"All right, you've got me there. What is it?"
"It's the answer, Damasco."
I had to lean in close to catch her next words.
"One of our agents found this out, once we discovered what Moaradrid had brought back from the south. Giant society is very simple, you see — what you might call an elective monarchy. They decide on a leader, and that giant has responsibility for the tribe. Since all the giants are more or less equal and they don't tend to argue, or go anywhere, or do anything unusual, it's not the most taxing position — although they take it very seriously.
"Anyway. The giants don't seem to hold much with airs and graces, but their leader does get a staff to mark them out in a crowd. The staff is just a piece of wood; it's probably changed a dozen times over the centuries. What matters is the stone mounted at the top. Simply put, whoever holds that is chief, for as long as they live, absolutely and without dispute."
"That's what it is? That pebble is their chief-stone? And Moaradrid stole it." This struck me as remarkably funny, for reasons I couldn't quite put my finger on.
"Then you stole it from him."
"And he's been chasing me all this time to get it back." The final pieces slipped into place, and then I really couldn't help but laugh. "So that's why you've been using us as bait. Moaradrid will chase up and down the Castoval forever, because if he doesn't then sooner or later he'll have a mob of disgruntled giants to contend with." I shook my head, suddenly bewildered. "All this for a bit of rock. I'd have given it back if he'd only asked."
"It's a good job for the Castoval, for the whole land, that you didn't. He'd probably be sitting in the royal palace by now."
"And I'd be asleep in bed, instead of on a log in the middle of nowhere talking to you. That doesn't sound like such a bad deal." Before Estrada could tell me what she thought of my priorities, I added, "None of this explains why I have to go to Altapasaeda and have my head chopped off."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you. As a mayor, I have diplomatic privileges, and Prince Panchetto wouldn't dare ignore that even now. As long as you're in my entourage, you're safe. I have my own reasons for going there, but as far as the plan is concerned it will give Moaradrid a chance to catch up."
"That's a good thing?"
"It is if we're going to lead him into our ambush. Except, none of that can work if you're not there, because as far as he's concerned you have the stone, or at least are the only one who knows where it is. So you see, Easie, I have to protect you if I'm going to save the Castoval."
"Yes, I see."
What I didn't say was, " This all assumes you can protect me. Marina Estrada, mayor of a town that was probably in enemy hands by now, leader of a resistance so petty and muddled that the greater part of the Castoval had no idea it existed. What exactly was the diplomatic status of an ex-mayor, or a failed resistance leader?" Whatever the answer, I doubted her word would carry as much weight in Altapasaeda as she imagined it would.
The question was ultimately irrelevant, because I hadn't the faintest intention of going there. The crucial fact, which Estrada had failed to mention, was that I no longer had the stone. Presumably, she did. If that was the case, there were two possibilities: she'd have to reveal it in order to lure Moaradrid, or her plan would fail, she'd be captured, and it would fall into his possession that way. Whatever happened, I'd only have to stay out of his hands for a week, probably less, and then his interest in me would evaporate. This mad, interminable hunt would be over.
Just to make sure I said, with laboured innocence, "It won't work, though. I lost the stone days ago. I didn't know the thing was important so I didn't think much about it."
Estrada reached up and drew the neck of her undershirt open. For one terrifying moment, I thought she was about to try to seduce me. Then I saw the pouch, worn like a collar over her breastbone.
"We took it from you, while you were asleep in the caves. We genuinely didn't know whose side you were on. Then Castilio suggested sending you to rescue Saltlick, to test you and to put Moaradrid on our trail. It would have been ridiculous to hand it back to you and say 'try not to lose this when you're down there in Moaradrid's camp'. After that there was never an opportunity."
"That's fine. I don't want the damn thing anyway."
"As long as Moaradrid believes you have it, that's all that matters. We could give it to Saltlick and it wouldn't make any difference."
I laughed. "Saltlick, chief of the giants! What would he do? I don't think he's the order-giving type."
Estrada smiled. "I'm glad we talked. I wish I could have been honest with you earlier. You see now why you have to come to Altapasaeda with me?"
"I do."
Which wasn't to say that I planned to. Getting out of her absurd scheme would be another matter — but one that could wait until morning at least.
"We should try and catch some sleep. We've a long day ahead."
"Yes." Estrada slid to the ground, so that her back was propped against the log and her body lay alongside the fire. "Goodnight, Damasco."
• • • •
I woke to shouting. My first thought was that I'd been wrong after alclass="underline" Moaradrid's men had seen our fire, and I'd be beaten to a pulp at any instant, hog-tied, and dragged off to indescribable torments. Blinking muzzily at a bright morning sky, I felt more irritated at being proved wrong than afraid. How Estrada was going to gloat!
It struck me then that it was her shouting, and only her. Either our assailants were unusually subdued or something else was going on. I stumbled to my feet, knuckled my eyes and glanced around our makeshift campsite. Saltlick was just sitting up, evidently also woken by her cries. I could just make out Estrada through the foliage, standing close to the riverbank, dancing from foot to foot and waving her arms. I couldn't see who she was signalling to, if in fact she was signalling at all and hadn't just gone insane.
Who could it be, out here in the backend of nowhere? Please not Mounteban, I thought, better Moaradrid than that pompous crook. I clambered over the log that had served as our pillow and jogged towards her. She was veiled by the bank-side willows, so that it was only when I was right behind her that I saw what she was looking at. A riverboat lay moored, close enough that its crew could have leaped ashore without wetting their feet. It was a grubby, unkempt craft, its name invisible beneath anonymous filth that had dripped from above, its cargo hidden beneath sheets of soiled oilcloth. It had a single, tattered sail, currently furled. Two boys lounged on deck and a shovelbearded man in a long crimson coat — that must have been expensive before decades of disrepair took their toll — leaned over the side towards us.
Estrada, noticing me, said, "Damasco, meet Captain Anterio. I happened to see him passing and thought he might be able to help us. Captain, this is my travelling companion Easie Damasco."
"A pleasure," I said, without conviction.
"The captain was just agreeing to take us up the river."
"Depending on our settling a reasonable fare," Anterio added quickly. Then his eyes widened, and he took a step backward. "What in the hells is that?"
I followed his distraught gaze to see Saltlick ploughing through the trees towards us.
"Ah," said Estrada. "I was about to mention Saltlick."
I never heard the final sum Estrada paid for our passage. I've no doubt it went up considerably when Saltlick entered the equation. Though Anterio eventually agreed to let him on board, he insisted on making him sit at the stern, with his back to us. It seemed a bizarre precaution, but Saltlick didn't appear to mind, and soon we were underway.