As everyone at last reached the same conclusion as I had, there arose a ragged cheer. I didn’t join in. Whatever the Senate might think, their disapproval hadn’t stopped Panchessa bringing his armies to the walls of Altapasaeda, so what good could it do now?
“I’ve come here to negotiate with his highness,” said Gailus, once the applause had subsided. “And to tell him that if he continues with this course of action, he will not be welcomed into Pasaeda upon his return.”
A coup, then, was it? Well that was more interesting – but would it be enough to distract Panchessa, when he’d already come this far? Most of those listening seemed to think so, for there came a second cheer, more certain than the first.
As silence once more descended, Alvantes moved closer to Gailus. “You’ve brought good news indeed,” he said, “and we’re grateful. But you should rest now. You must be exhausted.”
“And what if Panchessa should attack at dawn?” replied Gailus. “No, I must see him as soon as possible. He must know that his people won’t tolerate this scandalous war. Only brief me on what I need to know and I’ll be gone.”
“Then at least take a coach the last distance,” suggested Estrada.
Gailus nodded. “Gracious of you, my lady. I think that’s a luxury I can afford myself, at least.”
He dismounted, and Alvantes nodded to one of his own men to take the senator’s horse. I was annoyed when Alvantes picked out the coach I’d arrived in, the one I was still waiting beside, apparently unnoticed in the darkness beyond the torchlight.
Then, as Gailus was stepping towards the door Alvantes held for him, he said softly, “There’s something else... something I didn’t want to say in front of your troops.”
Alvantes paused. “Go on.”
“There have been rumours for months now that the King’s health was poor. After he left, we finally managed to convince one of his physicians to speak.”
“It’s serious, I take it?”
“More than serious. The King is dying, and has been for months now. Who knows how long he has left?”
“Hence his recklessness,” said Alvantes, thoughtfully.
“Panchessa has always been reckless,” observed Gailus. “But yes, I can’t believe he’d have gone this far if he was in his right mind. In any case, that was the weight that tipped the Senate’s decision. The question of succession is paramount now. The King must be made to see reason, while there’s still time.”
Gailus looked up then, smiled and nodded as if they’d been discussing some trivial matter, and beckoned to his four escorts, who had already dismounted. “Well,” he said, “whether or not his highness is expecting me, it never does to keep your king waiting.”
A few moments later and the coach was trundling from view towards the Market District, with Alvantes and a couple of his guardsmen riding escort. As I watched them go, I wondered what all of these new revelations added up to. Could it really be that the war might be almost over, when to all intents and purposes it had barely started?
I didn’t want to put too much faith in Gailus; it wasn’t as if things had ended particularly well the last time we’d met. Nevertheless, I couldn’t shake the thought, the dim possibility wheedling at the back of my brain, that for the first time since I’d heard the King was marching upon Altapasaeda, we had a genuine chance.
Maybe I’d ducked my unlucky fate yet again. Maybe I could keep the promise I hadn’t dared make to Saltlick. And maybe, just maybe, this whole horrible mess would end without more bloodshed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
By the cold light of the next day, my optimism regarding Gailus had dimmed and my doubts had hardened to a certainty. When armies were facing off, when mad kings were on the loose and the fates of entire lands hung in the balance, what difference could one elderly senator make to anything?
Not much, it seemed, for the morning brought no word from Gailus. That it brought no further attacks either might have been considered a good sign; however, the quiet beyond the walls might as easily mean the King had concluded that a few weeks of siege would make his final victory all the more effortless. Likely, Gailus was now in chains somewhere, or else his head was atop a pole before Panchessa’s tent, as a cautionary message to anyone else who might think they knew the King’s affairs better than he.
With the excitement of the previous night vanished like some hobgoblin, all I could feel was disgust at myself for daring to get my hopes up. If not everyone was quite as despondent as I, nevertheless the general mood was dour. There was much hushed discussion amongst Alvantes, Estrada, Mounteban, Kalyxis and the many lesser players of note in Altapasaeda’s convoluted drama. From what little I could catch, no one had any more idea of what might be occurring outside the walls than I did. The men posted upon the ramparts had reported nothing, and nobody could agree how long Gailus’s negotiations might be expected to take, assuming they were taking place at all.
