All the while, I dithered over the prospect of getting out of there to try to find Saltlick. A dozen times I told myself I would, Kalyxis, Estrada and everyone else be damned; I wouldn’t be kept hostage just because I’d had the misfortune of making Malekrin’s acquaintance. Though I’d quickly realised that a couple of the Shoanish were always watching me, I had no doubt I could elude them once the right diversion presented itself.
Yet diversions came and went, one opportunity after another arose for me to duck out of sight, and all I did was stand there, lost in my thoughts. Each time it became harder to deny that what was keeping me in place wasn’t a sense of responsibility, or any faith in Estrada’s attempts at peacemaking. No, it was fear that rooted me, and not just of Kalyxis or her men. What terrified me was the prospect of succeeding, of managing to get away and track down Saltlick – and of what I’d find if I did.
I was disgusted to admit it, and I could see Estrada was even more dismayed, but it was only when Castilio Mounteban arrived late in the afternoon that the situation with Kalyxis began to improve. He never said what he’d come for, but he was quick enough to note the room full of Shoanish and the alarming figure standing tall in their midst, and to draw the correct conclusion.
Mounteban spoke a few muted words to Estrada, and then began to bark orders – orders that, unlike Estrada’s, were actually followed. As much as I sympathised with her, it made sense; for all her strength of personality, she was mayor of a town half the land away, while Mounteban had spent days making this city his own and making damned sure everyone knew about it.
Only once he’d established to his satisfaction that food and wine were on the way, that rooms would be arranged in an even larger nearby hostelry and that a representative sample of city dignitaries would be on hand for the proposed conference did Mounteban turn his attention to Kalyxis. She had been patiently observing all the while from the far end of the taproom. When Mounteban approached, she nodded to her men, and their ranks opened.
“It’s both a pleasure and an honour to make your acquaintance, my lady,” he said. “My name is Castilio Mounteban.”
“Mounteban?” Kalyxis replied, her tongue rolling round the word as though it were a cat playing with a dying bird. “Yes, I recognise that name. I remember a writer of implausible letters and a maker of dubious promises. I fear I owe you a messenger. The one you sent me was... ill-used.”
“Accidents will happen,” said Mounteban, with utter casualness. “A good envoy prepares accordingly. And I’ve never in my life made a promise I couldn’t keep.”
“I do seem to remember a certain trinket falling into my possession,” Kalyxis observed, “albeit briefly. It was stolen, I think, by a thief standing not far from us at this very moment.”
I flinched, at the word “thief” more than anything, for it took me a moment to realise she actually was referring to me. In sudden panic, I thought about protesting my innocence, about pointing out how her revolting grandson was the true culprit.
Perhaps fortunately, Mounteban was quicker on the uptake. “Nor would I give a gift and then allow it to be misappropriated,” he said. “I assure you, anything taken by anyone here will be returned to you before the sun sets.”
I’d also have liked to point out just how unlikely that was. But it was obvious I had no part in this conversation – and equally clear, though mystifying, that Mounteban was making progress with Kalyxis I might do better not to interrupt. I’d have expected her to see through such oily obsequiousness in a minute. Yet at that moment, a faint but undeniable smile was drawing upon her thin lips.
“You’re a man of grand claims, Castilio Mounteban,” she said, “and it’s clear that you have a little power in this ugly, unclean city. I extend to you the same offer I made the woman there. Deliver my grandson to me, make good on your gift, and you won’t have made yourself another enemy.”
“On the contrary,” said Mounteban, his smarm now so thick that I wondered how it wasn’t dripping from the rafters, “I hope that by the end of the day you’ll have learned to consider me a friend.” He even finished with a bow; it should have looked absurd from a man of his size, but somehow he managed to pull it off with a measure of grace.
Then, while Kalyxis was still judging what to make of his performance, he turned and marched back towards our end of the room, pressing through the barrier of Shoanish as though they were a throng of irksome children. Drawing close, he whispered to Estrada, “That should hold her a while.”
