Prince Thief

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was dark when I left Saltlick and the hospital, darker than the city had any right to be at such an hour — as if no one was willing to light a torch or lamp for fear it would somehow draw the notice of the enemies outside their gates. The rain had picked up, too, turned from a drizzle into the cautious beginnings of a torrent, and the chill it had brought to the air was enough to make me huddle inside my cloak.

At least the gloom and the foul weather suited my disposition. I’d thought I’d prepared myself, thought I’d accepted the possibility that Saltlick might die; but I’d been wrong, and I knew now that nothing could have prepared me. Nor was fear for my friend the only thing poisoning my mood. Though Saltlick hovered constantly in the back of my mind, the foreground was filled entirely with worry for myself. Because one indirect consequence of Saltlick’s injuries was that I couldn’t possibly do what I might have under other circumstances, and take the opportunity I’d been gifted to flee Altapasaeda forever.

I couldn’t care less about Kalyxis and her threats. Alvantes and Estrada could look after themselves, and wasn’t it their poor judgement that had brought the accursed woman down on us in the first place? Whether I came back with or without Malekrin, it wasn’t as if I could contribute to the city’s defence, other than to be another victim when the gates were finally breached. No, I could see little reason to return, but for that one thing: if I left now, I’d never know whether Saltlick was alive or dead.

Which meant that, rather than use my mission as an opportunity to slip away, I’d have to take it seriously — no matter how futile it almost certainly was. And since my recent trip to the far north had left me with a definite distaste towards blundering in unprepared, that in turn meant one more visit before I even considered leaving Altapasaeda.

I’d vaguely hoped Mounteban’s thugs would consider their duty done and leave me to my business. But I’d recognised it for the vain wish it was, and I wasn’t surprised when, as I turned not back towards the Dancing Cat but eastward in the direction of the docks, one of them caught my shoulder and said, “This isn’t the way.”

“This is my way,” I told him.

“Not likely. You got a job to do, the boss says.”

“I have, and I’m doing it. If there’s a problem, feel free to run along to Mounteban and ask him what you should do.”

“Or I could break your knees,” the thug said thoughtfully, as though he were merely contributing to a philosophical debate.

“Why not?” I agreed. “I’m sure I won’t need to be able to walk or ride for that job you’re supposed to be making sure I do.” Then it occurred to me that sarcasm was a risky proposition when a misunderstanding had the potential to end so badly. “This is a part of the job, all right? So just tag along and keep quiet.”

I could see he didn’t like it, but since Mounteban obviously hadn’t filled him in on even the most basic details of why he was here, he didn’t have much choice. He shrugged bulky shoulders at his companion, and the two of them retook their positions at my elbows.

Just then, that actually suited me. The avenues I wove my way through were a little too quiet, and it struck me that even in the driving rain there were bound to be a few disreputable types out, those who hadn’t given themselves over to Mounteban’s cause and who would consider a burgeoning siege the perfect opportunity to go about their business undisturbed. Given the scanty illumination, I could have made my way across the city unseen without much effort, but it was quicker and easier to be escorted by two such off-putting companions.

Sure enough, no one bothered me in the time it took me to find the one narrow, dead-end street I sought; in fact, everyone we saw was quick to change their route. I hurried to the door I was after, a portal that only revealed itself as different from its neighbours on careful inspection: for where those were cheap and rickety, this was reinforced within by sturdy beams and metal bands, and probably only a little less solid than the city’s own gates.

Behind that unusual door was the home and business of a man named Franco, dealer of weapons, outfits and more outlandish merchandise for the criminal of discerning tastes. The last time I’d visited he’d made it quite clear that I wasn’t forgiven for embroiling him, however indirectly, in our conflict with Castilio Mounteban; but if there was one thing that could be said for Franco it was that he’d never turn away paying business.

I hammered on the door, and after a few seconds a panel in its upper half slid aside, revealing narrow eyes set in crinkled, leathered skin. Franco squinted suspiciously, first at me and then at Mounteban’s thugs. “Damasco,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Who are your new friends?”