At least, having risen late from a makeshift bed in the Dancing Cat’s stables, I managed to wrangle a decent breakfast, the staff there apparently accepting that I was connected with Mounteban while thankfully failing to consider just what that connection entailed. And at least, with my breakfast over, I had time to look in on Saltlick once more. For once, no one seemed interested in my affairs, and with Malekrin delivered as promised, it appeared I was once again a free agent.
If it seemed redundant to check on Saltlick so soon after my last visit, I could think of no more useful way to pass my time, and at least it might set my mind at rest for another day. Perhaps, too, I’d have the opportunity to explain why I was so ill-suited to the responsibility he’d tried to foist on me the night before.
I considered inviting some company, but Estrada was busy and Malekrin nowhere to be seen. I set out to find the weather warmer than it had been for the last couple of days, the sky clear of cloud or drizzle. Feeling livelier wandering the streets than I had cooped up in the Dancing Cat, I found that by the time I drew near the hospital, my attitude had grown more pessimistic than outright gloomy.
It was a good thing, too, for a strange sight awaited me as I turned onto the street: four giants stood upon the cobbles, a litter of split timbers and sail cloth hoisted between them, and upon that makeshift stretcher lay Saltlick. The giants were talking amongst themselves in their own language, but from the way they shuffled about, swapped hands and such, I guessed they were debating how best to carry their fragile charge without tripping over each other’s feet. There was a surgeon with them, too, recognisable by his ambiguously red robes and currently glaring at the ensemble as though they’d gathered there purely to tax his patience.
“What’s going on?” I asked him. “Where are they taking Saltlick?”
“Oh, how should I know?” he growled. “Do you think I understand a word of that nonsense they’re spouting? Back wherever they came from, I suppose.”
I decided to try a different tack. “But why?” I said. “Why are they moving Saltlick at all?”
At that, the surgeon finally looked round at me. “You’re the one who was here last night,” he observed bitterly. Then, perhaps realising I hadn’t actually done anything to annoy him, he began again, “One of the priests complained to that man Mounteban, you see, about how much space the giant was taking up; space that could be used for wounded... you know... people.”
“Castilio Mounteban? He’s been here?”
“At the crack of dawn, damn him. He asked if the giant was fit to be moved and we told him yes. The next we knew...” He waved towards the giants. “The next we knew, this.”
I felt that there was some detail I must be overlooking. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
The surgeon looked at me with new focus, as if unwilling to waste more words until he was certain of exactly how stupid I was. “You’ve seen what it’s like in there,” he said. “It’s been chaos for an hour and more, while we tried to work out a way to get them in so we could get him out. I’m only wasting more time now bec
ause I want to be damn certain they’re leaving.”
We both glanced aside then at the sound of heavy footfalls. I saw that the four attendants, having successfully lifted Saltlick between them in such a way that no thumbs were squashed or giant toes stubbed, were now moving off down the street.
“That’s it!” the surgeon declared, starting towards the open hospital doors. “Thank all the gods. Can you even imagine what it was like moving a thing that size through a hospital?”
“He’s not a thing,” I called at his disappearing back. “He’s the hero who saved this city.” Then, as it struck me that perhaps I shouldn’t be lecturing about heroism to someone who’d been on their feet for days tending the wounded, I turned quickly away and hurried after the retreating party of giants.
So far as I could judge, they were heading towards the former tannery that had become their home. With Saltlick raised above my head height, I could only see a portion of his nearer side; but even that limited view was enough to make my breath catch in my throat. Though Saltlick’s powers of recuperation had always amazed me, the wounds I’d seen him recover from before were nothing to what he’d sustained in the recent fighting. It seemed, however, that his remarkable constitution was finally rising to the challenge. Saltlick looked noticeably better than he had the night before, his deeper cuts appeared to be knitting – and best of all, he was sitting up, propped on one knobbly elbow.
