Giant Thief

by David Tallerman

  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.

  The show over, I turned my attention to our surroundings. I'd been in worse cells. It was fairly clean, and came with not only a bucket but also a pile of straw in the corner, which Saltlick had promptly begun to devour. We even had natural light from the grill set in the outside wall above our heads.

  That, however, soon proved more a curse than a blessing. The window was there not for our comfort but so passers-by could mock and spit at us if the urge took them. We'd been in there hardly five minutes when a mob of youths squatted around the opening, and began catcalling to Estrada and pouring abuse on Saltlick and myself. On a better day I'd have risen to the challenge, but I didn't have it in me right then. I sat in the farthest corner, arms wrapped around my knees, and glared until they got bored and went away.

  When we were alone again, I said to Estrada, "You do know who the guard-captain is, don't you?"

  "Of course I do."

  "And your plan is to have that man come here? He'll probably want to hold the axe himself."

  "Everything will be fine, Damasco."

  "You said that before."

  "I did. Have a little faith. Altapasaeda's the place for it."

  I lapsed into silence. I doubted she knew guardcaptain Alvantes's reputation half as well as I did, but what was the use of arguing? She'd realise eventually that nobody remembered or cared if she'd once been mayor of some backwater burg. In the meantime, I should try to see the funny side of her stubbornness. A few weeks of being heckled in this dismal box would beat it out of her better than anything I could say.

  The shadows of the bars had jutted straight across the room when we'd arrived. Now they were slanting towards the corner where Saltlick sat chewing straw. That made it a little past noon, if my sense of direction hadn't failed me. I was warm enough, and not uncomfortable. Perhaps they'd feed us soon. Maybe they'd forget about us. Maybe the sergeant wouldn't keep his word, or Alvantes would deem the matter beneath him. Maybe…

  I'd barely registered the rapid footsteps outside when the door sprang open. I tumbled out of the way. When I looked up, I found myself face to face with the chiselled features of Alvantes, captain of the Altapasaedan City Guard. He looked older than when I'd last seen him. Fine wrinkles had sprung up around his angular jaw; a hint of grey discoloured his close-cropped dark brown hair. His uniform still bulged around wide shoulders, though, and his eyes glittered with their old enthusiasm. Alvantes the Boar, the Hammer of Altapasaeda… of course he would want to deal personally with the infamous Easie Damasco.

  Which begged the question: why did he barely glance in my direction? His gaze skimmed over me, took in Saltlick, and settled on Estrada. "Marina."

  "Guard-Captain."

  "This is… unfortunate. I've spoken with my men."

  "They weren't to know."

  "Of course. I took that into account. And the fact that you were travelling with…" Now he did look at me, briefly and with disgust. "Well, you can see how misunderstandings might arise."

  "Yes. Nevertheless, Easie Damasco is my companion, and under my protection."

  "And…?" He nodded towards Saltlick.

  "Saltlick too. We wouldn't have made it this far without his assistance."

  I couldn't help noticing the smile that curved Saltlick's thick lips.

  Alvantes, however, looked less than impressed. "We'll respect that, of course. As long as the thief behaves himself while he's within the city."

  There was something going on here that I was missing. The strained formality between Alvantes and Estrada spoke volumes, but about what I couldn't tell. Though turning up as a refugee with an aberration of nature on one arm and a wanted criminal on the other was probably doing little for Estrada's credibility, I sensed it was more than that.

  Still, if it got us out of this cell they could start dancing together for all I cared. "My behaviour will be impeccable," I said. "I hope we can put any past misunderstandings behind us."

  Alvantes threw me a look of such utter loathing that I actually flinched. "There have been no misunderstandings. If you put one toe astray, no amount of protection will save you." As if nothing had been said, he turned back to Estrada. "Shall we go? His Highness is waiting."

  Our second journey through Altapasaeda was more discreet. This time we only had two guards escorting us, for a start. It was more than that though. Somehow, people's eyes slipped away from Alvantes, somehow thei
r feet carried them aside without any indication they'd even noticed he was there. We might have been travelling in a bubble of invisibility for all the attention we were paid. It occurred to me that if Alvantes ever needed a change of career he'd make a fine pickpocket, and the thought almost made me laugh aloud.