“These are Pug and Lug, my bodyguards. Careful what you say around them, they might just take offence at your tone and come in there to twist your arms off.”

“Hah! You’re in trouble again, aren’t you? Well, of course you are. If there’s a sun or a moon in the sky, it’s a safe bet that Easie Damasco’s in trouble.”

From the far side of the door I heard the rattle of chains, the clunk of locks and the heavy thud of a bar being drawn aside; it sounded as though Franco had added to his already considerable security since my last visit. Eventually the door swung open, to reveal the ancient and eccentrically garbed figure of Franco himself, dressed as always in his scruffy poncho and hopelessly outsized hat.

“I’m surprised you’re still here, Franco,” I told him. “Has no one told you there’s a war on? Isn’t it time you thought about retiring to some place a little safer?”

“Are you mad?” he asked me, with genuine surprise. “I’ve sold two-thirds of my stock to Mounteban and his brigands.”

“What? Are they planning to rob the King’s army to death?”

“They took most of the specialist weapons, the crossbows, the concealed knifes… and I hate to think what anyone could want with that many caltrops. Know what happens when you recruit thieves and cutthroats into an army, Damasco? You get an army that likes to fight dirty. And whichever way it goes, long, drawn-out siege or desperate resistance effort against the northern oppressors, I expect to shift the rest of my stock before the month is out.”

“Aren’t you forgetting the third possibility?” I asked. “The one where Panchessa marches in and slaughters everyone he sets eyes on?”

“Hah! Don’t worry about me, Damasco. Maybe Mounteban, the Boar and a few of their lackeys will lose their heads in Red Carnation Square, but no king ever cared about one harmless old man. Now what is it you want? I can’t stand around talking to the likes of you when there’s good commerce to be done.”

“I’m going on a small expedition,” I said, “and I think it’s time I refreshed my wardrobe.”

“All to the good,” replied Franco, “but you can leave your little bodyguards out here. One customer at a time’s the rule.”

“That’s not going to happen,” put in the brute I’d just christened Lug. “Where he goes, we go.”

I was about to point out that there was only one way in or out, and that the worst I could do would be to never leave — but before I could say a word, Lug’s companion elbowed him ungently in the ribs. “Are you stupid?” he hissed. “That’s bloody Franco.”

They shared a look, and then Lug waved me on, with a scowl.

It never ceased to amaze me what a reputation Franco had accrued amongst the city’s seamy underclass. Perhaps it was simply that he’d survived for so very long in an industry not known for its long lifespans. He led me through a hallway, drew up a hatch in the room beyond and continued down the stairs it revealed, into a dimly illuminated cellar. Franco had told the truth, his stock had been severely depleted since I’d last seen it; still, by any normal standards, the display was staggering. Anything the professional criminal could conceivably want to wear, use or injure someone with was in there somewhere.

My funds were hardly in a healthy state, but it was difficult to imagine an outcome where I lived to spend my money, so I might as well be extravagant while I could. “I’ll take a cloak, shirt and trousers in the darkest grey, a good belt, an undershirt of fine chain link, a dagger I can wear out of the way — actually, make that two — and now that I think, a cosh as well. Do you have any of those famous knockout drops of yours? A bottle of those too then. I’ll need a new backpack, another length of rope wouldn’t go amiss… and some lockpicks, of course.”

Franco smirked at me from beneath his outrageous hat. “Quiet day in the countryside, is it? A little camping trip to clear the vapours?”

I grinned. “A family visit, actually… but you can never be too careful.”

Of course, that wasn’t entirely divorced from the truth; it just wasn’t any relative of mine I’d be seeking out. I settled up with Franco, wincing to see how few coins were left in my purse by the time I’d finished. Then I changed quickly, strapped on the belt and daggers, stashed the cosh in a pocket of the cloak and crammed everything else into the backpack. When I looked in Franco’s grimy mirror and saw a well-dressed thief staring back, I felt like myself for the first time in days. How hard could tracking down one headstrong prince be anyway?