“Saltlick!” I called.
I’d managed to almost catch up, though I’d had to sprint to match the giants’ strides. Saltlick’s gaze drifted down to me and he smiled.
“I won’t keep you,” I said, rather foolishly, for there was little I could have done to stop the marching giants except throw myself beneath their feet. “I just wanted to see how you are.”
“Better,” Saltlick agreed. His voice was rasping, but clearer.
“And you’re going to be with your people?”
Saltlick nodded, though the gesture made little sense when delivered from the bobbing surface of the stretcher.
“That’s wonderful,” I panted – for by then, the giants having failed to slow to accommodate me, I was starting to severely lose my breath. “So... you can keep them safe. You won’t need me... after all. Well, I’m sure... I’ll see you soon...”
If Saltlick answered I didn’t hear, for at that point a stitch dug hard into my side and I had to slow to a hobble. I watched, panting, as the bizarre spectacle of the giant stretcher-bearers vanished around the next corner.
Even ignoring the pain jabbing at my ribs, the encounter had left me deflated. Perhaps it was just that Saltlick hadn’t thought to ask his bearers to slow for me; such inconsiderateness wasn’t like him. Had it been that he didn’t want to speak to me? After what he’d endured, maybe I had no right to blame him. However good my intentions, I was the one who’d brought the giants to Altapasaeda, the one who’d first put weapons into their hands; then, when Saltlick had asked me to try and repair the harm I’d unwittingly done, I’d let him down.
Not knowing what else to do with myself and hoping there might have been some report regarding Gailus, I trudged reluctantly back to the Dancing Cat. Even the news that the King was cooking him on a spit outside our gates would have cheered me up just then. However, the taproom was all but empty, with three men in Altapasaedan uniform talking beside the bar and a couple of Kalyxis’s barbarians hovering close to the doorway. There was also one person sitting conspicuously on their own: Malekrin was moping near the fireplace with his chin planted firmly upon his fist and his hood drawn over his face.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice low enough that the Shoanish by the door wouldn’t overhear. “Don’t tell me Mounteban’s letting you stay after you had things out with your grandmother?”
Malekrin’s mouth turned down even further. “I couldn’t get a word in to argue with her,” he muttered. “She wouldn’t even listen long enough to hear how I can’t stand her.”
I pulled up a stool opposite his. “So why sit here sulking?” I asked. “Go talk to her now.”
Malekrin shook his head inside the cowl. “She says she’s too busy to see me. Just like she’s always been! A straw doll with my name would be every bit as much use to her.”
And it would complain less too, I thought, and then immediately felt uncharitable. Despite myself, I did feel a little sorry for Malekrin this time. Not only had his planned reckoning with his grandmother come to nothing, his role as potential saviour and ender of wars had been effortlessly supplanted by Gailus. Now here he was, trapped alone in an unwelcoming city, with nowhere to go and nothing useful to occupy his time.
“Look Mal,” I said, “why don’t I show you a little of Altapasaeda? Better than sitting here moping.”
Malekrin looked at me with disgust. “I’ve seen more than enough of this loathsome place,” he said.
With little personal affection for Altapasaeda, I merely grinned at him. “It’s a little better by daylight, but not much. I’ll leave you to your woeful thoughts then.”
I stood up and started back towards the door, drawing a hostile glance from the two Shoanish there.
Then, just I was about to leave, Malekrin called after me. “Damasco...”
I paused.
“Another time, maybe?”
It was the first occasion I could remember that he’d sounded at all contrite. “Why not?” I said. “It isn’t as if either of us has anything better to do.”
I didn’t see Malekrin again that day, however, or anyone else I was familiar with for that matter. There was a part of me that was eager for company, or at least a little conversation, and at one point I even found my feet drawing me towards Franco’s deceptively tumbledown home. But that was a level of desperation too far; if I was even considering passing my time with that antique swindler then I was better off on my own.
