Giant Thief (6 page)

  Anyway, we wouldn't be reaching Muena Palaiya that night. Nearer, there were any number of small villages dotted about, their cream-coloured walls glowing amber in the early evening sun, standing out brightly against the parched landscape. I couldn't expect any charity there. Past indiscretions would earn me a beating on sight in one or two of them. But nor could I go on much longer without food and water.

  "Saltlick, do you see that village?" I pointed out the nearest.

  He angled his neck to follow my finger and grunted in accord.

  "Head towards it. There should be a fork coming up on the left."

  Sure enough, barely a mile had passed before the road split. The way we'd been on continued along the western brink of the Hunch, offering a view of the Casto Mara tumbling below. The other branch curved inward, towards the mountains. Saltlick followed my instructions. We trekked for a while through wild scenery of jagged rocks and short, knotty trees. The sun was a crimson mound spilling behind the horizon. As the last light began to fade, we turned a corner between short cliffs of flaking orange mud and found ourselves on the edge of the village.

  It was a miserable, dilapidated place. A dozen straw-roofed shacks of whitewashed stone were gathered around a small square. Most had wattle shelters for stores and animals tacked onto their sides, each looking as if it would collapse in a strong breeze. The square had been paved once, but the slabs were broken and irregular now, and a few had been pillaged to shore up holes in the buildings.

  I didn't much care. The place had one thing going for it, and that made up for all its failings combined: an uncovered well sat in the centre of the dusty plaza.

  There was a bench outside one of the larger houses. An elderly man in off-white trousers and shirt sat on it, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face, a pipe clenched in his teeth. He squinted at us with tiny black eyes from amidst a haze of bluish smoke.

  "My name is Easie Damasco, and this is my companion Saltlick," I called. "Good evening."

  "Could be." His voice was faint and wheezy, his tone noncommittal. If the arrival of a giant in his village alarmed him, he was hiding it well.

  "It is, for both of us. You can provide us with supper, while we have sufficient coin to pay you for it. Our first priority is refreshment from your well. I'll follow that with whatever food you can spare, while some dried grass or hay would be adequate for my companion, so long as the quantity is ample."

  Half a dozen doors crept open as I spoke, revealing faces peeking out. All of them were either very old or very young; the rest of the populace probably passed their evenings in some nearby village advantaged with a tavern. The children peered in astonishment at Saltlick, and whispered and giggled to each other. Their decrepit guardians stared suspiciously at me. There was a long hush when I finished. Finally, one of the villagers stepped out. He looked inordinately ancient. Though he was bald except for a few grey wisps, his lip was distinguished by grand moustaches hanging below his collar, died black and waxed to a luxurious sheen.

  "Welcome to the village of Reb Panza. Sadly, your stay must be a brief one. We are hopelessly poor, and not equipped for generosity."

  A murmur of agreement rose from the doorways.

  I whispered in Saltlick's ear. He squatted, and I swung to the ground, and then regretted the acrobatics when all of my bruises complained at once. I started towards the moustachioed patriarch, trying not to limp too noticeably.

  "Perhaps you misunderstood? I have more than sufficient funds to pay."

  "Yet these days – when we hear talk of war to the north, which tomorrow may be war on our doorsteps – what is worth more, coin or food?"

  "A nonsensical question. Name a price, and we'll have a basis for discussion." My stomach was rumbling ferociously. My mouth was dry as a picked bone. I was in no mood for haggling or sophistry. Unfortunately, for me, both were popular local pastimes. "Tell me what you'd consider a reasonable price for two loaves of bread and some meat or fish, water, and a cartload of grass. We can start with that and consider sundries later."

  The patriarch stood thinking about this for a particularly long time, with his chin nestled on one fist and the other hand stroking his moustaches. While I didn't dare hurry him, I could have gladly throttled him for the delay. I glanced anxiously over my shoulder. There was nothing to see but Saltlick, who had sat down with the children gathered around him. One had bravely clambered up his leg to perch on his knee. I sighed, and turned back.

