Giant Thief (27 page)

  Educated by my earlier failure and a growling stomach, I settled for a dripping hunk of meat and some fried rice and tucked in. This was sure to be the grandest meal of my life, and I wanted to try at least a little of it before the Prince resumed his unconventional entertainments.

  My wolfish eating might normally have drawn comment, but that night I'd have probably had to tip the plate over my head. Everyone not in conversation with the Prince was staring at Saltlick, who at that moment was half way through a tureen of vegetables that would have served half a dozen people. He'd been eating steadily since the first dish had been set down, and showed no sign of slowing. There was something awful and fascinating in the way he crammed handfuls into his maw, like watching a forest fire laying bare vast tracts of wilderness. Many of the Prince's guests, and especially the ladies for some reason, were so enraptured that they were ignoring their own appetites altogether.

  The Prince must have considered Saltlick sufficient amusement, because he continued to keep his conversation amongst the chosen few around him. At first I was glad of an interval, but as the quiet wore on the tension grew, until even the effort of chewing ground on my nerves. My stomach began to ache and grumble. I wished the bottle in my pocket really did contain medicine.

  I pushed my plate aside and leaned away. Others around the table were making similar motions – reclining, edging back, picking half-heartedly at scraps. I could see the Prince's piggy eyes flitting from figure to figure, noting yawns and glazed expressions. I tensed.

  "Really," he began, as though the break in conversation had lasted seconds instead of minutes, "the thing I truly can't understand is why you've all come to Altapasaeda. As delightful as your company is, you must know how we detest squabbles."

  "We didn't mean to bring our problems to your door, Prince," replied Estrada. It was the first she'd said to him all evening, and the words were very slightly slurred. "Our lives were in danger. We had nowhere else to go."

  "In danger? Moaradrid, tell me that isn't true."

  "The thief stole from me. This woman is protecting him. She is mistaken in doing so."

  "A mistake I'm repeating, eh?" Panchetto's voice held an edge that I'd never have expected. It struck me then that an opportunity to remove Moaradrid without too much show would suit him well, his father even more so. If an excuse arose to arrest Moaradrid then all sorts of fates might befall him in the depths of the palace dungeons, fates that could be kept from his generals until reinforcements arrived.

  The same would have occurred to Moaradrid, of course, probably long before he considered setting foot in the city. He was playing a dangerous game, made more risky by his own temper. He managed to control it this time, though barely. "There can be no comparison, Highness. Only you can judge to whom your hospitality extends."

  "That's very true. But surely the same can be said of our lovely lady mayor?"

  "There's a difference between princely generosity and the harbouring of a fugitive."

  "How can he be a fugitive? You don't make the law." This time, Estrada's words came out in one long jumble, and she rested both hands on the table to steady herself.

  "I say again: an object was stolen from me. This injustice must be redressed."

  "It's like Easie said… you stole it too. You stole it
more." Estrada pushed back from the table and her
entire upper body swayed. "You… it's all your fault." She raised one hand and stared at it, as if unsure where it had come from. "You are a very bad man," she concluded – just in time to keel backwards and roll onto the floor.

  I leaped to my feet.

  "Marina? What is it? What's wrong?"

  I knelt beside her and made a show of checking her breathing.

  "She's only fainted," I said, with the assurance of one who'd been studying medicine all his life. I tried to glare equally at Panchetto and Moaradrid. "You should be ashamed of yourselves."

  My words brought a sympathetic murmur from around the table. I couldn't have cared less what those pampered lordlings thought, but it was vital no one try to interfere.

  Before anyone could, and I could see Alvantes considering it, I turned to Saltlick and said, "We should put her to bed. Will you help me carry her?"

  Saltlick nodded and lifted Estrada in his arms. It was oddly touching to see how gently he held her limp figure, a scene only slightly spoiled by the saliva dribbling from her lower lip.

  "Come on," I said, heading towards the entrance. Saltlick fell in dutifully behind me. Panchetto stood at the last moment and – failing to hide his attempt to regain the initiative very well – said, "Won't you wait while I call my personal physician?"