  Our route this time took us briefly back into the upper-class end of the market district, before spilling us onto the wide boulevard of A Thousand Gods Way. I knew it as the main thoroughfare of the temple district.

  As dubious as the rest of the Castoval found the Northerner religion with its bizarre and endless panoply of deities there was no denying its results were spectacular. Everywhere great arches reared, trailing flowering fronds over our heads; half-human, half-bestial figures gazed down, waved curious weapons, leered madly or smiled secretive smiles. No building lacked columns, minarets, windows of coloured glass, hanging baskets or countless other ornaments, arranged in apparently random combination.

  It was somewhat overwhelming, and I was glad when we veered off the concourse. The relief was brief. Ahead was the palace, and as gaudily magnificent as the temples had been, they paled in comparison.

  Here was the home of Prince Panchetto, only son of King Panchessa, and his not-inconsiderable court. Word had it that the palace was a means for the king to deflect his vacuous son from the business of politics, to distract him with trivialities better suited to his temperament. If that were true, the diversion was well judged. It was hard to imagine anyone taking anything seriously amidst such preposterous splendour.

  Alvantes guided us not through the colossal main gate but through a smaller carriage gate further around. We left our escort behind in favour of two turbaned palace guards, who walked ahead of us through long corridors floored with eggshell white marble, their brilliant azure robes whispering with each stride. Stairs led up to an open courtyard, where four huge, mosaic-engraved fountains spilled water into a central basin. Beyond were further corridors, each so wide that we could have formed a row with Saltlick at the centre and not been cramped.

  We drew to a halt in an antechamber where two more guards stood waiting, halberds levelled to block a curtained archway. Alvantes stepped forward and conducted a brief, whispered conversation with the leftmost. Their weapons flicked up, with the most discreet of movements.

  Alvantes motioned us onward. "He told me that His Highness currently has another guest, but will still grant you a short audience."

  Estrada went first. I heard her gasp, a sharp intake of breath that she stifled immediately. I went after, easing the curtain aside. A chamber the size of a barn lay beyond, dominated by a stepped dais and the ornate, cushion-piled chair upon it. Before the dais was a small, plump figure so extravagantly bejewelled that he could only be the Prince.

  Another man stood beside him, taller, less gaudily arrayed and infinitely more impressive. Recognition turned my blood ice-cold in my veins.

  "Welcome, welcome!" cried the Prince. "I believe you already know my great friend and brother Moaradrid?"

  CHAPTER 15

  "How generous of fortune to bring us all together."

  The slightest hint of a smile tugged at Moaradrid's thin mouth. Bowing low, he continued, "Mayor Marina Estrada, an honour. I believe we almost met on the plains near Aspira Nero. You left before I could properly make your acquaintance."

  Moaradrid looked to me, and I flinched. It was no more than the curl of a lip, but for an instant, the mask of civility slipped. The effect was like standing before an elegant townhouse and realising that a fire was raging behind its windows.

  "You must be Easie Damasco, the…" He paused, as though hunting for the right word. "Shall we say 'adventurer'? Didn't I save you from hanging? A little gratitude mightn't have gone amiss."

  He turned his attention on Saltlick. "Last, though hardly least, my errant warrior. I can only apologise for any… misunderstandings… while you were my guest."

  I'd have never imagined anyone could describe torture as a misunderstanding so convincingly. It was strange to see Saltlick towering above the warlord, yet almost shaking with fear.

  "No fight."

  It was a plea rather than a statement. If Saltlick believed Moaradrid still had the chief stone, would he follow his orders? Estrada could reveal who really possessed the stone, of course, but with that last secret out, our lives wouldn't be worth a cup of rice.

  "Now what's this talk of fighting?"

  All four of us turned to Prince Panchetto. He'd been smiling contentedly until then, glancing from face to face as though he really believed this was some gathering of old acquaintances. Saltlick's reply had turned the smile into a nervous rictus.

