Joe Abercrombie - The Blade Itself

“Fucking pinks,” she hissed to herself.

The thin one, by contrast, hardly seemed dangerous at all. Ill-looking, with long hair like a woman’s. Awkward and twitchy, licking his lips. He would sneak the odd glance at her, but look away as soon as she scowled over at him, swallowing, the knobbly lump in his neck squirming up and down. He seemed scared, no threat, but Ferro kept him in the corner of her eye while she watched the big one. Best not to dismiss him entirely.

Life had taught her to expect surprises.

That just left the old man. She didn’t trust a one of these pinks, but she trusted this bald one least of all. Many deep lines on his face, round his eyes, round his nose. Cruel lines. Hard, heavy bones in his cheeks. Big thick hands, white hairs on the backs of them. If she had to kill these three, for all the danger that the big one seemed to offer, she decided she would kill this bald one first. He had the look of a slaver in his eye, staring at her up and down, all over. A cold look, judging what she might be worth.

Bastard.

Bayaz, Yulwei called him, and the two old men seemed to know each other well. “So, brother,” the bald pink was saying in the Kantic tongue, though it was plain enough they weren’t related, “how is it in the great Empire of Gurkhul?”

Yulwei sighed. “Only a year since he seized the crown, and Uthman has broken the last of the rebels, and brought the governors firmly to heel. Already, the young Emperor is more feared than ever his father was. Uthman-ul-Dosht, his soldiers call him, and proudly. Almost all of Kanta is in his grip. He reigns supreme all round the Southern Sea.”

“Aside from Dagoska.”

“True, but his eyes are bent on it. His armies swarm toward the peninsula, and his agents are ever busy behind Dagoska’s great walls. Now that there is war in the North, it cannot be long before he feels the time is ripe to lay siege to the city, and when he does, I do not think it can stand long against him.”

“Are you sure? The Union still controls the seas.”

Yulwei frowned. “We saw ships, brother. Many great ships. The Gurkish have built a fleet. A powerful one, in secret. They must have begun years ago, during the last war. I fear the Union will control the seas but little longer.”

“A fleet? I had hoped to have a few more years in which to prepare.” The bald pink sounded grim. “My plans only become the more urgent.”

She was bored with their talk. She was used to being always on the move, keeping always one stride ahead, and she hated to stand still. Stay too long in one place, and the Gurkish would find you. She wasn’t interested in being an exhibit for these curious pinks to stare at. She sauntered off around the room while the two old men made endless words, scowling and sucking her teeth. She swung her arms around. She kicked at the worn boards of the floor. She poked at the cloths on the walls, and peered behind them, ran her fingers along the edges of the furniture, clicked her tongue and snapped her teeth together.

Making everyone nervous.

She passed by the big ugly pink in the chair, almost close enough for her swinging hand to touch his pitted skin. Just to show him that she didn’t care a shit for his size, or his scars, or anything else. Then she strutted over to the nervous one. The skinny pink with the long hair. He swallowed as she came close.

“Sssss,” she hissed at him. He muttered something and shuffled away, and she stepped up to the open window in his place. Looking out, turning her back on the room.

Just to show the pinks she didn’t care a shit for any of them.

There were gardens outside the window. Trees, plants, wide sweeps of lawn neatly arranged. Groups of fat, pale men and women lazed around in the sun on the carefully cut grass, stuffing their sweaty faces with food. Swilling down drink. She scowled down at them. Fat, ugly, lazy pinks, with no God but eating and idleness.

“Gardens,” she sneered.

There had been gardens in Uthman’s palace. She used to look at them from the tiny window of her room. Her cell. Long before he became Uthman-ul-Dosht. When he had only been the Emperor’s youngest son. When she had been one among his many slaves. His prisoner. Ferro leaned forward and spat out of the window.

She hated gardens.

She hated cities altogether. Places of slavery, fear, degradation. Their walls were the walls of a prison. The sooner she was gone from this accursed place the happier she would be. Or the less unhappy, at least. She turned away from the window, and scowled again. They were all staring at her.

The one called Bayaz was the first to speak. “It certainly is quite a striking thing you’ve discovered, brother. You wouldn’t miss her in a crowd, eh? Are you sure she’s what I’m looking for?”

Yulwei looked at her for a minute. “As sure as I can be.”

“I’m standing right here,” she growled at them, but the bald pink went on talking as though she couldn’t hear.

“Does she feel pain?”

“But little. She fought an Eater on the road.”

“Really?” Bayaz chuckled softly to himself. “How badly did it hurt her?”

“Badly, but in two days she was walking, in a week she was healed. She shows not a scratch from it. That is not normal.”

“We have both seen many things that are not normal in our times. We must be sure.” The bald man reached into a pocket. Ferro watched suspiciously as he pulled out his fist, placed it on the table. When he took it away two smooth, polished stones lay on the wood.

The bald man leaned forward. “Tell me, Ferro, which is the blue stone?”

She stared at him, hard, then down at the stones. There was no difference between them. They were all watching her, closer than ever now, and she ground her teeth.

“That one.” She pointed to the one on the left.

Bayaz smiled. “Exactly the answer I was hoping for.” Ferro shrugged her shoulders. Lucky, she thought, to guess the right one. Then she noticed the look on the big pink’s face. He was frowning at the two stones, as though he didn’t understand.

“They both are red,” said Bayaz. “You see no colours at all, eh, Ferro?”

So the bald pink had played a trick on her. She wasn’t sure how he could have known, but she was sure she didn’t like it. No one plays tricks on Ferro Maljinn. She started to laugh. A rough, ugly, unpractised gurgling.

Then she sprang across the table.

The look of surprise was just forming on the old pink’s face as her fist crunched into his nose. He gave a grunt, chair tipping backwards, sprawling out onto the floor. She scrambled across the table to get at him, but Yulwei grabbed hold of her leg and dragged her back. Her clawing hands missed the bald bastard’s neck and hauled the table over on its side instead, the two stones skittering away across the boards.

She shook her leg free and went for the old pink as he staggered up from the floor, but Yulwei caught her arm and pulled her back again, all the while yelling, “Peace!” He got her elbow in his face for his trouble, and sagged back against the wall with her on top of him. She was first up, ready to go at the bald bastard again.

By now the big one was on his feet though, and moving forward, still watching her. Ferro smiled at him, fists clenched at her sides. Now she would see how dangerous he really was.

He took another step.

Then Bayaz put an arm out to stop him. He had his other hand clasped to his nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He started to chuckle.

“Very good!” He coughed. “Very fierce, and damn quick too. Without a doubt, you’re what we’re after! I hope you will accept my apologies, Ferro.”

“What?”

“For my awful manners.” He wiped blood from his upper lip. “I deserved no less, but I had to be sure. I am sorry. Am I forgiven?” He looked somehow different now, though nothing had changed. Friendly, considerate, honest. Sorry. But it took more than that to win her trust. A lot more.