Joe Abercrombie - The Blade Itself

West rubbed his eyes, not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or cry. “I have no doubts as to your courage, I assure you, that was not my meaning at all.” He tried to put himself in Vallimir’s position. He did not really know the pressures the man was under: probably he would rather be in command of soldiers than smiths, probably… it was no use. The man was a shit, and West hated him. “This is not a question of your honour, Major, or that of your family. This is a question of our being fit for war!”

Vallimir’s eyes had turned deadly cold. “Just who do you think you’re talking to, you dirty commoner? All the influence you have you owe to Burr, and who is he but an oaf from the provinces, risen to his rank by fortune alone?” West blinked. He guessed what they said about him behind his back of course, but it was another thing to hear it to his face. “And when Burr is gone, what will become of you? Eh? Where will you be without him to hide behind? You’ve no blood, no family!” Vallimir’s lips twisted in a cold sneer. “Apart from that sister of yours of course, and from what I hear—”

West found himself moving forward, fast. “What?” he snarled. “What was that?” His expression must have been dire indeed: he saw the colour draining from Vallimir’s face.

“I… I—”

“You think I need Burr to fight my battles, you fucking gutless worm?” Before he knew it he had moved again, and Vallimir stumbled back towards the wall, flinching sideways and raising one arm as if to ward off an expected blow. It was the most West could do to stop his hands from grabbing hold of the little bastard and shaking him until his head came off. His own skull was throbbing, pounding. He felt as though the pressure would pop his eyes right out of his head. He dragged in long, slow breaths through his nose, clenched his fists until they hurt. The anger slowly subsided, back below the point where it threatened to take sudden control of his body. It only pulsed now, squeezing at his chest.

“If you have something to say on the subject of my sister,” he whispered softly, “then you can say it. Say it now.” He let his left hand drop slowly to sit on the hilt of his sword. “And we can settle this outside the city walls.”

Major Vallimir shrank back still further. “I heard nothing,” he whispered, “nothing at all.”

“Nothing at all.” West looked down into his white face for a moment longer, then stepped away. “Now if you would be so good as to reopen the forges for me? We have a great deal of work to get through.”

Vallimir blinked for a moment. “Of course. I will have them lit at once.”

West turned on his heel and stalked off, knowing the man was glowering daggers at his back, knowing that he had made yet another bad situation worse. One more high-born enemy among the many. The really galling thing was that the man was right. Without Burr, he was as good as finished. He had no family apart from that sister of his. Damn it, his head hurt. “Why me?” he hissed to himself. “Why?”

There was still a lot to do today, enough for a whole day’s work on its own, but West could take no more. His head hurt so badly that he could hardly see. He had to lie down in the dark, with a wet cloth over his face, if only for an hour, if only for a minute. He fumbled in his pocket for his key, his other hand clamped over his aching eyes, his teeth locked together. Then he heard a sound on the other side of the door. A faint clink of glass. Ardee.

“No,” he hissed to himself. Not now! Why the hell had he ever given her a key? Cursing softly, he raised his fist to knock. Knocking on his own door, that was where he was now. His fist never made it to the wood. A most unpleasant image began to form in the back of his mind. Ardee and Luthar, naked and sweaty, writhing around on his carpet. He turned his key swiftly in the lock and shoved the door open.

She was standing by the window, alone and, he was relieved to see, fully dressed. He was less pleased to see her filling a glass right to the brim from the decanter though. She raised an eyebrow at him as he burst through the door.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Who the hell else would it be?” snapped West. “These are my rooms, aren’t they?”

“Somebody’s not in the best of moods this morning.” A bit of wine slopped over the rim of her glass and onto the table. She wiped it up with her hand and sucked her fingers, then took a long swig from the glass for good measure. Her every movement niggled at him.

West grimaced and shoved the door shut. “Do you have to drink so much?”

“I understand that a young lady should have a beneficial pastime.” Her words were careless, as usual, but even through his headache West could tell there was something strange going on. She kept glancing towards the desk, then she was moving towards it. He got there first, snatched up a piece of paper from the top, one line written on it.

“What’s this?”

“Nothing! Give it me!”

He held her away with one arm and read it:

The usual place, tomorrow night

—A.

West’s skin prickled with horror. “Nothing? Nothing?” He shook the letter under his sister’s nose. Ardee turned away from him, flicking her head as you might at a fly, saying nothing, but slurping noisily from her glass. West ground his teeth.

“It’s Luthar, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t say so.”

“You didn’t have to.” The paper crumpled up into a tiny ball in his white-knuckled hand. He half turned towards the door, every muscle tensed and trembling. It was the most he could do to stop himself dashing out and throttling the little bastard right now, but he was just able to make himself think for a moment.

Jezal had let him down, and badly, that ungrateful shit. But it was hardly that shocking—the man was an ass. You keep your wine in a paper bag you shouldn’t be too upset when it leaks. Besides, Jezal wasn’t the one writing the letters. What good would stepping on his neck do? There would always be more empty-headed young men in the world.

“Just where are you going with this, Ardee?”

She sat down on the settle and glared at him frostily over the rim of her glass. “With what, brother?”

“You know with what!”

“Aren’t we family? Can’t we be candid with each other? If you have something to say you can out and say it! Where do you think I’m going?”

“I think you’re going straight to shit, since you ask!” He squeezed his voice back down with the greatest of difficulty. “This business with Luthar has gone way too far. Letters? Letters? I warned him, but it seems he wasn’t the problem! What are you thinking? Are you thinking at all? It has to stop, before people start to talk!” He felt a suffocating tightness in his chest, took a deep breath, but his voice burst out anyway. “They’re damn well talking already! It stops now! Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” she said carelessly, “but who cares what they think?”

“I care!” He nearly screamed it. “Do you know how hard I have to work? Do you think I’m a fool? You know what you’re about, Ardee!” Her face was turning sullen, but he forged on. “It’s not as though this is the first time! Must I remind you, your luck with men has not exactly been the best!”

“Not with the men in my family, at least!” She was sitting bolt upright now, face tight and pale with anger. “And what would you know about my luck? We’ve hardly talked in ten years!”

“We’re talking now!” shouted West, flinging the crumpled bit of paper across the room. “Have you thought how this might turn out? What if you were to get him? Have you considered that? Would his family be charmed by the blushing bride, do you think? At best they’d never speak to you. At worst they’d cut you both off!” He pointed a shaking finger at the door. “Haven’t you noticed he’s a vain, arrogant swine! They all are! How would he manage, do you think, without his allowance? Without his friends in high places? He wouldn’t know where to begin! How could you be happy with each other?” His head was ready to split in half, but he ranted on. “And what happens if, as is far more likely, you can’t get him? What then? You’d be finished, have you thought on that? You’ve come close enough before! And you’re supposed to be the clever one! You’re making a laughing-stock of yourself!” He almost choked on his rage. “Of both of us!”