We maintained a good pace, and passed no one — perhaps because any travellers scurried to hide when they saw us approaching. By late evening, we'd drawn close to Muena Palaiya. Educated by previous experience, Alvantes and I left Huero and the giants out of sight and rode on alone to the northern gates.
It was no surprise to find them closed at so late an hour. That the walls were still bare of guards, though, was certainly strange. Estrada would never have let the town's security slip to such a degree, now less than ever.
Alvantes dismounted before the gates and rapped violently. Yet for a long while, no response came. Just as I was sure there was no one beyond to hear, a nasal voice called from the walls, "Who's there?"
Alvantes paced back to see, and I followed. A man with grimy, grizzled black hair and a hatchet face stared down at us from a platform atop the gates. He was dressed in the livery of a Muena Palaiyan guard, but even I could tell he was no guard. The livid crescent scar inscribed around his neck, the sneer, the short curved knife he wore slung across his chest and the way his fingers stayed near it, all spoke of someone used to killing first and skipping questions altogether. In fact, now that I looked carefully, wasn't he one of the interchangeable cut-throats who'd thronged around Castilio Mounteban's bar?
It was obvious Alvantes had come to similar conclusions, for his voice was sharp-edged as he called back, "We're here to see the mayor."
The guard sniggered, an unpleasant sputtering sound. "Not from around here, are you? Not very up on current affairs?"
"We've been away," Alvantes conceded.
"Right. Of course. I could have told you that." The guard grinned from ear to ear. "Because if you hadn't, you'd know better than to go asking for the mayor — when what you meant to say was mayors."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
If Alvantes's fingers twitched near his waist, compulsively reaching for a sword hilt that wasn't there, every other part of him was rigid with self-control. "We would like to see the mayors," he said.
"Now we're getting somewhere," the guard replied jovially. Then his tone changed. All the scornful glee vanished in an instant. "Only, the mayors don't bother with just anyone."
I had a mental image of Alvantes somehow climbing the sheer wall one-handed to tear the man's throat out with his teeth. However, though his voice was rich with menace, he merely said, "My name is Alvantes, former Guard-Captain of Altapasaeda. My companion is Easie Damasco. I think they'll bother with us."
The guard froze. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe they will at that." He ducked behind the walls — then bobbed back to order us, "Wait there," before vanishing again.
Long seconds later, the heavy gates began to shudder open. When the gap was sufficient, the counterfeit guard appeared in the opening with a companion, similarly garbed and just as ill-suited to his uniform. "Get off the horses," said the first guard. "Follow us."
We did as we were told. I sensed Alvantes would have been happier killing them both on the spot and for once I had trouble faulting his logic — except that there were clearly things we needed to know here. Fortunately, it appeared Alvantes had controlled himself enough to recognise that fact. If the violence in his eyes was anything to go by, our guides had better hope he didn't forget it.
They led us up Dancer's Way, the main and indeed only proper street of Muena Palaiya. As on any day, it was thronged with people even at so late an hour: beggars, market sellers and their overflowing stalls, men leading animals for sale or slaughter, and many simply making their way across town by this swiftest of routes. However, if the scene was familiar, the atmosphere was changed entirely. The hawkers and stall owners mumbled more than shouted; the usual hubbub of angry shouts, raucous laughter and bellowed greetings was stilled altogether. Wherever we passed, men turned their eyes away. I knew it wasn't Alvantes and me they were afraid of.
Alvantes leaned close to me. "We should never have left her here."
There was no denying it now. I'd thought there was nothing Estrada couldn't handle — but whatever was going on in Muena Palaiya, whatever had cast this pall over the place, it felt too big for any one person to handle.
Well past the centre of town, our guides veered into the narrow side streets. I followed hesitantly, nervous that this wasn't an area I knew. As far as I could judge, we were close to the southern gate, in the region reserved for trades that serviced Muena Palaiya behind the scenes. Here were slaughterhouses, warehouses, tanning and drying sheds — and if memory served, somewhere in one of its less noxious portions, the mayoral offices.