  Thankfully, the patriarch picked that moment to complete his rumination. "Perhaps, just perhaps, we may be able to accommodate you."

  "Excellent news."

  "You must understand that we are starving ourselves, and also, that our well is nearly dry. Who knows what will happen when it's exhausted? Here on the Hunch even hay isn't easy to come by."

  "You have my sympathies."

  "Thank you. Taking all of these factors into account, we can't help but sell our goods at unusual prices. That said, a sum of three onyxes doesn't seem unreasonable."

  I confess my mouth gaped a little. The patriarch's house was barely worth three onyxes. Even as a starting offer, it was outrageous, and it would leave me with only five coins. Nevertheless, I didn't have time to barter – or for that matter, intend to pay if I could help it. "Done!" I exclaimed.

  This time it was his jaw that dropped.

  The bargaining concluded, I was escorted to the well and gratefully guzzled cup after cup, until I was afraid that water would dribble from my ears. I called Saltlick over and he came with an escort of laughing children clutching his legs and jumping to grab at his loincloth. They watched in awe while he downed three brimming buckets full, then wiped his hand across his lips and burped happily. After that, he was led to a lean-to filled with dried grass, and I was directed to the old pipe-smoker's bench. He moved aside grudgingly to share it with me.

  The sweet smoke smelled faintly of lavender, and made me drowsy. By the time my food was brought out, I was starting to nod. The aroma of warm, fresh bread roused me instantly. I looked up to see an old woman hobbling from a nearby doorway, a wooden platter clasped in hands so arthritic that I was terrified she'd drop it. She succeeded with steady determination and moments later the platter was perched beside me. As well as the bread, there was a pot of greasy rice mixed with olives and scraps of meat, and a small hunk of goat's cheese.

  I'd planned to save half for the next day, but hunger took over and I ate in a stupor, stuffing food into my mouth and hardly tasting it, oblivious to everything. I had only a third of a loaf left by the time reality reasserted itself. Ruefully, I dropped it into one of the pockets inside my cloak. If I wasn't full, at least I no longer felt like my stomach was trying to devour the rest of my organs.

  I stood, stepped out into the square, glanced to the north – and froze. On the high edge of the Hunch, half-visible between trees, a pinprick line of fires burned. They could only be torches. Our pursuers had made up a huge distance. Something about those steady, bobbing flames made cold sweat bead across my whole body.

  "Saltlick," I called, forcing my voice down to a steady pitch, "it's time we were moving on."

  Saltlick, having made considerable inroads into the grass, now sat beside the shelter, the gaggle of children still clambering noisily around and over him. He could have snapped any one of them in half with the wave of a hand, yet they were perfectly unafraid and trusting. I realised how much my perceptions had been coloured by seeing the giants fight that morning. I remembered the one holding a horse and its stricken rider in the air, about to cast them to the ground, and shuddered. They hadn't seemed so placid then.

  Saltlick looked up. When I barked his name again, he stood and lumbered over. I tried to motion northward with my head, but I couldn't tell whether he understood.

  Before I could say anything, the patriarch darted over, with a surprising turn of speed. "So, both satisfied? It's a shame to leave so soon, and in the dark, with mountain lions, bandits, and worse abroad. We could provide lodgings at reasonable rates, and perhaps a barn for your friend."

  "A gracious offer. Sadly we have far to go, and time is precious."

  "Well then. The price is three onyxes, agreed fair and square."

  I wondered how quickly I could get onto Saltlick's shoulder, and if he would leave when I ordered him to. Perhaps he would even take the villagers' side over mine. None of them was in any shape to pose much resistance, but there was something unsavoury in the idea of trampling our way through a barricade of old people and children. I pulled out Moaradrid's purse and opened the drawstring with a resigned sigh.

  Looking inside, a thought occurred to me. "You've been very generous, not to say hospitable. The rice and cheese were an unexpected bonus, and your youngsters have made my companion welcome. In short, I wonder if three onyxes is ample payment."