“Need I remind you,” she hissed back, “that the crown of Altapasaeda is not yours to bargain with?”
Mounteban stopped. He looked vaguely surprised and, I thought, disappointed. “And need I remind you,” he said, “that we’re in the middle of a war? Assuming Kalyxis wasn’t really stupid enough to come here with only this handful of men, don’t you imagine that her support is worth the loss of some obsolete gewgaw?”
I remembered the fleet that had pursued us from Shoan. Did Mounteban have a point? Could those other boats be waiting, in the underground harbour perhaps, for some order from their queen? If so, and if we could hold the King off for long enough, her support might mean the difference between victory and defeat.
Yet just then, that was far from the most important question on my mind. “You tricked us!” I spat. “As far as Kalyxis was concerned, we were just more of your disposable messengers! You sent us hurrying into a trap.”
Mounteban looked at me with contempt. “Would it have helped you to know I’d offered Kalyxis the crown?” His eyes roved back to Estrada. “Or would you have argued and wasted time we didn’t have? As usual, it fell to me to do what needed to be done.” And before she could respond, Mounteban had turned on his heel and was out the door.
I watched it slam shut behind him. The arrogance of the man was astounding, hypnotic even. Only in his absence could I properly appreciate how much I despised him. That was the problem with having so much to think about: important details, like who your real enemies were, tended to slip between the cracks.
Estrada and Alvantes had been quick enough to forget that the only reason we’d come back here was to make damned sure Mounteban never gave another order in his life. Now here he was, organising the city’s defence and brokering his twisted alliance with Kalyxis, back to running Altapasaeda as if nothing had ever happened.
Well, they might not remember, but I did. And even if I had to do it alone, I was going to take Mounteban down, once and for all. I had no idea how, but I was absolutely clear on the why: after every other despicable deed he’d somehow got away with, he had hurt my friend, and apparently thought nothing of it. I wouldn’t pretend I was doing it for Saltlick, who probably didn’t even have a word in his language for “revenge”; but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do it because of him. Before this was over, I would see Castilio Mounteban pay.
In the meantime, however, I wasn’t sure what I should do with myself. I very much wanted a drink, and to be out of that room cramped with ill-smelling barbarians. Since I was in an inn, there was a realistic hope of the former, but I suspected the latter remained a doubtful hope at best. Just to make certain, I asked Estrada, “I suppose my attendance is required at this momentous meeting?”
Estrada, whose eyes had been fixed on the door since Mounteban’s abrupt departure, looked at me distractedly. “I think Kalyxis will expect to see you here.”
“I’d hate to disappoint the lovely lady,” I said sourly.
Then, spying a bottle behind the bar and no one watching, I started in that direction – but Estrada called me back. “Wait,” she said, “I meant to tell you. I asked one of the guardsmen to check in on Saltlick, and he sent word just before Castilio arrived. Saltlick’s alive, Easie... but they can’t say for sure that he’ll last the night. Apparently he was conscious for a little while; I’m sure he’d like to see you.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I said, trying hard to keep the sudden quaver out of my voice, “if Kalyxis doesn’t have my he
ad for kidnapping her idiot grandson, I promise Saltlick’s bedside will be my first port of call.”
“And I promise I won’t let her have your head,” Estrada said. “No one’s going to bargain with your life, Easie.”
“But you’d rather I didn’t wander too far in the meantime... just in case, I mean?”
Estrada sighed. “Just in case,” she agreed.
The conversation having reached its logical end, I carried on to my bottle, which turned out to contain a sturdy if oversweet red wine. I dug out a cup from beneath the bar and filled it to the brim, heedless of the filthy looks some of the Shoanish turned my way. Probably they weren’t following the current circumstances and took me for some self-indulging serving lad. Just in case, I presented them a broad grin before taking my first gulp.
