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returned to Mounteban and reported his failure, or my continuing existence was numbered in days at best.
      Whatever the case, my best hope of survival lay in company. This room was as safe a haven as I could hope for. Four sturdy, windowless walls, a reinforced door and a dozen guardsmen would be proof against even the finest of killers. Until I had a better idea, it made sense to keep myself and everyone else here for as long as I could. Moreover, I stood a better chance of manoeuvring Alvantes if he was in the dark about my motives.
      I realised whole seconds had passed since Navare's question, and that he was now staring at me with obvious suspicion. "I don't think so," I told him, trying to sound as though I'd been musing over the possibility. "I was chased, but I lost them at the walls." As far as I knew, it might even be the truth.
      "Let's hope so," he replied, not trying to hide the distrust in his voice.
      Alvantes stepped closer to the candlelight. "What did you find? I assume they weren't turning the city upside down looking for you for no reason."
      "You won't like it," I said.
      "I didn't expect to."
      "It's Mounteban. Castilio Mounteban is running Altapasaeda."
      There was a gasp from the darkness. It could only have been Estrada. Given their history – Mounteban's puppyish affection, which had almost ended in rape when he realised just how unrequited it was, and his subsequent betrayal of her and her cause to Moaradrid – I could understand that the name might provoke a certain reaction.
      Alvantes's face, meanwhile, was blank as uncut stone, and bloodless in the flickering half-light. "You're certain?"
      "I saw him," I said. "I heard him speak. He's brought the heads of family together, along with the gang leaders and I'd guess a couple of Moaradrid's generals. He was talking about a coalition, running the city and then the whole of Castoval. Only knowing Mounteban, it's going to be a coalition of one by the time he's done."
      "This changes things."
      "Damn right it does. So what's the plan? Mounteban was talking about reopening the gates. You lie low for a few days, wait for things to quiet down and then…"
      "How many armed men did you see in there, Damasco?"
      Taken aback, I struggled to add up the numerous patrols I'd passed with the ones I'd subsequently been chased by. "A lot."
      "Let's suppose that's only a fraction of the forces at Mounteban's disposal," Alvantes continued.
      "I'd say that's a safe assumption."
      "And it isn't only numbers. As much as they might not like him or his methods, Mounteban's telling everyone what they want to hear – in some cases, what they've wanted to hear for years. We can't walk in there to arrest him and expect the city to just fall in behind us."
      "Who said anything about arresting? I was thinking something more along the lines of…"
      Alvantes shook his head. It seemed more for his benefit than ours. "It would get too messy," he said, "and it would take too long. Moreover, with the resources we have, it would probably go against us. Anyhow, I made a vow and I intend to keep it. The King has to know his son is dead. If he can forgive me that failure, perhaps he'll offer the help we need."
      "What?" I stared in disbelief. Similar expressions were upon the dim faces watching from around the room. "Isn't your job to arrest criminals? Mounteban's only gone and stolen an entire city."
      "Guard-Captain…" began Navare, and trailed off, leaving the obvious strain in his voice to say what words had failed to.
      "Mounteban's juggling fire trying to hold so many factions together. He has to keep up the illusion that his way is better for everyone… at least for the moment." I'd never heard Alvantes sound defensive before. It fit ill with the bass growl of his voice. "Navare, I know you – I know all of you – want to see this done. But it's already gone beyond a simple question of guarding the city. We