The building that had been given over to the giants was in a region of the city I’d never been familiar with, and it took me nearly an hour to find it. Yet once I did, I knew I could never have missed it, for the smell thereabouts remained distinctively loathsome, and now two giants stood sentry, one to either side of the doors. Unmoving, they looked more like carved colossi than living beings.
“I’m here to see Saltlick,” I told them cheerfully.
When no response came, I started towards the doors. Before I was halfway there, the two giants had sidestepped to block my way. It wasn’t a threatening motion exactly, no more than creatures twice as tall and broad as me were threatening by their very nature. Yet there was no way I could get past them unless they let me.
“Perhaps you didn’t understand,” I told them — and then realised that, given the language difference, that was almost certainly the case. I tried again, more slowly. “I’m here to see Saltlick. He’s my friend. Can you tell him Easie Damasco is waiting outside to see him?”
The two looked at each other. Then the one to the left crouched and ducked through the entrance. Confident that the remaining giant wouldn’t do anything to harm me, I thought about hurrying after — but before I could do more than consider it, he’d moved to cover the entrance.
I waited impatiently. The former tannery reeked every bit as much as it had the first time I’d been there, and it didn’t help that it was a warm day. Eventually, just as my head was beginning to throb once more, the first giant returned.
“You’ve spoken to Saltlick? I can come in?” I asked.
The giant shook his head.
“What? There must be some mistake.”
He shook his head again. I had no idea if he even understood a word I was saying.
I couldn’t believe Saltlick would turn me away, and while it was both possible and likely that the giant sentry had failed to convey who I was, I was sure he could have guessed. Taking those assumptions into account, I was at a loss; not even I could talk my way past guards who spoke a different language. Of course, now that I considered, there were valid reasons why Saltlick might not want to see me. Maybe his condition had taken a turn for the worse, maybe his extraordinary constitution had finally passed its limits. But there was no comfort to be found in thoughts like that.
Whatever the truth, I now had a dilemma. I stood for what felt like minutes, completely ignored by the two giants, as I stared at the bundle in my hands. Only after a seeming age did it occur to me that whatever was the right thing to do with the object wrapped within, it wasn’t something I felt comfortable or sensible in holding onto any longer than I had to. I proffered it to the giant I’d spoken to before, and said, “Will you at least give him this? Tell him, ‘With the compliments of Easie Damasco and Prince Malekrin’.”
The sentry ducked inside once more. When he returned, his hands were empty. I could only hope he’d done as I asked, and not just dropped the crown of Altapasaeda into the nearest giant privy. I nodded a curt goodbye to the two guards, which both ignored, and started back up the street in the direction I’d come from.
As I neared the corner, I found my feet dragging. I had nowhere to go, nothing to do. I was depressed to have to admit to myself that I missed Saltlick, that my visit had been as much for my benefit as his. I’d grown too used to his presence. In some indefinable way, I’d come to rely on it. Now, without him around, I felt adrift.
I stopped at the first junction and wondered what I could possibly do with myself. Yet a mere few seconds had passed before my contemplation was disturbed, by the rumble of approaching wheels. Moments later, a coach swung around the next corner, covered the distance to the giants’ building at speed and pulled up outside. Just as with my own visit, the sentries hardly acknowledged its presence. Nor did they respond when a figure pushed through the double doors and stepped quickly into the carriage.
But I did — with a sharp gasp of disbelief. For though I’d only caught a fleeting glimpse, I was certain the man I’d seen had been Castilio Mounteban.
A thousand questions sprang up altogether, and proceeded to row at each other across the narrow space of my skull. What did Mounteban want with the giants? Could he really have the temerity to try and talk them into fighting again? If so, pacifists or no, how had they refrained from smashing his head like a week-old egg?
But under all that, a barb hidden almost beneath the level of my conscious thoughts, was one last, whispered doubt:
Was Mounteban’s presence the reason Saltlick had refused to see me?
Back at the Dancing Cat, there wasn’t anyone around, not even Malekrin. I moved on to another nearby inn and ate there, a greasy meal of dried fish and overcooked vegetables. I barely had the energy to finish a bottle of wine, and I certainly wasn’t ready for a repeat of the last night’s revelry. Instead, I went early to my bed in the stables and did my best to sleep.
The next morning I was woken by someone hammering at the door. When I staggered bleary-eyed to the opening, I was surprised to see Malekrin, framed against the dull grey of a sky that still belonged more to night than day.
“Hurry up,” he said, as excited as I could remember ever seeing him, “they’re saying Gailus is back.”
Even as he spoke, half a dozen men in Altapasaedan uniform shoved past me into the stable. “Clear the way!” one barked.
I considered a pithy retort, but it was obvious they only wanted to saddle the horses and hitch the coach kept there. I stepped into the yard and asked Malekrin, “So Gailus is still alive, eh? Any idea what news he’s brought?”
Malekrin shook his head. “There are more coaches waiting out front,” he said. “My grandmother, Mounteban and the others are going to meet with him. If you hurry, there’s a place for you.”
After so much time, I was curious to hear what Gailus had to say for himself. I followed Malekrin through the Dancing Cat and outside. The place he’d been referring to turned out to be on the back board of the third carriage in line, but I decided I could tolerate a little discomfort for so short a journey. I clambered up, Malekrin vanished inside, and we were off.
It only took a few minutes to reach the northwestern gate. There were coaches and riders everywhere; word must have travelled quickly about Gailus’s return. Gailus himself was sat upon a chair that someone had brought out for him, practically in the middle of the street. It would have been a comical sight if the man had only been in a better state. Gailus had looked tired the last time I saw him, but it had been the simple weariness of an old man who’d endured too much hard travel. Now, I could readily have believed that he hadn’t slept a moment since.
When Alvantes and Estrada debussed from another of the coaches, Gailus managed to put on a weak smile. “Ah, Lunto. Lady Estrada. How good to see you both again,” he said.
“And you,” replied Estrada. “We were worried for your safety.”
“Rightly so, I’m afraid,” agreed Gailus. “I can’t honestly say that the last two days have been agreeably spent.” He sighed, as though at a particularly troublesome memory. “I dare say however, that they’ve been productive.”
“The King is willing to talk truce?” asked Mounteban, climbing down from inside the same coach that had brought Alvantes and Estrada.
“He is,” said Gailus. “With the three of you, as I’d hoped.”
“Thank you,” Alvantes said. “Your efforts may well have saved this city and its people.”
“I can only take so much credit,” replied Gailus. “You will be glad to hear that you have other advocates in the King’s camp, not least of them Commander Ondeges, who has argued tirelessly for peace, at great risk to himself.” A shadow of worry passed across Gailus’s brow. “Also, you might not wish to talk about salvation just yet. The King is willing to talk, but that isn’t to say he’s willing to listen.”