We came eventually to a narrow courtyard. In it stood a large building, considerably higher than the single-storey constructions round about and built of white-daubed stone, like almost everything in Muena Palaiya. It had evidently once been a grain barn, for there were still traces of ancient seed ground into the mud round its large double doors. Two men, dressed like our guides, stood guard upon those doors.
There was a brief, hushed conference. The guard who'd spoken from the gates ducked inside, leaving the other three to watch us hawkishly. A minute later, he returned and said, "Go in. Your horses will be safe with these fine gentlemen."
One of the door guards sniggered into his fist, as though this was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. His colleague scowled at him, marched forward and snatched the reins from us. I patted my horse's neck as he was led away, and fell in behind Alvantes. The two who'd brought us entered first, and we kept close behind them.
Since the outside was to all intents and purposes a barn, my expectations hadn't been high for the interior. Therefore, it was a shock to discover something more akin to a mansion house than a dilapidated seed store. Then again, the more I looked, the more the analogy that fit best was to a high-class brothel. Rugs and lush carpets were scattered everywhere, tapestried hangings hid most of the walls, lamps of iron and brightly coloured glass hung from the rafters, and tables had been scattered through the space apparently at random, many burdened with statuettes and varied ornaments.
Yet, while everything was obviously expensive, the arrangement had been done without a hint of taste or logic. All the evidence pointed to a desire to create the impression of wealth, without any actual understanding of its benefits.
Once I'd recovered from the decor, the first thing I noticed was the presence of more thugs at intervals round the room, lounging on chairs or lolling against walls. Each was dressed in guardsman's livery and every one was looking in our direction.
My gaze roved on. A platform had been erected at the end of the room, the hasty carpentry disguised by yet more rugs. Two chairs had been set on the raised tier, one large and ornate enough almost to qualify as a throne, the other plain and more discreet.
Upon the larger chair sat a man I dimly recognised. He had a gargantuan head and body, from which hung disproportionately small arms and legs that dangled over the edges as a child's would. His jowly moon of a face was rimmed with beard and slicked hair that failed to hide either his grotesqueness or his considerable bald patch.
Beside him, on the smaller chair, sat Marina Estrada.
Alvantes saw her as I did. He jerked forward three abrupt steps — to the obvious alarm of our handlers and their cronies around the room. I caught up quickly and grasped his elbow, trying by movements of my head to indicate how hopelessly outnumbered we were.
Whether or not he understood, Alvantes covered the remaining distance at a steadier pace. "Marina. Are you all right?"
Estrada smiled wanly. "Better for seeing you," she said.
"Has this creature harmed you? Is he holding you here against your will?"
The fat man cleared his throat — a greasy, molten sound. The way he occupied the overlarge chair had already made me think of a basking toad, and the impression was made a hundred times worse when I heard the flat croak that was his voice. "I assure you," he said, "that my co-mayor has not been molested in any fashion."
Alvantes ignored him. "We're getting out of here," he told Estrada.
"Guard-Captain Alvantes, I assure you that whatever you imagine this situation to be, the truth is quite otherwise."
Only then did Alvantes acknowledge the fat man's presence. "Guiso Lupa. Nothing you've done since the day your mother spat you out was innocent. Will you try to stop me taking this woman from here?"
Of course. That was why I knew him. Lupa had run one of the larger gangs in Altapasaeda, with an emphasis on extortion and prostitution. Before Alvantes had clamped down on the city's thriving crime scene, he'd operated quite openly. In the years since, he'd kept hidden, and his name had dropped from common parlance.
In many ways, he was Altapasaeda's version of Castilio Mounteban. Both had been notorious criminals supposedly cowed into retirement by law and order. From what I'd heard of Lupa, though, he was in many ways worse, with no time for refinements like diplomacy or restraint. He was also famously stupid, with none of Mounteban's guile.