  "My apologies, Prince," said Moaradrid quickly. "The creature is confused."

  "The creature," Estrada said, "is our friend and travelling companion."

  "Indeed." Moaradrid bowed once more, making no attempt to conceal the irony this time. "And we must choose our friends wisely." He turned back to the Prince and added, "Isn't that so, highness?"

  "Of course we must. Yes, as the giant so cleverly said, we mustn't fight amongst ourselves. I sense tension amongst my guests, and that won't do at all."

  "It could easily be resolved."

  "Is that so?"

  "A simple matter of…"

  "A banquet!" interrupted the Prince, with the energy of a philosopher struck by sudden inspiration. "Of course, we must all gather tonight for a banquet. Nothing dissolves worries like honeyed wine and fine food. And musicians, I think, a few acrobats, perhaps a dancing bear or two…"

  "Highness, my suggestion was…"

  "Yes! We'll dine, discuss amusing trifles, and your problems will be laid to rest. Won't you all agree? I'd be hurt if you didn't." This last was spoken with such childish entreaty that I had to hide a smirk behind my hand. Moaradrid's expression was like a thunderhead about to burst. He looked as though he could cheerfully have lopped off the Prince's head.

  Estrada, though, was first to reply. "Prince, it would be our honour and pleasure. You're right. Our disagreements should be settled in a civilised manner." She put the barest emphasis on "civilised".

  "Wonderful! Does the lady speak for all of you?"

  "She's got my vote," I said, "I've never turned down free drinks in my life."

  "A fine and noble philosophy. Giant, what of you?"

  "Food good," said Saltlick shyly.

  "Indeed it is. Moaradrid, you wouldn't spoil our evening of amusement, would you?"

  "My Prince," said Moaradrid, "I wouldn't dream of spoiling your amusement."

  The Prince rapped a knuckle against a small gong suspended on the pedestal, and four palace guardsmen appeared, two from each of the nearby doorways. With more bowing on our part and nods from the Prince, we were ushered into a side chamber, and Moaradrid was led away in a different direction – the only indication I'd seen that Panchetto had even the most basic grasp of the circumstances between us. It said a lot about the Altapasaedan court that an entire war could pass unnoticed. Perhaps it said a lot about the nature of the war as well.

  An official in robes almost as lavish as the Prince's was waiting beyond the curtain. Bobbing almost to the floor, he said, "It is my honour to act as the voice and hands of Prince Panchetto." He held out an ornate medallion to Estrada. "This indentifies you as a dignitary within the palace grounds. Wherever you go, you will be treated with the utmost deference. If there is anything you desire, simply ask and it will be provided."

  "The Prince is very generous," said Estrada, accepting the medallion and draping it around her neck.

  The official nodded solemnly, as if this was the wisest thing he'd ever heard. He reached into a pocket and drew forth three rings, wide gold bands imprinted with the heron sigil of the Altapasaedan court. "The Prince has extended the palace's credit to you for the purchase of certain articles: food, clothing, entertainment, trinkets and other necessities. Show these rings anywhere within the bounds of the city and you will not be charged.
"

  Estrada and I slipped our rings onto whichever digits they fit best. Saltlick, who couldn't have worn his over even his littlest finger, clutched it in his hand instead.

  "Rooms have been assigned to you," continued the official. "The Prince wishes you a joyous day and anticipates the further delight of your company."

  He bowed once more, turned and disappeared through the curtain into the throne room.

  Taking this as a signal, our guards led the way through an arch behind us. Five bewildering minutes of wandering the palace's passageways and chambers brought us out at a long corridor with covered porticos spaced along both sides. An intricate mosaic of amber and lapis lazuli crawled up the walls and onto the ceiling, where it burst into bright flowers of pattern. Diamonds of white and grey tiles spread across the floor, and the curtains covering each doorway were a shimmering duck egg blue. We were wordlessly assigned to rooms, and ushered inside with such stark efficiency that we hadn't even time to say our goodbyes.