At least, having risen late from a makeshift bed in the Dancing Cat’s stables, I managed to wrangle a decent breakfast, the staff there apparently accepting that I was connected with Mounteban while thankfully failing to consider just what that connection entailed. And at least, with my breakfast over, I had time to look in on Saltlick once more. For once, no one seemed interested in my affairs, and with Malekrin delivered as promised, it appeared I was once again a free agent.
If it seemed redundant to check on Saltlick so soon after my last visit, I could think of no more useful way to pass my time, and at least it might set my mind at rest for another day. Perhaps, too, I’d have the opportunity to explain why I was so ill-suited to the responsibility he’d tried to foist on me the night before.
I considered inviting some company, but Estrada was busy and Malekrin nowhere to be seen. I set out to find the weather warmer than it had been for the last couple of days, the sky clear of cloud or drizzle. Feeling livelier wandering the streets than I had cooped up in the Dancing Cat, I found that by the time I drew near the hospital, my attitude had grown more pessimistic than outright gloomy.
It was a good thing, too, for a strange sight awaited me as I turned onto the street: four giants stood upon the cobbles, a litter of split timbers and sail cloth hoisted between them, and upon that makeshift stretcher lay Saltlick. The giants were talking amongst themselves in their own language, but from the way they shuffled about, swapped hands and such, I guessed they were debating how best to carry their fragile charge without tripping over each other’s feet. There was a surgeon with them, too, recognisable by his ambiguously red robes and currently glaring at the ensemble as though they’d gathered there purely to tax his patience.
“What’s going on?” I asked him. “Where are they taking Saltlick?”
“Oh, how should I know?” he growled. “Do you think I understand a word of that nonsense they’re spouting? Back wherever they came from, I suppose.”
I decided to try a different tack. “But why?” I said. “Why are they moving Saltlick at all?”
At that, the surgeon finally looked round at me. “You’re the one who was here last night,” he observed bitterly. Then, perhaps realising I hadn’t actually done anything to annoy him, he began again, “One of the priests complained to that man Mounteban, you see, about how much space the giant was taking up; space that could be used for wounded… you know… people.”
“Castilio Mounteban? He’s been here?”
“At the crack of dawn, damn him. He asked if the giant was fit to be moved and we told him yes. The next we knew…” He waved towards the giants. “The next we knew, this.”
I felt that there was some detail I must be overlooking. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
The surgeon looked at me with new focus, as if unwilling to waste more words until he was certain of exactly how stupid I was. “You’ve seen what it’s like in there,” he said. “It’s been chaos for an hour and more, while we tried to work out a way to get them in so we could get him out. I’m only wasting more time now because I want to be damn certain they’re leaving.”
We both glanced aside then at the sound of heavy footfalls. I saw that the four attendants, having successfully lifted Saltlick between them in such a way that no thumbs were squashed or giant toes stubbed, were now moving off down the street.
“That’s it!” the surgeon declared, starting towards the open hospital doors. “Thank all the gods. Can you even imagine what it was like moving a thing that size through a hospital?”
“He’s not a thing,” I called at his disappearing back. “He’s the hero who saved this city.” Then, as it struck me that perhaps I shouldn’t be lecturing about heroism to someone who’d been on their feet for days tending the wounded, I turned quickly away and hurried after the retreating party of giants.
So far as I could judge, they were heading towards the former tannery that had become their home. With Saltlick raised above my head height, I could only see a portion of his nearer side; but even that limited view was enough to make my breath catch in my throat. Though Saltlick’s powers of recuperation had always amazed me, the wounds I’d seen him recover from before were nothing to what he’d sustained in the recent fighting. It seemed, however, that his remarkable constitution was finally rising to the challenge. Saltlick looked noticeably better than he had the night before, his deeper cuts appeared to be knitting — and best of all, he was sitting up, propped on one knobbly elbow.
“Saltlick!” I called.
I’d managed to almost catch up, though I’d had to sprint to match the giants’ strides. Saltlick’s gaze drifted down to me and he smiled.
“I won’t keep you,” I said, rather foolishly, for there was little I could have done to stop the marching giants except throw myself beneath their feet. “I just wanted to see how you are.”
“Better,” Saltlick agreed. His voice was rasping, but clearer.
“And you’re going to be with your people?”
Saltlick nodded, though the gesture made little sense when delivered from the bobbing surface of the stretcher.
“That’s wonderful,” I panted — for by then, the giants having failed to slow to accommodate me, I was starting to severely lose my breath. “So… you can keep them safe. You won’t need me… after all. Well, I’m sure… I’ll see you soon…”
If Saltlick answered I didn’t hear, for at that point a stitch dug hard into my side and I had to slow to a hobble. I watched, panting, as the bizarre spectacle of the giant stretcher-bearers vanished around the next corner.
Even ignoring the pain jabbing at my ribs, the encounter had left me deflated. Perhaps it was just that Saltlick hadn’t thought to ask his bearers to slow for me; such inconsiderateness wasn’t like him. Had it been that he didn’t want to speak to me? After what he’d endured, maybe I had no right to blame him. However good my intentions, I was the one who’d brought the giants to Altapasaeda, the one who’d first put weapons into their hands; then, when Saltlick had asked me to try and repair the harm I’d unwittingly done, I’d let him down.
Not knowing what else to do with myself and hoping there might have been some report regarding Gailus, I trudged reluctantly back to the Dancing Cat. Even the news that the King was cooking him on a spit outside our gates would have cheered me up just then. However, the taproom was all but empty, with three men in Altapasaedan uniform talking beside the bar and a couple of Kalyxis’s barbarians hovering close to the doorway. There was also one person sitting conspicuously on their own: Malekrin was moping near the fireplace with his chin planted firmly upon his fist and his hood drawn over his face.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice low enough that the Shoanish by the door wouldn’t overhear. “Don’t tell me Mounteban’s letting you stay after you had things out with your grandmother?”
Malekrin’s mouth turned down even further. “I couldn’t get a word in to argue with her,” he muttered. “She wouldn’t even listen long enough to hear how I can’t stand her.”
I pulled up a stool opposite his. “So why sit here sulking?” I asked. “Go talk to her now.”
Malekrin shook his head inside the cowl. “She says she’s too busy to see me. Just like she’s always been! A straw doll with my name would be every bit as much use to her.”
And it would complain less too, I thought, and then immediately felt uncharitable. Despite myself, I did feel a little sorry for Malekrin this time. Not only had his planned reckoning with his grandmother come to nothing, his role as potential saviour and ender of wars had been effortlessly supplanted by Gailus. Now here he was, trapped alone in an unwelcoming city, with nowhere to go and nothing useful to occupy his time.
“Look Mal,” I said, “why don’t I show you a little of Altapasaeda? Better than sitting here moping.”