“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.”