However limited his gifts of character might be, though, Lupa was keeping his patience well in the face of Alvantes's radiating contempt. "Please, Guard-Captain. While we're certainly glad of your visit, I ask that you mind your tone. Not for my benefit of course, but for that of my men. They can be sometimes overenthusiastic in their desire to serve me."
"Lunto," said Estrada, her voice taut, "I'm not some horse, to be led out by the nose. Please calm down."
Alvantes looked wounded. "What is this?"
"As he's tried to explain, Guiso has been… assisting… with the reconstruction of Muena Palaiya." Estrada's voice was a numbed monotone, as convincing as a bored huckster's. "He kindly offered the service of his employees to fill the diminished ranks of our guardsmen."
Translation: Guiso Lupa had seen an opportunity and exploited it, just as Mounteban had. It was no coincidence. An image flashed through my mind; Mounteban as a bulbous spider spinning his web through every crack and corner of the Castoval.
"So you see," inserted Lupa, "we're all friends here. And as it so happens, your arrival is fortuitous. Since I left Altapasaeda to offer my assistance here, I've received instruction from Governor Mounteban."
"Governor?" Alvantes fairly spat the word.
"Indeed. Amongst other matters, he asked that I convey his greetings should we ever meet, and that I pass on how interested he'd be in speaking with you."
"And what does Governor Mounteban imagine we have to talk about?"
Lupa gave a gelatinous cough. "He believes your presence would be a — shall we say, calming influence in the current affairs of Altapasaeda. Further, he feels the city would benefit if you were to resume your vacant position. Perhaps not in quite so unrestricted a fashion, but otherwise much as you're accustomed to." Lupa turned hooded eyes in my direction. "In return, he would guarantee that neither you nor your… associates… should fall afoul of any unfortunate misunderstandings that might arise from recent events."
Alvantes's face left no doubt of what his reply was about to be. If I could see it, the dangerous men lurking in the shadows, fingers already resting on blade hilts, could too. I caught his arm once again, dug my fingers deep, and did my best to hang on under the look of fury he turned on me.
"Alvantes has endured a lot of late," I said, "and is more than usually quick-tempered. Lest he should answer rashly, perhaps we could take a little time to confer?"
"Absolutely," agreed Lupa, sounding more relieved than anything. "Take as long as you need."
"Also, we left some friends waiting outside town. We should let them know we're safe and that all's well."
"Friends?" It was startling how suddenly Lupa's solicitousness turned to open suspicion.
"Peasants we met on the road," I said quickly. "You know how it is."
"I can't say I do."
"If we're going to deal," inserted Alvantes with unexpected calm, "you'd do better not to doubt our word."
"Not yours," replied Lupa, his pinprick eyes darting between us. "No, not yours, Guard-Captain. Of course… who am I to keep you from these peasant acquaintances of yours? And in return, I'm sure you wouldn't mind one of my men accompanying you?"
"Not so long as he doesn't mind having his throat cut."
For a moment, Lupa looked as though Alvantes had spat in his face. He recovered quickly. "No, no. Quite right. You should go. Talk with these new friends about what we've discussed." Something dangerous rose in the morass of Lupa's voice then, like a snake darting through swamp water. "In the meantime… we'll be sure to take good care of Mayor Estrada."
Alvantes and I were out of Muena Palaiya, with our escorts left behind closed gates, before either of us opened our mouths again. Even then, it was only for Alvantes to make a long low sound of pure anger, an incoherent growl that made me wonder if I hadn't been safer with Lupa.
"We'll help her," I said.
"Shut up. Damn you, shut up, Damasco."
I shut up.
"We left her there alone."
Unsure if this was an invitation to stop shutting up, I decided not to risk it.
"Damn it all," Alvantes snarled — and there ended our brief, one-sided conversation.
Minutes later, we passed the outcrop shielding the northern cliff road from Muena Palaiya. The giants waited in columns to either side of the highway, like sentinel statues guarding the way. It was clear now why the road had been so quiet; who would want to go near Muena Palaiya with Lupa and his thugs in control? In that one small way, his presence had done us a favour, for many a traveller would have died of alarm to see this monstrous assembly lurking in the gloom.