Franco escorted me back to his front door, where my two handlers were waiting impatiently. “Listen, Franco,” I told him, “take care, all right? If it gets too hot, keep your head down, will you?”

“Of the two of us,” Franco said, “we both know damn well you’re not the one who should be worrying about me. And believe me when I say that I won’t be losing a minute’s sleep wondering what’s become of you.”

“Pah!” I scoffed. “Why would you need to? I can take perfectly good care of myself.”

As I said it, I even believed it — and it was only a shame that the sound of Pug and Lug’s sniggering completely ruined my moment.

By the time I made it back to the Dancing Cat, Kalyxis and her barbarians were gone, presumably to somewhere they could be fed and lodged without getting in the way of the war effort. Mounteban was holding court in the taproom, he, Estrada and his inner circle of crooks and the crookedly wealthy gathered round a cluster of tables spread with maps of the city. If I hadn’t already been feeling frustrated and miserable, that glaring reminder of how completely we’d failed to roust the vile filcher from power would certainly have done it.

“I’m ready,” I told him. “But I’ll need a horse, and a way out of the city.”

Mounteban nodded to Pug and Lug, tipped his head in the direction of the rear of the inn, and said, “Tell them to let him through the western gate.” At no point had he even looked at me.

That’s fine, I thought. Because the sooner I get this done, the sooner I can come back here and make you suffer, you blubbery, conniving weasel.

Estrada, at least, glanced up. Her eyes were haggard. “Be careful, Damasco,” she said. “You know how important this is, don’t you?”

“I have some idea,” I told her.

“Then don’t go because Kalyxis thinks you should. Malekrin’s our best chance of ending this without more bloodshed, and you’re our best chance of getting him back here in one piece.”

Estrada’s faith in me, no matter the accumulation of evidence to the contrary, never failed to perplex me. I’d have pointed out how minute the odds were of me finding one lost youth who didn’t want to be found in a land the size of the Castoval, but Estrada had returned her attention to the plan of the dockside spread before her, and one of my escorts tapped me hard on the shoulder and pointed towards the door that led through to the kitchens. Seeing no point in resisting, I led the way instead, and carried on through the room beyond into the coach yard.

There, I was surprised to see a horse already saddled and waiting. However low my mission might be in Mounteban’s priorities, it appeared I was at least in there somewhere. The horse was a placid mare, who eyed my hands hopefully when I went to pat her nose. Though obviously disappointed when no food materialised, she made no complaint when I climbed into the saddle.

We set off at a walk, Pug and Lug to either side of me, Lug lighting our way with a lantern he’d found in the stables. It didn’t take us long to reach the western gate, the entrance that until recently had been reserved for the City Guard. It was both small and sturdy, and those virtues had evidently reduced it to a minor concern in the city’s defence, for there were only two men standing sentry, both of them dressed in Altapasaedan uniform and leaning disinterestedly against the wall.

“This one’s called Ducascos,” Lug explained, holding up the lantern so that they could see my face. “Mounteban says open up for him. If he ever comes back, I suppose you should let him in again too.”

I was surprised when he passed the lantern up to me, and even more so when he tipped me a nod goodbye. Returning the gesture, I rode into the narrow gatehouse, grateful for the waft of wet dirt and foliage smell that met my nostrils. There was only so much of city living I could stand, and I’d been spending far more time in Altapasaeda lately than I’d have liked.

I’d half expected to find Pasaedan soldiers camped outside, but the road was clear as far as I could see in either direction; the King must be focusing his efforts upon the northern walls for the time being. I turned left, glad that my way lay inevitably southward — for there was only one place I could have lost Malekrin, and unlikely as it seemed that anyone could have squeezed through the door beneath the barracks, that skinny brat would have stood a better chance than most.

Then again, I was just as likely to find him still wedged there, or else buried beneath the rubble on the far side. Kalyxis hadn’t specified, but it was safe to assume that she was expecting her grandson back alive. Dragging his crushed corpse back probably wasn’t going to satisfy her.

