Alvantes set himself up against one wall of the shelter, which — having been designed with one giant in mind — was more than ample for the two of us. I curled up at the other side and tried to make myself comfortable.
I resisted the temptation to take my cloak from my pack. The risk of Alvantes seeing the crown was too great. Reasoning that it was a mild night and that the shelter did a surprisingly good job of keeping the wind out, even for someone not giant-scaled, I tucked the pack beneath my head instead and hoped it would make an adequate pillow.
It worked well enough at first. I even flirted with sleep. But the cold, little by little, crept into my flesh, finding its way through every slight gap in my clothing. It teased around my collar and sleeves, sneaked up round my ankles. My makeshift pillow was no better. Just as I was sure I'd found a comfortable position, an edge of crown found a way to press against my ear. Fidgeting to rearrange it exposed some new part of me to the cold. Tucking my shirt to cover that chilled spot of skin somehow rearranged my pack by the fractional degree needed for the crown to push against my cheek.
I tried to assure myself I could take my cloak out now, when Alvantes must undoubtedly be asleep. Except what if he woke? What if he was feigning? Given his recent state of mind, maybe he no longer slept at all. Then I thought about simply shoving my pack aside, doing my best with the thick grass. But I couldn't escape the fear that in the morning Alvantes would see it, observe a peculiar bulge, decide to investigate and happen upon my treasure.
Would losing the crown be so terrible? As the night wore on, as the cold settled into the ruts of my spine, I wondered what good it had done me. What good, in fact, had it done anyone? It hadn't helped Panchetto keep his head. It hadn't done Alvantes any favours. All right, it had allowed me to distract Synza, not to mention its brief success as an improvised weapon, but I doubted a similar situation would arise any time soon.
The truth was, I'd stolen the crown from my magpie instinct towards anything shiny and valuable-looking. There was little real hope of anyone giving me money for it, not with the state of affairs in Altapasaeda. The only ones who might take it off my hands would be more likely to do it with horrendous violence than the exchange of coin.
The crown was a useless hunk of metal and stone. Panchetto's ridiculous ornament was every bit as worthless as the giant-stone had been. Once again, I'd managed to steal something without the slightest practical value. Once again, I'd made off with an empty, worthless symbol.
A symbol. Empty, worthless.
Like the giant-stone.
My heart missed a beat. Another. A shudder ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
I had an idea. I had my answer.
The rest of the night passed with mocking slowness. I knew I'd have only the briefest window in which to put my plan into action. I drifted through brief fits of sleep, waking each time convinced I'd missed my opportunity. On the fourth occasion, I was startled into wide-awakeness by the realisation that I almost had. The hillside round about had lightened to a deep, formless grey. At any moment, the first flush of morning would break above the eastern mountains.
Quiet as I could manage, I goaded icy muscles into life, stifled a groan, and crept from the shelter. I kept one eye fixed on Alvantes, but he didn't stir. Neither did Saltlick as I tiptoed by.
Careful not to miss my footing in the near blackness, I found a space away from either of them where I could prepare.
Between uncomfortable bouts of half sleep, I'd been grappling with the practicalities of my idea. Of the components I needed, one was readily at hand. I'd agonised over a way to produce the other. With a knife, it would have been easy. Without one, it seemed more or less impossible.
In the end, with much effort and the aid of a sharp stone, I managed to hack three strips from the lining of my cloak. Tied together and rolled twice over, they made a long, thin pad of cloth that would just about fit my purposes.
I crept over to Saltlick. I knew he slept soundly, and despite his exposure to the raw elements, it appeared this morning was no different; he lay on his side, head lying upon one arm, his snores sending trembles through the grass. If he woke, the plan would be up. Never in a million lifetimes would he agree to what I had in mind. Which was why I had to make the decision for him — for his own good.
I manoeuvred into position behind Saltlick's head. In the pre-morning stillness, his shuddering snorts were deafening. Nevertheless, now that I'd come to it, I doubted how I could possibly succeed without him stirring.