I was two-thirds through the bottle by the time Mounteban returned. I’d half expected him to bring Alvantes, but I supposed that someone was needed to keep our other invading enemies on their side of the walls; it would be embarrassing for everyone if the King were to arrive mid-meeting. Then again, it was just as likely that Mounteban had deliberately withheld this latest news from his co-commander – a thought I filed away as a small first step in my vendetta against the fat filcher.
Mounteban did however have a couple of the local lords in tow, as well as representatives of the criminal types he liked to keep close at hand. I noted that the smallest faction in his conclave, the Shoanish warriors left over from Moaradrid’s scattered army, were unrepresented; presumably Mounteban had felt it wise not to remind Kalyxis of her son’s recent visit or of its final, fatal outcome.
Either way, there were now even less people in the room I wanted to be around. I settled towards the back and tried my best to look inconspicuous, while still keeping my bottle close at hand.
Mounteban had also brought a few assorted lackeys with him, and they hurried to construct a makeshift stage out of planks and crates brought in from the yard. That done, he clambered up and surveyed his nearest audience: the lords and crooks he’d brought along, Estrada, Kalyxis and two Shoanish I took for bodyguards.
“Gathered dignitaries of Altapasaeda,” Mounteban began, “I know I express all our sentiments by declaring my honour in having Kalyxis of Shoan here today. My only regret is that the circumstances aren’t more favourable – for surely there was never a better time for unity between Castoval and Shoan. With that in mind, lady, will you take the stage and state the reasons for your presence, so that we may resolve your concerns without further delay.”
As Kalyxis moved to take her place, I noticed Mounteban make a small nod in my direction. It certainly wasn’t me he was signalling; more likely, I realised, it had been meant for the two burly thugs who’d materialised, one at each of my elbows. I could hardly say I was surprised, but I wished Estrada were closer. I’d have been intrigued to hear her explain just how she intended to protect me now.
I looked back to the stage, where Kalyxis now stood beside Mounteban. Though he dwarfed her by more than a head, she somehow managed to look every bit as tall as him – and certainly she was a dozen times more impressive. “Since I despise repeating myself,” she said, “I will be brief. There is a thief here who came to me under a flag of truce, only to steal a valued possession and kidnap my grandson. Unless both are returned to me, I shall have no choice but to recover them by force.”
“For those who don’t know Easie Damasco,” put in Mounteban quickly, “he’s a lowbred guttersnipe who has somehow managed to play a disproportionate part in recent, significant events – primarily by stealing important items from some very important people. However, since Damasco was acting in concert with others of far nobler character,” he added, with a conciliatory glance towards Estrada, “it may be that we should give him the benefit of the doubt on this occasion. Marina, do you have anything you’d like to contribute?”
It was obvious where this conversation was heading, and I wanted no part of it. Yet there was no escaping the fact that my fate was high on the list of topics – and hadn’t I vowed mere minutes ago that I’d do anything I could to undermine Mounteban? Well, here was an opportunity I’d never have again.
So before Estrada could speak, I said loudly, “Hold on a moment,” and in case that wasn’t enough to draw all eyes in my direction, dramatically cleared my throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Castilio. But do you think I could take the floor, just briefly? I think I might have something constructive to add. I mean, if that’s all right with you.”
Mounteban gave me a look that was suspicious and murderous in equal parts. I’d never called him Castilio in his life and that if nothing else should have tipped him off. “Please be brief, Damasco,” he said. “I’m sure we’d all hate to see you talk yourself onto an early funeral pyre.”
“Ha!” I offered him my widest grin. “How kind of you to think of me. And truly, you made some interesting points there... I particularly liked ‘lowbred guttersnipe’.” I dropped his gaze and turned my attentions to Kalyxis, trying not to shudder as her pale eyes met mine. “But the fact is, neither of you know what you’re talking about.”
I’d hoped for an awed sigh from my audience, but the thick silence, which at least seemed to qualify as stunned, would have to suffice. In any case, it was what I said next that would really put the dog amongst the rats – because what I’d finally come to accept was that no lie was going to serve me quite as well as the truth.
