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Authors: David Tallerman
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topple Mounteban and what happens? Who takes his place? No. This is the King's business as much as it is ours."
What was wrong with the man? Where had this sudden rush of caution come from? My only shot at safety was rapidly diminishing. I racked my brains for some argument that might sway him, some memory of Mounteban's speech that would demand urgent action.
Then it struck me. Any attempt I made to convince Alvantes was bound to have precisely the opposite effect. I was the last person in the room he'd listen to. All I could hope now was that Synza had given up the chase – or else, for a quick and relatively painless end.
It seemed the mood of the whole room mirrored my own. With the conversation ground to a halt, quiet hung heavy. It was Estrada who eventually broke the silence, and she made no effort to hide the deliberate change in subject. "You must be exhausted, Easie."
I'd hardly noticed it for the still-ebbing adrenalin of the chase, my many bruises and the rising pain of where Synza's knife had nicked my head, but she was right. The fatigue of the night's travails was creeping up on me fast. If I didn't lie down soon, I'd collapse where I stood. Perhaps the morning would offer an argument to sway Alvantes, some way to duck the noose that seemed to be abruptly closing round my neck.
One matter, however, couldn't wait. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I asked Alvantes.
His expression clouded for a moment. Then he said, "Of course. You want your thievings back."
"Manners, please. Remember the terms of our arrangement."
Alvantes reached into a pocket. "Easie Damasco, it's my honour to return to you this bag containing your hard-earned gains. May they bring you great and unceasing joy."
There was something oddly charming in his woeful attempt at sarcasm. "It's been a pleasure doing business, Guard-Captain."
"Damasco… you did good work in there. I only wish you could have done it of your own free will."
"And I wish every night for a mansion made of gold. But I'll still wake up tomorrow in this reeking shed."
Alvantes shook his head. "Thank you. Whenever I'm fool enough to imagine there might be hope for you, I can rely on you to prove me wrong."
I offered him a weary bow. "Disappointing expectations is what I do best."
• • • •
If I'd expected sleep, it was a vain hope indeed.
For a start, there was Saltlick, who could have comfortably occupied the room by himself. As if that weren't enough, Alvantes insisted on cordoning off another corner to preserve Estrada's modesty, presumably to protect her against those of us with the ability to see through blankets and layers of clothing in pitch darkness. That done, there remained roughly enough floor space for four people to bed down, assuming they didn't value comfort even slightly.
Including the guardsmen and Navare, there were sixteen of us.
I ended up in the square of ground beneath the small table, knees and elbows tucked in to minimize contact with my nearest neighbours. The thought of even trying to rest made me despondent. In desperation, I asked, "Does nobody want to hear the story of how I made it out of Altapasaeda alive?"
"Sleep well, Easie," said Estrada from somewhere in the darkness.
"Says the only person in the room with an actual bed," I told her, and shut my eyes.
I woke from nebulous, alarming dreams to agony that made my earlier discomfort seem like bliss. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to stretch my arms and legs properly again, and my flesh felt like one colossal bruise reaching into the depths of my bones. These sensations came to me hazily, though, through a murk of half-awakeness – and were all the worse for that. I lay caught between the hope of somehow drifting into a sleep too deep for pain and of the morning arriving to offer some reprieve.
I was actually glad when Alvantes rose and one by one roused the guardsmen. I rubbed the life
What was wrong with the man? Where had this sudden rush of caution come from? My only shot at safety was rapidly diminishing. I racked my brains for some argument that might sway him, some memory of Mounteban's speech that would demand urgent action.
Then it struck me. Any attempt I made to convince Alvantes was bound to have precisely the opposite effect. I was the last person in the room he'd listen to. All I could hope now was that Synza had given up the chase – or else, for a quick and relatively painless end.
It seemed the mood of the whole room mirrored my own. With the conversation ground to a halt, quiet hung heavy. It was Estrada who eventually broke the silence, and she made no effort to hide the deliberate change in subject. "You must be exhausted, Easie."
I'd hardly noticed it for the still-ebbing adrenalin of the chase, my many bruises and the rising pain of where Synza's knife had nicked my head, but she was right. The fatigue of the night's travails was creeping up on me fast. If I didn't lie down soon, I'd collapse where I stood. Perhaps the morning would offer an argument to sway Alvantes, some way to duck the noose that seemed to be abruptly closing round my neck.
One matter, however, couldn't wait. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I asked Alvantes.
His expression clouded for a moment. Then he said, "Of course. You want your thievings back."
"Manners, please. Remember the terms of our arrangement."
Alvantes reached into a pocket. "Easie Damasco, it's my honour to return to you this bag containing your hard-earned gains. May they bring you great and unceasing joy."
There was something oddly charming in his woeful attempt at sarcasm. "It's been a pleasure doing business, Guard-Captain."
"Damasco… you did good work in there. I only wish you could have done it of your own free will."
"And I wish every night for a mansion made of gold. But I'll still wake up tomorrow in this reeking shed."
Alvantes shook his head. "Thank you. Whenever I'm fool enough to imagine there might be hope for you, I can rely on you to prove me wrong."
I offered him a weary bow. "Disappointing expectations is what I do best."
• • • •
If I'd expected sleep, it was a vain hope indeed.
For a start, there was Saltlick, who could have comfortably occupied the room by himself. As if that weren't enough, Alvantes insisted on cordoning off another corner to preserve Estrada's modesty, presumably to protect her against those of us with the ability to see through blankets and layers of clothing in pitch darkness. That done, there remained roughly enough floor space for four people to bed down, assuming they didn't value comfort even slightly.
Including the guardsmen and Navare, there were sixteen of us.
I ended up in the square of ground beneath the small table, knees and elbows tucked in to minimize contact with my nearest neighbours. The thought of even trying to rest made me despondent. In desperation, I asked, "Does nobody want to hear the story of how I made it out of Altapasaeda alive?"
"Sleep well, Easie," said Estrada from somewhere in the darkness.
"Says the only person in the room with an actual bed," I told her, and shut my eyes.
I woke from nebulous, alarming dreams to agony that made my earlier discomfort seem like bliss. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to stretch my arms and legs properly again, and my flesh felt like one colossal bruise reaching into the depths of my bones. These sensations came to me hazily, though, through a murk of half-awakeness – and were all the worse for that. I lay caught between the hope of somehow drifting into a sleep too deep for pain and of the morning arriving to offer some reprieve.
I was actually glad when Alvantes rose and one by one roused the guardsmen. I rubbed the life
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