I was right to worry. Surely no philosopher was ever perplexed by a greater test of ingenuity, no swindler faced with such a trial of legerdemain. The minutes wore upon each other, and most of them I spent frozen in place, as some slight stirring or subtle change in the rhythm of his snores convinced me Saltlick would wake at any instant. When I dared risk motion, it was so slow that even I couldn't be certain I was really moving. It was as though time had ceased to beat and left me paralysed in the middle of my absurd task, doomed for all eternity.
There came an end at last. I'd tied and double-tied the last knot, sufficiently tight that Saltlick would struggle to remove it but loose enough that he hadn't woken from strangulation. I shuffled back, until I judged the distance adequate for me to let go the vast sigh of tension I'd been holding.
Ironically, I now found myself waiting for Saltlick to stir. Already moths of doubt were starting to flit around my stomach. It didn't help that hunger combined with a sleepless night was beginning to make me feel lightheaded. My scheme was stupid, doomed to failure — and perhaps worse. The best thing I could do would be to undo my handiwork while I still had time.
Saltlick stretched, gave a humongous yawn and rolled over. He shook himself, smacked his lips, half opened his eyes. Not quite awake, he groped with one huge hand, slapped at the thing about his throat. His fingers found the rolled strip of cloth, continued to the metal circlet knotted at its front.
His eyes opened wide.
With both hands now, he tugged at his throat. I could hardly blame him; my gift looked uncomfortable, not to mention ridiculous. But I was sure he wouldn't get it off without a struggle. I'd taken care on those knots, and his sausage fingers weren't made for delicate work.
Still, there was no use in taking chances.
"Time to get up!" I roared in the direction of the giant encampment. "Don't you know it's morning? The day's a-wasting! Is this how giants behave, sleeping until lunchtime?"
I didn't care if I was barely making sense. They couldn't understand me anyway. I just wanted them awake and attentive — and that much, at least, seemed to be working. Everywhere giants were sitting up, rubbing eyes with knuckles big as chestnuts, turning watery stares in my direction and in Saltlick's.
I scampered into position, placing myself directly between him and the other giants. On the off-chance that any of them hadn't noticed his new ornament, I gestured dramatically, hoping that would serve to bridge the language barrier between us.
Eventually I was confident I had the attention of everyone within hearing distance — and that they'd all seen Saltlick's ridiculous medallion. However subtle and elegant the royal crown of Altapasaeda might have been under other circumstances, it looked pretty damn stupid when turned into a choker for a giant.
But this wasn't the time for questions of fashion. Bigger issues were at stake.
"All hail!" I bellowed, at the very top of my lungs. "All hail Saltlick, King of the Castoval!"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I never saw Alvantes coming.
Only as his fist carried me off my feet did I catch the briefest glimpse of his face, twisted almost beyond recognition by rage. Dazed, I tried to shuffle backwards on my rump. His second blow was more a slap, but more than enough to make my head ring. I threw up my arms — an instinct that proved misjudged when Alvantes's third punch hammered needles through the recently injured one.
"Get off me, you lunatic!" I cried.
I rolled a
side. Tough Alvantes might be, but he could only hit so quickly with one hand. His next blow went wide. I made it to my feet and skipped backwards. My head was still tolling like a bell — but behind that racket, my blood was boiling. Only a tiny core of sense reminded me that even one-handed, Alvantes was ten times the fighter I was.
"Back off, damn you!"
"Back off? I should tear your spine out for this!" Alvantes pointed a trembling finger at the ornament around Saltlick's neck. "That's the royal crown of Altapasaeda, you rat's prick."
"All right. So what?"
"So what? You stole it from me, you disgusting little sneak thief."
I wiped a smear of blood from my suddenly bloated lower lip. "I'd say I stole it from the King. But let's not argue semantics. How is that a reason to break my jaw?"
"What? Because…" I could see Alvantes straining to think through his fury. He didn't try too hard. "You're a damned fool. What will this achieve? You can't make someone king by hanging a crown round their neck. Even if you could, it's just a hunk of metal to them."