Still, one way or the other, I had to know. I rode on through the night, clasped in a shell of pounding rain lit by the amber glow of my lantern. It was strange but, despite the cold and wet, despite everything that had happened so far that day, I actually felt quite at peace. For the moment at least, there was nothing I could do about anything. I couldn’t help Saltlick, couldn’t protect Altapasaeda, probably couldn’t even save my own skin from Kalyxis. All I could do was see what was waiting for me at the barracks and follow where it led.

My calm lasted until I was nearing the last turn before the barracks, and the moment when something hissed past my eyes and shattered with a resounding crack upon a roadside rock.

“The next one goes through your neck,” a voice said. “Who the hells are you and what do you want?”

“My name’s Easie Damasco,” I said. “Perhaps you know it?”

“Damasco? Of course.” A cloaked figure materialised on the bank to my left and picked his way down to the road, all the while careful to keep his bow trained on me. Close enough that he couldn’t possibly miss but still well out of my reach, he ordered, “Show me your face. No sudden moves.”

I drew down my hood, careful to make no moves that might be interpreted as sudden.

He paused to inspect my features. Then, apparently satisfied, he pulled back his own hood. When I failed to show any recognition, he said, “It’s Panchez. From the City Guard.”

“Right… Panchez.” I vaguely remembered Alvantes using the name for one of his handpicked elite of guardsmen, but they all looked more or less the same to me. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, spying mostly,” he said airily. “Keeping an eye out for trouble, you know? There are only a couple of us left here since the fighting broke out.” Finally, he lowered his bow, slipping the arrow deftly into a quiver slung over one shoulder. “How about you, Damasco? Don’t get me wrong, it’s always nice to have a visitor, even at so late an hour, but they’re not exactly common these days.”

“Panchez, I need some help. I’m on a mission for…” I almost said Mounteban, realised at the last moment how it would sound. “For Alvantes. I need to have a look at the door that leads into the palace tunnel.”

“You’ll have a fine time getting in there,” he said.

“I just need to see it. It’s a long story.”

Panchez shrugged. “Fair enough. If you’re here on the Hammer’s orders, that’ll do for me. This way, Damasco.”

The barracks had been burned almost to the ground under Mounteban’s brief reign; however, there was one portion that had escaped the flames, and that was where Panchez led me. I tied the mare off to a stump of blackened timber and we brushed through the curtain that served as a door. Inside, a second guardsman sat beside a small campfire on which a hunk of meat was roasting; he looked up suspiciously and then, seeing Panchez, greeted me with a wave.

Panchez pressed on through a second doorway, into the central quadrangle that had once been the guard’s training ground. He led the way to a section of building in the northwest corner — or what was left of it, for the fire had struck hard there, leaving little but rubble and charred wood in its wake. I could see how the floor had collapsed, depositing much of the upper room in the cellar below.

The last time I’d seen this place it had been from the other side and below, looking out through the gap in the hidden subterranean doorway. Holding my lantern high, I thought I could make out where that entrance must be, though it was impossible to say for sure with all the debris piled about it. There was certainly no sign of any princes, dead or otherwise — and I only realised then that I’d been half hoping to find Malekrin here, trapped and whimpering to be let free. No such luck; my mission wasn’t going to be so easy.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen anyone leave this way?” I asked Panchez.

“We haven’t seen anyone at all before you turned up,” he said.

My heart sank. Could I have been wrong? If Malekrin hadn’t escaped this way then he could only have left through the palace. He might even still be hiding there; if he wasn’t, he could be anywhere in Altapasaeda. Not only had I come here for nothing, the chances of me finding him in the city’s myriad nooks and crannies were beyond non-existent.

“But,” said Panchez, “we lost a couple of things this morning. A travel cloak and some food. And now that I think, there was some trouble in the stables too. One of the horses kicking up a fuss.”

“None of them missing though?”

“I think we’d have noticed a missing horse,” he said.

So Malekrin had come this way. He’d stolen a fresh cloak, probably as a disguise, taken food for a journey, and he’d tried to take a horse, without success. Luck was on my side there, for if he’d managed it I wouldn’t stand the faintest chance of catching him.