  The patriarch's eyes flickered between greed and suspicion. "That's true, our kindliness is famous hereabouts. Still, a deal is a deal, and rarely improved by last minute alterations."

  I drew forth the ruby and laid it in his palm.

  "I'd intended this to be a gift for my paramour. The more I think about it, however, the more I realise she's proven herself unfaithful and inattentive on far too many occasions. It's worth a thousand times the agreed sum. Nonetheless, I'd like you to have it."

  I backed towards Saltlick and eyed the netting. I could see the line of torches behind the patriarch, partly hidden by a rise but definitely closer. I had a vague hope that he'd bring the gem to their attention, either by boasting or by trying to sell it, and that finding it might convince them to abandon their pursuit. But if we waited much longer, I'd be giving it to them in person.

  The patriarch gawped at the glittering thing in his hand. The others had gathered around to stare with him. Only the children were unimpressed. He found his voice eventually. "Pretty though it is, this won't buy us grain."

  "It's worth all the grain on the Hunch."

  He continued more certainly, "Trinkets are all well and good for rich folks. For peasants, ready currency is the only useful sort."

  I pointed past him. "If you can't appreciate it for its aesthetic value, I'm sure those gentlemen will take it off your hands."

  He seemed uncertain, now, even nervous. "Are those riders?"

  "Yes indeed. Maybe
they'll
require lodgings."

  I grasped the netting and made to swing up, but he stopped me with a glare. Seeing no option, I drew out an onyx and tossed it towards him.

  "Here, for your more pressing needs, though I feel less inclined now to speak well of Reb Panza's hospitality."

  I clambered to Saltlick's shoulder while he was scrabbling in the dust.

  "I can't say it's been a pleasure doing business. Still, I wish you a good night."

  I pointed Saltlick towards the road, and we were gone before the patriarch could raise any further objections.

 

The road took us quickly higher, so that the trees and foliage thinned out and the boulders grew more rugged and pronounced. It swept up in long curves, doubling back on itself time and again. Its convolutions gave me a good view of the way we'd passed – and of the line of torches approaching in our wake.

  I'd taken pains to impress our urgency on Saltlick, though I doubted he wanted to be recaptured any more than I did. He had redoubled his pace, so that it took all my strength to stay on his shoulder, and all my willpower not to throw up. I wasn't about to complain. I suspected now that the riders had deliberately idled through the day, taking a gamble that we would either exhaust ourselves or try to go to ground. Whatever the reason, it was clear they'd only begun to stretch themselves after nightfall. They'd covered a remarkable distance during the hour we'd wasted in Reb Panza. Even now, with Saltlick jogging at what seemed an outrageous speed, they were still gaining.

  After a few minutes, the lights bunched together. That seemed odd, until I realised they'd reached the village. There was no illumination except for the torches, a performance of shimmering yellow dots on a black stage. Some spread out to form a wide circular border while the remainder drifted into the centre.

  When, five minutes later, they were still in that pattern, I began hesitantly to relax. "Slow down a little," I told Saltlick, "I think they've stopped."

  He did as ordered, and I continued to watch. It was dull entertainment. The dots in the centre bobbed and weaved, with inscrutable purpose. The outer circle held firm without so much as a tremor. After another five minutes, I decided that the chase was over for the time being. Either they'd recovered the ruby and were satisfied or they'd decided to camp for the night, confident in their ability to run us down in the morning. I faced forward, breathed a sigh of relief, and wondered if we might be safe to find a campsite of our own.

  Steadily, though, a sense of unease crept back over me. I couldn't explain it at first. There was nothing to hear, no rumble of hooves. I decided it was something in the quality of the light. The sky seemed inexplicably brighter behind than ahead, as though the sun were rising early and in the wrong direction. We'd come to a region of large boulders, however, my view was obstructed on both sides, and I couldn't make out why.

  Eventually, another turn brought us out near a ledge, with nothing beyond it but a steep decline. Then I understood.

  There were the torches, not far behind us, fallen back into their original formation.

  Now they weren't the only things burning.

  Reb Panza was, as well.