"Like their stone was just a stone to us? Like I said, back off. Maybe you've given up, but that doesn't mean the rest of us have to. At least I'm trying something."
"Given up?" He paused then — or I thought he'd meant to, anyway. Faint shudders like the ruffling of wind on water were coursing down his body, but he didn't seem aware. "Fine. Do whatever the Hells you want. Play your games with these poor bastards. Maybe you'll piss them off enough that they'll give you the thrashing you deserve."
Alvantes spun on his heel, stormed away.
My relief lasted just as long as it took me to turn my head and wonder just how prescient his last words might be. A vast shadow closed round me, as though the early daylight had been snuffed like a candle flame. "What have you done?"
I was almost too shocked to hear Saltlick string together four words in grammatical order to be alarmed. "You're going to have to trust me," I told him.
"Not trust! Not king!"
"Just for a little while. Please, Saltlick."
He wanted to believe me. For all his obvious anger, that much was obvious. Given my past performance, I couldn't be surprised that he was finding it a struggle.
Just for once, though, luck was on my side.
"Just give me a chance," I told him. "This is for your own good, I swear it."
Before Saltlick could answer, I was sprinting towards the wagon crawling towards us on the road below. I'd realised straight away it must be the locals coming with the morning's meal — and when I saw Huero driving, with Dura beside him, I couldn't help but whoop a laugh. It was all I could do not to leap onto the driver's board and hug them both.
Huero reined the horses in. "Damasco." There was concern in his eyes. "Do you need help?"
Only then did I realise I'd just charged at him, with a bloody lip, whilst laughing manically. "I do. But not for me. Huero, I have a plan. To get the giants moving… to get them home once and for all. Only, it's going to take everyone. Everyone you know, everyone you can gather. Can you bring them here? The more people, the sooner you do it, the more likely it is to work."
"But… what about the food?"
"The food can wait. Will you do it? The faster, the more people, the better."
Huero nodded. "Of course. I'll try. Give me an hour, all right?"
"As quick as you can."
I caught my breath and watched him turn the wagon, before starting back towards the giant camp. This time, I didn't hurry. There was every chance Alvantes had come up with new reasons to hammer my face by now. Even if he hadn't, every moment weighed in my favour. Whatever slim trust Saltlick had in me, I could only keep it kindled for so long.
Sure enough, he watched me questioningly as I crossed the last distance. I didn't have any answers for him — or none that he'd like. "One hour," I said, "just wait one hour. Give me that much… then you'll see."
Alvantes was gone, at least. I could see him by the riverbank, feeding and watering the horses. Rather than give Saltlick time to answer, I followed his example, heading in the opposite direction. I singled out a patch of hillside far from any of the giants and sat down. With one eye on Saltlick, the other on Alvantes in case of further hostilities, I settled to wait.
For all my good intentions, I was drowsing by the time Huero returned. His voice calling my name shocked me into wakefulness. For a moment, I was bewildered to see an entire village worth of people gathered upon the lower slope. Then I remembered.
Huero had outdone himself. Judging by numbers, he must have brought everyone between here and the Hunch. I hurried down to meet them.
"Thank you, everyone," I said. "For all your kindness towards the giants, and for coming here now. I'll need just a few minutes of your time."
I rapidly outlined what I wanted them to do. There were a great many gasps, a few appalled looks, and a general rumble of discontent. Somewhere towards the back, a woman exclaimed, "Well, I never. Not in all my days."
Huero chose that moment to step in. "It's a strange request, all right, friend Damasco." He was speaking in my direction, but it was obvious his words were intended for the crowd. "Still, but for you, these giants might have starved by now. It's obvious you want what's best for them."
"Don't we all?" I asked. "And what's best for them is what's best for all of you — to get them back home where they belong. With a little harmless play-acting, that's exactly what we'll do." There was a subdued muttering and much clearing of throats, but I knew Huero had shifted the mood a little in my favour. I could only hope it would be enough. "Excellent. The sooner we start, the sooner it's done."
