One last job. I’d said it before, but this time I’d make certain it was true. If I left the palace alive, I’d also leave it rich. And after that, nothing would keep me in this doomed city.
Ahead of me, Alvantes slowed, and I just barely avoided tripping over his heels. Roused from my reverie, I realised we’d come to a halt before a building I recognised. I’d passed obliviously through the entirety of the Market District, and now here we were somewhere close to the north wall, gathered before an ugly structure of bare grey stone.
It was amazing that the odour hadn’t warned me, really — for now that I was paying attention, the ancient stink of rotted flesh climbed into my nose and refused to let go. The building had been a tannery until quite recently; as I understood, the owner had decided that skipping town would be more palatable than trying to pay his inordinate gambling debts, and it had fallen vacant a month ago.
The reason I recognised it was presumably the same reason we were standing before it now: there were very few empty buildings in Altapasaeda large enough to house a hundred giants. Even then, a better solution could probably have been found had everyone not had more pressing worries. As it was, since the giants weren’t inclined to complain, the decision had been swiftly made and forgotten.
Whatever the giants’ nasal failings, what was suitable for their habitation remained repulsive to mere men. Alvantes gathered himself with a visible effort, scrunching his nose against the stink before pressing through the gap in the open double doors. Estrada went next, then Mounteban, and I followed behind, sparing a sympathetic glance for Navare and his fellow guardsman, who were experiencing this olfactory horror for the first time.
Inside, I focused all my willpower on not retching. The fixtures and furnishings had long since vanished, no doubt stolen by competitors or sold by disgruntled creditors, the only evidence of their vanished presence the geometry of cleaner patches amidst the thickening dust. However, stripping the great room to bare boards and walls had done nothing to wipe away the vile, mingled odours that had seeped into them over the years.
If it bothered the giants even slightly, they gave no indication. They’d settled themselves in clumps around the room, their presence making the considerable space seem almost cramped. There was little light in there, nothing but dim beams descending from openings near the ceiling, but the gloom didn’t seem to concern them either.
Saltlick was on his feet and rushing over almost before we’d entered, his usual broad grin of greeting spread across his face. Seeing him, I felt a sudden surge of resentment on his behalf. What right did Estrada have to ask for anything more from him or his people? They were only still here because Saltlick had offered their help in rebuilding after the recent violence. The giants had already done more than enough for Altapasaeda, more than enough for Alvantes and Estrada.
I thought of pointing out as much, but I’d missed my moment: Estrada was already leading Saltlick to one side, while he hunched to catch her low-spoken words. Well, he was an adult, wasn’t he? More than that, Saltlick was the closest thing the giants had to a chief now; all that kept him from the post was the absurdities of giant custom. If he couldn’t be trusted to stand up for his people, who could?
So instead of trying to contribute my twelfth onyx-worth, I went to wait outside, where there was something at least approaching fresh air to be breathed. I watched the traffic of desperate people, the overladen carts and bickering families, and marvelled at how — even in Altapasaeda, where rumour was lifeblood — word of the King’s approach could have spread so very quickly.
A few minutes had passed before Estrada called me back in. She looked paler than before, and shaken. It was there in her voice, too, as she said, “Saltlick’s agreed to accompany me northward himself.”
“Protect Marina,” agreed Saltlick.
“He needs to be here,” I said. There had been something in his tone as well — weariness, a hint of resignation — that had resuscitated my anger. “Can’t you see that? He’s their leader. How can you even consider dragging him off on this madman’s errand?”
Estrada gave a half shrug, obviously uncomfortable. “Because he insists.”
“Protect Marina,” repeated Saltlick, more certainly this time.
It struck me then that he might not like being discussed as though he weren’t towering right before us. “Saltlick,” I said, “your people need you.”
Saltlick motioned, picking out one giant who looked, to me, much like the rest. “Shai Mek will lead. Take people home.”
“Without you?”
“Not for long,” he said.
“Not unless…”
Not unless you die out there. But I didn’t finish putting the thought into words; I knew better than to assume Saltlick hadn’t thought through the ramifications of what he was about to do. Instead, I looked to Estrada, struggling for some appeal to her decency. Seeing her expression, though, I realised she was far from oblivious. Perhaps she’d have taken her request back if she could have.
She couldn’t. Saltlick’s mind was made up, and the damage done.
“You needn’t worry,” Estrada told him. “I’ll make sure you get back in one piece.”
Saltlick smiled, perfectly trusting. It would never have occurred to him she might do otherwise.
If anything, his faith only added to her obvious discomfort. “Well,” she said, “we’d best start preparing.”
Saltlick, taking her hint, started towards the giant he’d indicated earlier — and as he did so, looped a finger into the crown he wore at his neck, ready to tear it loose.
“Wait!” Mounteban, who’d hardly seemed to have been paying attention until then, took a quick a step forward.
Everyone, myself included, turned to look at him, expressions ranging from curiosity to Alvantes’s outright suspicion.
“Saltlick, perhaps it’s not my place,” Mounteban said, “but should you really give up the crown? Won’t it confuse your people, when it’s taken them so long to accept the notion of having a new leader at all? Better, surely, if this Shai Mek simply acts on your behalf.”
I wondered briefly how Mounteban knew the recent history of the crown — how I’d used it as a replacement for the giants’ lost stone of leadership to trick them into following Saltlick. But of course he would know. Mounteban made it his business to know everything that might possibly be of use to him. And what he knew, he used. So what was his angle this time?
The worst of it was, I agreed with him. To say the giants weren’t amenable to change was like saying mountains weren’t amenable to change. It had taken little short of an earthquake to get them moving; if Saltlick left the slightest ambiguity as to who was in charge and then failed to return, who could say if they’d ever make it home?
Saltlick’s slow nod told us he’d reached a similar conclusion. “Speak to people,” he said. “Explain.”
“Maybe we should wait outside,” Estrada suggested.
We trooped out, everyone but me trying not to make a show of gulping the unpolluted air. I listened to the rumble of Saltlick’s voice from within, the thick syllables of giantish falling like pebbles on a sheet of slate, and forced myself not to think about what was coming next.
I stared up at the palace walls, as the white-cobbled square behind me turned into a lake of gold beneath the lowering sun. I’d have much preferred to play my part in darkness, while Alvantes had argued that daylight would make his end of the plan seem less suspicious. This time, with night still a good hour away, was the compromise we’d agreed.
Once there had been spikes lining either edge of the wall. Rumour had it that Prince Panchetto had had them removed for purely aesthetic reasons. While it was undeniable that prongs of metal as long as a man’s arm would clash badly with the palace’s luminous facades, its brilliant murals, its domes of duck egg blue and spires of gold, it was equally true that they’d have gone a long way towards stopping me doing what I was about to attempt.