Huero's cart was pulled up to the verge, while Dura and the children distributed food. Saltlick and Huero were waiting at the head of the column, obviously anticipating our return. They looked anxious when they saw us, no doubt reading the tone of our experience in Muena Palaiya from our expressions.
While Alvantes stood nearby on the edge of the roadside decline, glaring down into the valley below, I briefly explained the situation. It was dismaying to see the strain and worry, so recently removed, flood back into Saltlick's eyes. "Help Marina."
"We will," I said. "I don't know how, but we will."
"You won't." Alvantes turned abruptly. "You can't."
"You don't know that."
"Of course I do! I'll go back. I'll do what he asks, make whatever deal Mounteban wants. There's no other way."
"That's it? Just forget about saving Altapasaeda? Do you really think that's what she'd want?"
A dozen rapid steps carried Alvantes to a point where his face was hardly a finger's length from mine. "I don't care what she wants. I care about what keeps her safe." He spun to round on Saltlick, who actually cowered back. "Lupa will have scouts out by now, looking to see who these supposed friends of ours are. If he sees a crowd of giants camped on his doorstep he'll panic. If he panics, he might harm her. Get them out of here."
"Wait," I said. "Just wait."
"Back down the road. Go now."
There was a buzzing building in my head, a fragile note just beneath hearing. I couldn't put it into words or even thoughts, but it was there. Looking at the hulking figures crowded along the roadside, I said, "They're giants, damn it."
"Exactly. Difficult to hide. We need to move quickly."
"No, I mean… they're giants. We have giants on our side."
"Be quiet, Damasco."
"Just like Moaradrid did. Only, all Moaradrid wanted was big, dumb soldiers that didn't answer back. He never understood what he had. An army of giants."
"No fight," put in Saltlick plaintively. I hadn't even realised he was following the conversation.
"I know that," I said. "But what if there was no need to fight?"
"Damasco, whatever you're thinking, let it go. They're not an army. They're half starved, exhausted and…"
"Lupa doesn't know that."
"What?"
"Look at them, Alvantes. Look at them! They're terrifying. You and I know they won't squash us like insects just because they feel like it, b
ut Lupa? They're giants, they're on our side, and you want to hide them? You know you can't trust Lupa and Mounteban. You know handing yourself over won't solve anything. We have one chance to fix this and it has to be now."
Alvantes ground the heel of his one hand against his temple, as though trying to bring his thoughts under control by sheer pressure. "I will not let you place Marina's life in danger."
"She's already in danger," I said. "Now that Mounteban has her safe and under control, do you think he'll just let her go? The woman he's obsessed with, who just happens to make a useful hostage to keep you and anyone like you from meddling in his business? We have to stop him. And that means stopping Lupa — now, while he's off his guard. But you can't do it alone, Alvantes. You can't talk her out of there. You can't even fight her out."
Alvantes kept the hand in place, gripping his forehead as if it might fly into pieces. "Hells! Damasco…"
"You know I'm right."
He clutched his brow one last time, and the hand dropped to his side. "Yes," he said.
"What?" I really thought I must have misheard.
"This time. You're right. But if you get her hurt…"
"I know, I know. You'll kill me. I'd expect nothing less. But if this has a chance, I'm going to need your help. So you'll have to kill yourself straight afterwards."
"Believe me," Alvantes said, "if our actions bring harm to that woman, my life will last exactly as long as it takes me to rid this world of Lupa and every last one of his vermin."
"I get it. That woman happens to be my friend, you know."
I turned to Saltlick. However many times I saw him, there was always a part of my brain that was staggered by just how big he was. Nothing could quite prepare you for seeing the giants together. Even days spent in their company didn't quite remove the instinct to fear them.
For that reason if no other, this might work.
My mind was already speculating on how I could persuade him. But as I gazed up at Saltlick's face, I realised there was no need. I was astonished to find that for once, I could read his expression perfectly — and even more astonished by what that expression was.
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