Free Crown Thief by David Tallerman

tentatively back into my legs, stretching them by increments until I was confident they'd hold my weight. That done, getting to my feet was merely excruciating. A hesitant inspection of my calves and forearms revealed compelling evidence that I'd been beaten from head to toe. I supposed that falling through roofs, however flimsy, might give that impression.
      I didn't need to see outside to know we were up well before dawn. A dull sense of wrongness told me I was awake at an hour never intended for human activity. Alvantes, however, seemed as impervious as ever to a need for physical rest. Had the King arrived just then and demanded an inspection, I had no doubt he'd have passed with a commendation.
      He gave us time enough for a brief breakfast – some flavourless, hard biscuit pitted with flecks of dried olives Navare had a store of – before launching into the morning's speechifying.
      "Guardsmen, here are your instructions. Sub-Captain Gueverro will travel back to our barracks to command the men there. You'll remain here under the leadership of Navare, who henceforward also bears the rank of sub-captain. In brief, your orders are these: Learn what you can; keep your presence hidden; do not attempt to enter the city or interfere with Mounteban's regime in my absence. I know how you feel. I feel the same. But we are not mercenaries. Our first and foremost duty is to King Panchessa, and it's for him to decide what happens next."
      Though the only reply was a chorused "Yes, sir," it was easy to sense the dissatisfaction in the room. These men were Altapasaedans born and bred. The City Guard had a tendency to inherit wayward sons from the wealthier families, whilst amongst the middle classes it was deemed a mostly respectable mode of employment. Every one of them had family inside those walls; every one had more vested in ridding the city of Mounteban than Alvantes did.
      So would they obey him? Probably, for a while. Absurd as it was, there was an aura to Alvantes, a palpable air of nobility that made it difficult even to think of crossing him. Words became inarguable simply by leaving his mouth. Still, he wasn't going to be around to keep them in check. How long would auras and fine-sounding words last in his absence?
      Whatever the future might hold, Alvantes had more immediate worries. As he was making the last preparations to leave, Estrada touched his shoulder. "You're not going anywhere," she said softly, "until I've cleaned and rebandaged your arm. Ointment to hurry the healing and medicine for the pain would be a good idea as well."
      "Marina," Alvantes replied gruffly, "there's more at stake here than my discomfort."
      For someone who'd once been romantically entangled with our good lady mayor, I was frequently amazed by how little Alvantes seemed to understand her. I'd recognised her tone, even if he hadn't, and it brooked no argument. "Perhaps," she said, "but there's nothing more important than your ability to lead. These men and everyone in Altapasaeda are relying on you to make the right decisions. If you carry on like this, you'll be in no state to do that."
      "Are you suggesting I haven't made the right decision?"
      Estrada sighed heavily. "What I'm suggesting is that you've recently suffered an appalling injury, lost copious amounts of blood, been through terrible exertion and stress and are in constant pain, and maybe, just maybe, you should address those facts, lest your judgement be clouded or you simply collapse."
      "I've no intention of collapsing," said Alvantes.
      In a flash of inspiration, I said, "Estrada, why don't Saltlick and I buy medical supplies while you two collect the horses? We can meet where the north road leaves the Suburbs."
      Alvantes looked at me with unveiled suspicion. "You've got your money back, Damasco. If you want to sneak off then there's nothing to stop you."
      I did my best to look hurt. "Like I said, I'll meet you on the north road.