  "That won't be necessary. I'm sure she just needs rest and quiet."

  "Then I'll send one of my men to escort you." Panchetto motioned to one of the guards.

  "We can find our own way," I replied curtly, and was out of the room before he could say anything more.

  It was true, I'd taken care to memorise our route, and I made it back to our corridor without difficulty. I led the way into Estrada's room and signalled Saltlick to lay her on the bed. She grunted when he did so, mumbled something incomprehensible, and rolled onto her side. An instant later, the chamber echoed to the sound of snoring.

  Saltlick stood close by, gazing down. He turned to me and whispered, "Marina sick?"

  "Not really. I drugged her glass when I refilled it, but it'll wear off in an hour or two."

  "
Drugged
?" Now his voice was thunderous.

  "Keep it down! It was only a little. How else was I supposed to get us away from that insane party?"

  That threw him. I could see the confusion and anger battling across his features. Interesting as it was, I had to focus on the task at hand. First, I eased the medallion that Panchetto had given her from around Estrada's neck and draped it round my own. It was harder to untie the pouch at her throat, but eventually I pried loose the knot and it fell into my hands.

  I turned to find Saltlick glowering at me. "Stop stealing!"

  "I don't think so," I said. "Not when there's a whole palace of wealth up for grabs." I slipped the chief-stone from its pouch and held it up towards his face. "And not when I have my very own giant to help me."

 
 
 

More emotions traipsed over Saltlick's features in the space of that minute than in the entire time I'd known him. The parade began with delight, as though he'd just rediscovered a lost friend. That segued into bafflement, quickly followed by alarm, a brief return of pleasure, something that was possibly shock, and finally, an expression of vague, bewildered horror.

  "How…" he asked. Rather than finish the question, he reached towards the stone. I wondered what I'd do if he tried to take it from me – the possibility hadn't entered my mind until then – but he stopped short of even touching it. "How?" he repeated, in the tone someone might use to ask how a loved one had died.

  I didn't want to imagine what his reaction would be to finding out I'd stolen the stone with his unwitting help, only to carry it about in ignorance while Moaradrid strove to recover it. And how would he like the news that Estrada had taken it from me, knowing what it was, letting the warlord think I still had it?

  "What's important is that I have it, and that makes me your chief. Am I right? You have to do what I say, even if you don't like it?"

  Saltlick nodded. I could tell from the way his shoulders sagged that he knew where this was going.

  "Excellent. Now listen carefully…"

  I gave him his instructions as slowly and precisely as I could, and then repeated them just in case. He looked more crestfallen with each word. I can honestly say I felt a little sorry for him. Moaradrid, Mounteban, Alvantes, that idiot Panchetto and perhaps most of all Estrada, they'd all abused me, tricked me or manipulated me in one way or another. Saltlick had never done anything more offensive than pick his toenails in my presence.

  I wasn't about to let sympathy get in my way, though. Not tonight, not when I'd made it this far. "You understand all that? Are you sure? Then get going, and don't foul it up."

  Saltlick lumbered out of the room with a last sorrowful glance towards Estrada's prone form. I listened as his footsteps receded down the corridor in the direction of the stables, and then sat on the bed to wait. Estrada made a small, complaining noise and rolled over. The sleeping draught had erased whatever care she'd taken for the party. Her hair was a dishevelled cloud, and a thread of drool still hung down her chin. It had given her face a sort of guileless quality in return. That, together with the moonlight streaming through the window, had smoothed away some of her sharp edges. I could almost see how a man like Mounteban might find her attractive.

  I shuddered. Better him than me!

  I stood and went out into the corridor. The lamps along the walls were unlit, presumably because the party was supposed to go on until much later. I felt sure I saw I saw a flicker of movement at the end of the passage, which disappeared the moment my eyes passed over it. A spy of Panchetto's? I hoped so. "I'll check in on you later, Marina," I stage-whispered. "Don't worry, I'll only be next door."

