We were still travelling through farmland, but the plantations were richer, dedicated to luxury goods for rich city folk. There were vineyards and apiaries, olive trees, and estates devoted solely to supplying the Temple District: with flowers, incense, birds, cloth and statuary. It was a riot of colour, and of heady scents that reached us even in the middle of the river. The road on the west bank was packed with traffic, and we passed more boats than we had the day before.
Soon we were overtaking the suburbs of Altapasaeda — a polite name for the high-class slum that lay like a second shadow beyond the northward walls. I couldn't help looking for signs of Moaradrid's army, but it was impossible to say from a distance whether there were more tents in the chaos of the outskirts than on any other day.
I turned my attention to the city itself. Altapasaeda was unique in the Castoval, an intrusion of northern civilization into our simpler and infinitely calmer existence. Compared with the Castovalian towns, it was like a glamorous but ageing whore: grand and startling, but most of its glamour purely for show and even more simply painted on. High towers jutted above the walls for no purpose but to jut, and hardly a building went unmarked by some architectural eccentricity. It was hard not to be impressed by Altapasaeda, harder still to take it seriously.
It was only when we dipped beneath the rightmost arch of the Sabre that the docks came into view. I squinted against the sudden darkness. There were only shapes at first, sharp rectangles and triangles glistening in the sun beyond the bridge. As we broke back into the light, leaving the dripping grey ceiling behind, the scene gained depth and perspective. The docks of Altapasaeda were a far cry from the sagging jetties of Casta Canto. Here everything was built of stone in two tiers joined by wide steps and ramps. There were metal bollards to tie off against, and even a pair of mechanically assisted cranes to unload the largest vessels.
It was so busy, both in the water and upon the dockside, that we wasted ten minutes manoeuvring for a spot. All the while, the captain and his two boys shouted incomprehensibly to neighbouring crews, the harbour hands and each other. I grew impatient, and a little nervous. There were a handful of guards strutting around. Any one of them might recognise me. Was all this fuss really necessary for so brief a stop?
Our dilapidated craft sidled into a gap between two similarly run-down scows, with difficulty and yet more yelling. I watched Anterio as he hurled a guide rope to a lad running back and forth on the quay and, once we were 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 1
4
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 his grey hair — retreated behind a battered desk. He spent five minutes removing and cataloguing our possessions, and then fussily recording our names and brief descriptions. Saltlick seemed to throw his system into chaos, and most of that time was spent with him tutting and chewing morosely at his quill, as though the giant had materialised solely to baffle him.
I was almost relieved when our original captors led us through an archway and down steep stairs into the guts of the prison. Though it was barely noon outside, this lower level was lit by greasy torchlight. As far as I could tell, it consisted of corridors running at right angles to each other, forming a grid with the cells spaced between and around the edges. The place reeked of smoke, though not enough to cover other smells, more human and less pleasant.
Our posse of guards was met by a pair of jailers, their uniforms identical in cut but black instead of crimson. There followed a brief and muddled discussion. I caught our names, the Prince's, and laughter. Then the jailers joined our already extensive procession, and together they ushered us towards one of the outer cells.
"In you go," the lead guard said. Saltlick's obedience had done nothing to ease his nervousness, as though he suspected some kind of long-winded trap.
Saltlick tried to ease himself through the low, narrow doorway, and failed. It took him a few seconds of manoeuvring, and in the end of moving sideways in a crouched
shuffle, to get inside. All the while, the guard's face melted towards panic, and I struggled not to snigger.
"Right, now you two. Don't try and make any trouble."
"I never try to make trouble. It just seems to happen around me," I replied, stepping through.
I glanced back when Estrada didn't follow. Though she wasn't exactly resisting, there was something in her bearing I'd learned to recognise. It told me our guard's bad day wasn't about to get any better.
He too appeared to sense that he was out of his depth again. "You as well, madam."
"You're not going to tell the Prince I'm here, are you?"
He considered. "Not as such, no."
"May I ask why?"
"Because that man there is Easie Damasco, a known and wanted criminal, and your other companion is some sort of monster. This leads me to believe that you aren't the type the Prince would associate with." Seeing Estrada's expression, he added quickly, "Also, I'm only a sergeant, and I don't think His Highness would listen to me."
"I appreciate your honesty."
The young guardsman looked relieved. "So if you could step into the cell…"
"Just one more thing, sergeant."
He winced.
"What if you're wrong?"
"Excuse me?"
"I mean, what if I am, as I say I am, the mayor of a nearby town that Prince Panchetto has allied himself with, and what if word was to reach him that you'd thrown me into a prison cell for no apparent crime or good reason?" I could tell she was beginning to enjoy herself. "What I'm asking is, what do you think would happen then?"
The sergeant gulped, opened and closed his mouth, and ended with a shrug that seemed to pass through his whole body. He said, "I don't know, madam. But if you'd be good enough to wait a while in this room behind us then I'll take the matter to the guard-captain and let him decide what's best."
Estrada smiled beatifically, and stepped inside. Behind her, the sergeant shut the door as gently as he could whilst still appearing to slam it.
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