Helpless before that inarguable logic, the mob of villagers fell in behind me, and I marched them towards where Saltlick stood waiting. If he'd looked perplexed before, his reaction to the peasant army bearing down on him now was one of sheer bewilderment. The other giants, too, were watching with curious fascination.
That, at least, was a good sign.
"All right," I said, as softly as I dared, "On the count of three. One… two… three…"
I knelt before Saltlick, hoping against hope that now that the time had come, the villagers would follow my lead. I gave it a moment, in case of stragglers — and I began to shout.
"All hail! All hail Saltlick, King of the Castoval!"
Huero matched me in both word and volume. For the rest, a few thin voices came to my aid, sounding more apologetic than forceful. Was I the only one kneeling? I dared a glance. Dura and Huero had joined me, of course, their brows all but scraping the dewdampened grass. Of the others, some were halfway to their knees, others barely tilting their heads.
Nothing for it. I had to press on.
"All hail! All hail King Saltlick!"
This time, it was more of a concerted effort. More people lent their voices than didn't, even if few sounded sure about what they were yelling.
I drew a deep breath, poured it all into my next shout. "All hail! Hail King Saltlick, King of the Castoval!"
Better, far better. Finally, they were beginning to sound as though their hearts were in it.
"All hail! All hail Saltlick, King of the Castoval!"
This time, the sound cascaded over me, a wave that tingled through my every muscle, made the hairs on my neck stand straight. I barely heard my own voice amidst the roar. It was a good job too, because my throat was starting to feel scraped raw. I lowered my volume a fraction, grateful to let others carry the weight.
I gave it half a dozen more rounds and then bowed low as I could manage, forehead to the ground. A rustle of clothing from all around told me the villagers had remembered this final, crucial detail. I regained my feet. Around me, the crowd was already beginning to break up. There was an air of confusion, as if no one was quite certain what had just happened.
I looked towards the giants. Well, we'd certainly kept their attention — and probably that was the best I could hope for at this stage. I turned to Saltlick. He was staring fixedly at t
he point where we'd been kneeling, with an expression of distant horror.
Huero appeared beside me. "I thought that went well. Didn't you?"
"Honestly?" I said. "I have no idea."
"Should we feed them now?"
"Not yet. There's one more thing I need to do."
"All right. We'll wait. Good luck, Damasco."
For all our sakes, I thought.
I paced over to Saltlick. His gaze didn't move to follow me. Stopping before him, I called his name.
He didn't so much as twitch. If he were a man, I would have stood some chance of guessing what was going through his mind. With Saltlick, it was hopeless even to try.
"Saltlick?"
He could probably ignore me forever if he'd set his mind on it. It was one of his more unique talents. I flailed for words that might draw him out.
"Remember how you agreed to trust me?" I asked.
Saltlick's head twisted, as though dragged. "Not king!"
As he spoke, he hooked one finger inside the crown, preparing to tear it loose.
"Saltlick, stop!"
He paused — but the finger stayed snagged.
"Do you want to go home?" I hissed. "Do you want to lead your people home?"
Saltlick didn't remove the finger. Nor did he keep pulling.
"Answer me. Tell me honestly that there's anything in this world you want more than that. Is there anything more important? Anything you wouldn't go through to make it happen?"
He released the crown. His hand dropped to his side, as though all the life had gone from it. "Go home," he said — almost pleadingly.
"Then trust me."
A barely perceptible nod. Enough.
"I need you to tell the other giants what I tell you. Regardless of what I say — every word, do you hear me? Now, call them over. Explain that I've a message for them and you're going to translate."
For all the unmistakable doubt in his eyes, Saltlick's voice was more than loud enough as he rattled off a couple of brusque sentences in giantish.
"Now… exactly as I say, you understand? No improvising. No cutting the bits you don't approve of. Word for word, Saltlick."
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