“I didn’t kidnap Malekrin – who, since he prefers it, I’ll refer to as Mal henceforward. In fact it’s truer to say that Mal kidnapped me. He told me he was sick of being a pawn in other people’s battles; that he’d rather be a vagrant in the Castoval than a prince in Shoan. Which, come to think of it, is probably why he snuck away while you were chasing us. Oh, and lest I forget, if you were wondering how I could have stolen that object Mounteban had me smuggle into your hands when I was chained in a tent... well, you might want to give some thought to your light-fingered grandson on that count, too.”
There it was, all of it out, like burning tinder dropped into a haystack. I could feel Kalyxis eyes burning into me, through me, cutting clean circles of fire through the back of my skull. “You seem to know a great deal about my grandson,” she said.
I gulped, tried to steady my pummelling heart. Showing fear beneath that hawkish gaze could kill me just as surely as an arrow to the head. “Perhaps I came to know him a little better than you do,” I said.
“In the space of a mere few days?”
“Unlikely, I know. Then again... do you even know what he calls his boat?”
A faint tremor tugged at Kalyxis’s mouth then. It was the first sign of anything that might be construed as emotion I’d seen her show, and that made it almost more unnerving that her usual stern intensity. “Malekrin has no boat,” she said.
“Mal,” I told her. “As I mentioned, he likes to be called Mal. And, I suppose you’re right... I very much doubt it survived you trying to kill us all. But before that, for reasons that undoubtedly have a lot to do with his age, he called his boat Seadagger.”
“You seem to know my grandson... Mal... very well,” Kalyxis said once more. “And to have struck up a friendship of sorts.”
On that point, at least, I wasn’t sure the truth would help matters. “That’s fair to say,” I replied.
“And you were with him when he disappeared.”
“I suppose I must have been.”
“So it only makes sense that you should be the one to find him.”
“Well, if you mean that I’d stand a better chance than fifty armed men charging around the Castovalian countryside and... Wait, what?”
“Since you know this land,” Kalyxis said, “and since you know Mal. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I wouldn’t. I didn’t. But I could see now with perfect clarity the corner I’d backed myself into. “That, as it happens,” I said, “is exactly what I was about to propose myself.”
As had happened so often in rec
ent weeks, my choices had dwindled to nothing; fate, ill-fortune and the malice of others had set me on a course not of my choosing, and what could I do but follow?
Well, there was one thing I had a say in, one thing I wouldn’t be denied, whatever anyone else thought. With a little negotiation and with Mounteban’s two thugs acting as both guides and guards, it was agreed that I could be allowed a couple more hours of freedom before my hopeless mission began.
It was sunset when I reached the temporary hospital that the defenders had set up in the Market District, and a light rain was falling from a sky of purple and smudged grey. Even outside, the smell was revolting: a stink of sickness and death, with undertones of tinny blood and the sharp rankness of vomit. Within, what had once been a small warehouse was now filled with an assortment of beds, all presumably requisitioned from nearby homes. Perhaps two-thirds were currently occupied; the majority of the bedridden wore what I’d come to think of as the Altapasaedan uniform, and all but a lucky few possessed injuries that turned my stomach just to look at them. I kept my eyes down as I traversed the room, manoeuvring to avoid the assortment of priests, healers and red-robed surgeons that were trying, inadequately, to divide their attentions amongst the wounded.
None of the beds had been large or sturdy enough to support Saltlick, so they’d built him a kind of nest from straw instead. From a distance he looked like a stillborn chick, still smeared with natal blood. His carers had bandaged his wounds as well as they could, but since they hadn’t been able to move him, many gaping cuts and countless shallower gashes had been left undressed. I was used to him healing quickly, quicker than a man every could, but so far as I could judge he was in no better state than when I’d last seen him. It struck me that perhaps his powers of recuperation had simply been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of his injuries – and the thought made the pit of my stomach turn cold.
Saltlick’s eyes were open. When they fixed on me, I thought for a moment that he smiled, ever so distantly. Then again, it could as easily have been a twitch, a convulsion of pain rather than recognition.
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