I guessed that he’d have headed south then, as soon as he’d realised that the city he was so keen to avoid lay to the north. If I was right, he was unlikely to have come across anything more rideable that a goat, for the stretch of land between here and the southern tip of the Castoval was sparsely populated.

“You think someone came through this way?” asked Panchez, breaking in on my thoughts. “Must be someone important, too, for you to be hunting around on a night like this.”

I could think of no reason not to tell him. “Prince Malekrin of Shoan has decided to take a tour of the Castovalian countryside. His grandmother, being the fond, maternal sort, is concerned for his wellbeing and would like to see him back.”

“Phew! Politics, eh? It’ll be the death of all of us,” said Panchez, as though it were a subject he’d given much consideration to.

“Right now,” I said, “I’m expecting something sharp and pointed to be the death of me, when I have to go back without him.”

“Why’s that?” he asked. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Oh no,” I said exasperatedly, “there’s no reason at all that finding one lone boy whose only goal is to stay undiscovered in a vast wilderness should be difficult.”

“Well, that’s it,” replied Panchez, apparently unconcerned by my outburst. “If he’s sleeping rough, you probably don’t stand a chance. But if he wanted out of this rain and was willing to pay, there’s really only one place he could be.”

A sarcastic observation regarding Panchez’s expertise in tracking lost princes was halfway to my lips before I realised that he had a point. Malekrin didn’t know this country even slightly and there’d been rain enough by now that his heavy clothes would be soaking. For all he knew, there might be bandits, wolves or three-headed monsters lurking in the wilds. Ignorant of the local geography, he’d have had to rely on asking directions of anyone he met, and they would all have told him the same thing: there was only one inn nearby that he could hope to reach on foot.

“The tavern at Midendo,” I said.

“It’s worth a try,” Panchez agreed.

“If you’re right, I owe you a drink or seven,” I told him.

“We’ve drink enough in the stores,” Panchez said. “If you want to do me a favour, ask the Hammer to let me in on the fight against those bastards camped outside our gates.”

I rode south, as fast as the mare, the darkness, the poor state of the road and the need to carry my lantern in one hand would allow me — which wasn’t very fast at all. Still, I was confident that even the trot we managed would be enough to gain on Malekrin. He’d have been weary, confused, unsure of his direction. After our dramatic arrival in the subterranean harbour, the long flight through the tunnels under the mountain and then clambering through the wreckage beneath the barracks, he might even have had to waste a few hours in resting.

Which reminded me: when had I last slept? Certainly it hadn’t been today, and before that my memories became blurry. Even the events of the morning seemed a great distance away. When, for that matter, had I eaten? I resolved that whatever else I did when I arrived in Midendo, I’d spend a little time addressing my own neglected bodily needs. For what good would it do me, Kalyxis or anyone if I should keel over from exhaustion?

Now that I was conscious of my tiredness, however, the distant prospect of rest was of little comfort. As the hours wore by, I found myself nodding more and more in the saddle — and on a couple of occasions, even waking with a frightened jolt to find the horse still trotting beneath me. I grew anxious that I’d miss the turning I sought, though there were few enough junctions on the road. But even fretfulness wasn’t enough to keep me fully awake. I could hear the river murmuring a lullaby somewhere to my left, and the blustering rain made the trees sigh and the grass whisper beside me. In desperation, I began to sing to myself, and when the sound became too strange amidst the night-time quiet, to talk to my horse, narrating choice highlights of my recent adventures.

I was just detailing how I’d almost single-handedly defeated the deadliest assassins of two lands when I realised there was a track winding off from the main road ahead, and a finger post offering directions in black letters seared into the wood. Sure enough, under the lantern light I could read the ill-scrawled word Midendo.

As I took the turnoff, I wondered what portion of the night I’d ridden through. The moon was lagging in the eastern portion of the sky, as if it too had worn itself out. Though the darkness was thicker than ever beyond the circle of my lamplight, I guessed that dawn might not be too far off.