  I went back into my own room, looking everywhere but where that glimpse of motion had been. Once inside, I checked there were no gaps around the edges of the door-curtain where suspicious eyes could peek inside. Satisfied that I was safe from observation, I moved to the bed. I stripped off the sheets, as quietly as I could manage, and piled them on the floor.

  I spent the next few minutes knotting bed sheets end to end, and then testing the knots as well as I could without making undue noise. At the end of that time, I had a rope about the length of the room. I secured one end to the tail of the bed frame, which was of solid wood and easily heavy enough to bear my weight. Then I piled the sheet-rope back onto the mattress. If I was disturbed, it might pass unnoticed in a pinch.

  It wasn't the most original scheme I'd ever concocted. Sometimes, though, the old tricks are the best, and it certainly beat trying to smuggle a rope into the palace.

  Now came the difficult part. I've never been good at waiting, and those next few minutes passed with all the speed of a mouse through treacle. I'd wracked my brains for a means of surreptitiously manoeuvring Saltlick from the stables to where I needed him. I could have done this with half the dramatics if only I'd had an assistant who was willing and, perhaps more importantly, smaller than an outhouse. In the end, all I could think to do was leave as much time as I dared risk. I hoped Panchetto didn't consider the giant interesting enough to keep a proper guard on and that the presence of a known thief in his palace would focus his attentions.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the temple gongs ringing midnight. It was the sign I'd given Saltlick. My first impulse was to rush to the window. However, it would take him some time to leave the stables and work his way around. I forced myself to creep over, trailing my improvised rope behind me. I counted to thirty. When there was no sign of him, I did so again, more slowly. Still nothing. I tried to remember the names of every woman I'd slept with and then, realising that might not pass as much time as I'd like, their hair colours and idiosyncrasies.

  Nothing. He wasn't coming. He'd betrayed me, his friend and chieftain. Or else he'd been caught, in which case the guards would arrive for me at any moment. Perhaps the oaf had simply fallen asleep, or…

  A grotesque shadow jutted into the strip of courtyard below. It was followed an instant later by Saltlick's lumbering form. I'd noted before how ill suited to stealth he was. Watching him creep along, I thought of a tree trying to fall silently.

  Still, I couldn't help but feel glad when he saw me and waved. Once he stood beneath my window, I motioned for him to stay where he was.

  It was a moonless and pitch-black night, as I'd expected it would be. Everything I'd seen of Panchetto's security led to me to believe he didn't take the threat of burglary very seriously, or rather trusted too much in his unscalable outer walls and well-guarded gatehouse. As far as I'd been able to tell, there were no patrols. If one did happen by then the darkness was deep enough to hide Saltlick from all but a deliberate search.

  I tossed the rope down and watched its loops bounce free against the wall. Hopefully the night would hide that too; I was glad the servants had opted for linen of a rich purple shade rather than, say, brilliant white. It reached about halfway to the ground, which was ample for what I had in mind. I clambered onto the ledge and swung down, gasping at the chill night air and momentary vertigo. The rope gave a fraction and held. The bed gave the faintest squeal but stayed in place.

  I allowed myself a small sigh of relief and climbed hand over hand down to the next window. I could feel Saltlick's eyes on me. I couldn't guess whether he was thinking of my safety or willing me to plummet to the ground. I swung onto the sill, dropped lightly to the floor, and hauled the remaining rope in after me.

  The room beneath mine was just as I remembered it from earlier in the day. Another couple of steps and I'd have fallen into the sunken bath, which had been drained since I'd last seen it. Panchetto's fat guest was evidently still at the party, and likely would be for some time yet.

  That didn't mean I wasn't in a hurry.

  My eyes had already adjusted to the dark, so I set to it immediately. There wasn't much furniture in the room: an inset wardrobe like the one in my own chamber, a set of drawers with elaborate carved legs and wrought-metal handles, and small cabinets to either side of the bed. I turned up a little loose change, a silver amulet set with carnelian, and a couple of silk scarves. It wasn't much, but it was a start.