Instead, I wandered to a small inn near the Temple District that I had fond memories of from my time in the city. The place had apparently changed hands since then, for I didn’t recognise the woman unhurriedly cleaning tables with a rag, but the smell of food from the back rooms was enticing and there were tables out front where I could enjoy the day’s warmth.
Moreover, I practically had the place to myself. I’d have imagined that taverns would do good business in times of war, but it seemed the opposite was true. Could it be that all the able-bodied drinking men were atop the walls instead, pulling faces and rattling sabres at Panchessa’s army? Knowing Altapasaedans, they were more likely to be hiding in their cellars. I ordered my lunch, a well-spiced dish of rice and vegetables with a few thin slices of sausage mixed in, and it turned out to taste every bit as good as it smelled. I ordered a glass of wine to go with it, and immediately corrected myself; a bottle would be more suited to my plans for the day.
As it transpired, however, one bottle turned into two, and by then it was late afternoon and a few other patrons had arrived, and the second bottle didn’t last very long at all; fortunately a third soon materialised in its place, and at around the same time I found myself singing an old village tune regarding the many and varied loves of a certain wheelwright’s daughter, which others were eager enough to join in with, and from there we somehow managed to begin a round of Lost Chicken with a pack of greasy and well-thumbed cards...
After that, unfortunately, my perceptions grew unreliable. I only knew that it was dark when I staggered back towards the Dancing Cat and tumbled into my bed in the stables.
I was pleased in the morning to discover that I’d ended the previous day slightly richer than I’d begun it, a tremendous feat considering how drunk I’d been and that I’d hardly even been cheating; the gain was more than balanced out, though, by the pain steadily erupting throughout my head.
When the discomfort of lying in agony and scrunching my eyes against the light from the part-open doorway became too much, I hauled myself to me feet and staggered through to the kitchens, where I explained more through gestu
res than words that I’d need breakfast and a great quantity of water. The cook, having presumably grown used to unreasonable demands under Mounteban’s patronage, managed to slop a dish of stewed apples before me, along with a cup and a pitcher of water. I did my best to grin at him in thanks, and he hurried away, looking disgusted.
Breakfast and three brimming cups of water having gone some way to relieving my head, I wandered on through to the taproom. Just as yesterday, there was no one of any importance around; Malekrin, however, was back in his corner, or perhaps had never left. This time he’d found a small flute from somewhere, and was playing a doleful tune to himself.
“Stop that,” I said, “I won’t be hung over and miserable as well. I need to clear my head and you need to get out of this place for a couple of hours. I won’t take no for an answer.”
The look on Malekrin’s face told me that no was precisely the answer I should expect, regardless of my feelings on the matter, yet at the last moment, he stood up and said, “Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” I said. Then a particularly violent pang threatened to split my head in two, and I amended, “Well, mostly I am. But this time, definitely...”
I came up with a route that took in the dockside, the Temple District and the mansions of the South Bank, but which carefully avoided the palace; I doubted it would do anything for Malekrin’s mood to see what luxury his uncle Panchetto had grown up in while he was languishing in the wastelands of Shoan.
All told, however, Malekrin proved to be more tolerable company than I’d come to expect. As our walk wore on and as my aching head began to clear, I pointed out particular buildings and shared what anecdotes I could remember: “that’s the home of Lord Alfunsco who married both of his own sisters”, “that’s where Lord Eldunzi lives, I hear he was recently flogged in the streets by the good people of Muena Delorca”, and so on.
I could tell Malekrin was more impressed than he was willing to admit. It was there in his eyes as he stared up at the magnificent buildings that housed the Altapasaedan rich and their innumerable deities. More and more as the day wore on, he inserted his own observations, drawing comparisons – mostly negative – with his life in Shoan and even beginning to share his own tales. I was astonished to discover that when he wasn’t sulking, Malekrin could be both amicable and moderately interesting.
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