It wasn’t long before I crested a ridge and saw Midendo before me, nestled cosily in the cleavage of two hills. Midendo was a nothing of a place; folks thereabout considered it a town, but it was hardly large enough to warrant the description, and far enough off the main road that no one was ever likely to stumble upon it by accident. I supposed it was left over from before the Sabre was built in Altapasaeda, when the only bridge had been the one that crossed the Casto Mara to the south and the highway had seen regular traffic. Now, from what I knew, Midendo served primarily as a hub for the nearby villages, with its small market and of course its tavern, the Nine Lights.

That was an ironic enough name from my point of view, for the tavern — and indeed the entire village — was sunk in darkness as I drew close. Deciding that I’d sooner not draw attention, I tied the mare off in a thicket beside the dirt road, extinguished my lantern and continued on foot.

I made it to the Nine Lights without difficulty, seeing no one and confident no one had seen me. I doubted there was anyone around in Midendo at such an hour, and I was certain it had no guard, for what was there here that anyone could possibly want to steal?

Then again, what I was about to do might well be deemed criminal — for the Nine Lights was locked up for the night, and I was hardly about to start hammering to be let in if there was a chance that Malekrin was asleep inside. A quick inspection revealed a small door at the back in addition to the main entrance; of the two, that seemed best suited to my needs. I’d hoped it might be unlocked in a place as quiet as Midendo, but a gentle push proved otherwise. Still, it might as well have been for the easy work I made of it with my picks. I had the lock sprung in seconds, and opened the door with a soft shove, slipping in through the gap.

There was a kitchen beyond, as I’d guessed there might be — and I was in luck. I’d had images of having to break into every room in the place, until I found either Malekrin or someone who could help me; but asleep before the fire, in a great rocking chair that creaked in time with her snores, was a plump, grey-haired woman I took for the tavern’s proprietor.

There was no time for niceties. I tapped her roughly on the shoulder. Her eyes opened a slit — and then very wide. “Aagh! Thief! Va-”

I clapped my hand over her mouth and held it there, despite her wriggling and considerable strength. “Calm down,” I hissed, “and listen. I’m not here to hurt you. If I was, wouldn’t I have done it by now? I’m here on behalf of the Altapasaedan City Guard and there’s good coin in it for you if you’ll help me… but I need you to be quiet, all right?”

After a moment’s thought, she nodded as well as she could; when I removed my hand, however, she gave me the filthiest of scowls. “What kind of guardsman breaks into a woman’s tavern?” she asked, still louder than I’d have liked.

“Please, keep your voice down. I never said I was a guardsman; I’m just here on their behalf. I’m looking for someone who might be staying here. It’s important, and I can’t have them knowing I’m here.”

“I’ve only the one guest,” she said, “and he’s a strange one. I can’t think what you’d want with him.”

My heart throbbed in my chest, as if my ribs had become a closing fist. I hardly dared ask, though I knew I had to. “Strange how, exactly?”

“In every way you can think of. He’s almost too young to be wandering around on his own, and he hardly seems to know where he is. He’s dressed up in skins and furs like a trapper, and he’s dark enough to have been living outside all his life, but he talks like he’s somebody and he’s got good coin, though even that’s not proper-”

“All right, all right,” I said, breaking in upon her flow before her volume could escalate any further. “That’s who I’m looking for.” My mind was whirling, as I tried to figure out my next step through a haze of tiredness. I was close, but there was still ample scope for everything to go wrong if I wasn’t careful. “Does his room have a lock?” I asked.

“Of course. This is a quality establishment. All my rooms have locks,” she said. “To discourage disreputable types,” she added pointedly.

Quality establishment or no, I didn’t need her to tell me that those locks wouldn’t be anything I could pick; more likely, the rooms would be secured with something as crude as a bolt or bar. Maybe I could kick Malekrin’s door in if I paid her enough in advance, but just then I wasn’t sure I’d have the strength — and if it took me more than a couple of attempts, he’d be out the window and gone.

No, there’d be no kicking in of doors. I had a better idea. “He’s your only guest, you say? The only one staying upstairs?”

She nodded.

“Well then, here’s what we’re going to do…”