Joe Abercrombie - The Blade Itself

“Er—”

“So much wealth. So much money. But so much poverty too, eh? So many beggars, so many poor. Hardly healthy, so rich and so poor, so close together, but it’s a fine place still, and always growing.”

“I find it too crowded,” mumbled Logen as a shoulder barged past him, “and too hot.”

“Bah! Crowded? Do you call this crowded? You should see the great temple in Shaffa at morning prayer! Or the grand square before the Emperor’s palace when new slaves are up for auction! And hot? Do you call this hot? In Ul-Saffayn, in the far south of Gurkhul, it gets so hot during the summer months that you can cook an egg on your doorstep. Truly! This way.” He ducked through the passing crowds towards a narrow sidestreet. “This way is the quickest!”

Logen caught him by the arm. “Down there?” He peered into the gloom. “You sure?”

“Can you doubt it?” demanded Longfoot, suddenly horrified. “Can it be that you could doubt it? Among all my remarkable talents, it is my skill at navigation that is paramount! It is for that talent, above all, that the First of the Magi has made so generous a contribution to the coffers of the order! Could it be that you… but wait.” He held up his hand and began to smile again, then tapped Logen on the chest with his forefinger. “ You do not know Brother Longfoot. Not yet. You are watchful and cautious, I see it, fine qualities in their place. I cannot expect you to have my unshakeable faith in my abilities. No! That would not be fair. Unfairness is not an admirable quality. No! Unfairness is not my way.”

“I meant—”

“I shall convince you!” shouted Longfoot. “Indeed I shall! You will come to trust my word before your own! Yes! This way is the quickest!” And he strode off down the dingy alleyway with remarkable speed, Logen struggling to keep up though his legs were a good half-foot longer.

“Ah, the back streets!” called the Navigator over his shoulder as they passed down dark and grimy lanes, the buildings crowding in ever closer. “The back streets, eh?” The alleys grew narrower, darker, and dirtier still. The little man turned to the left and the right, never pausing for an instant to consider his course. “Do you smell that? Do you smell that, Master Ninefingers? It smells like…” he rubbed his thumbs and fingertips together as he strode along, searching for the words “…mystery! Adventure!”

It smelled like shit to Logen. A man lay on his face in the gutter, dead drunk perhaps, or maybe simply dead. Other men passed by, limping and haggard, or standing in threatening groups in doorways, handing round bottles. There were women here too.

“Four marks and I’ll give you a blessing, Northman!” one of them called to Logen as they passed. “A blessing you won’t soon forget! Three, then!”

“Whores,” whispered Longfoot, shaking his head, “and cheap ones too. You like women?”

“Well—”

“You should go to Ul-Nahb my friend! Ul-Nahb on the shores of the Southern Sea! You could buy a bed-slave there. Indeed you could! They cost a fortune, but they train these girls for years!”

“You can buy a girl?” asked Logen, mystified.

“Boys too, if your taste bends that way.”

“Eh?”

“They train them for years, truly. It’s a whole industry down there. You want skilled? Do you? These girls have skills you wouldn’t believe! Or visit Sipani! There are places in that city—phew! The women are beautiful, beautiful every one! Truly! Like princesses! And clean,” he muttered, peering at one of the scruffy women by the roadside.

A bit of dirt didn’t bother Logen any. Skilled and beautiful all sounded too complicated to him. One girl caught his eye as they passed, leaning against a door-frame with one arm up. Watching them pass with a half-hearted smile. Logen found her pretty, in a desperate sort of a way. Prettier than he was anyway, and it had been a long time. You have to be realistic about these things.

Logen stopped in the street. “Bayaz wanted change?” he muttered.

“He did. He was most specific on the subject.”

“There’s money to spare, then?”

Longfoot raised one eyebrow. “Well, perhaps, let me see…”

He pulled out the purse with a flourish and opened it, rooting around inside. There was a loud jingling of coins.

“You think that’s a good idea?” Logen glanced nervously up and down the street. Several faces had turned towards them.

“What’s that?” asked the Navigator, still poking around in the purse. He pulled some coins out, holding them up to the light and peering at them, then pressed them into Logen’s palm.

“Subtlety isn’t one of your talents, is it?” Some of the shabby men in the alley began to move slowly, curiously towards them, two from in front, one from behind.

“No indeed!” laughed Longfoot. “No indeed! I am a straight-talking man, that is my way! Yes indeed! I am a… ah.” He had noticed the shadowy figures sidling towards them now. “Ah. This is unfortunate. Oh dear.”

Logen turned to the girl. “Do you mind if we…” She slammed the door shut in his face. Other doors up and down the street began to close. “Shit,” he said. “How are you at fighting?”

“God has seen fit to bless me with many remarkable talents,” murmured the navigator, “but combat is not one of them.”

One of the men had an ugly squint. “That’s a big purse for a little man,” he said, as he came close.

“Well, er…” murmured Longfoot, creeping behind Logen’s shoulder.

“An awful big load for a little man to carry,” said the other.

“Why not let us help you with it?”

Neither one of them had weapons ready, but by the way their hands were moving Logen knew they had them. There was a third man behind him too, he could sense him moving forwards now. Close. Closer than the other two. If he could deal with that one first, the one behind, his chances might be good. He couldn’t risk looking round, that would spoil the surprise. He’d simply have to hope for the best. As always.

Logen gritted his teeth and flung his elbow backwards. It hit the man behind in the jaw with a heavy crunch, and Logen caught his wrist in his other hand, which was lucky, because he had a knife out and ready. Logen smashed him in the mouth with his elbow again, tearing the blade from his limp fingers as he dropped into the street, head smacking against the dirty cobbles. He whipped round, half expecting to get stabbed in the back, but the other two hadn’t moved too quick. They had knives of their own out, and one had taken a half-step towards him, but he paused when he saw that Logen had the blade up, ready to fight.

It was a meagre kind of a weapon, six inches of rusty iron without even a cross-piece, but it was better than nothing. A lot better. Logen waved it around in the air in front of him, just to make sure that everyone could see it. Felt good. His odds were much improved.

“Right then,” said Logen, “who’s next?”

The other two moved apart, trying to get to either side of him, weighing their knives in their hands, but they didn’t seem in any great rush to come on.

“We can take him!” whispered the squinter, but his friend didn’t look too sure.

“Or, you can have this.” Logen opened up his clenched fist, showing the coins that Longfoot had given him. “And leave us be. This much I can spare.” He swished the knife around a bit more, just to add some weight to his words. “This is what you’re worth to me—this much, no more. What’s it to be?”

The one with the squint spat on the ground. “We can take him!” he hissed again. “You go first!”

“You fucking go!” shouted the other.

“Just take what I’m offering,” said Logen, “then we none of us have to go.”