Джо Аберкромби - A Little Hatred - Book One (The Age of Madness)

Orso watched his seed float around in the wine. ‘That … is somewhat disgusting.’

‘Please.’ Savine rinsed her mouth out from the other glass. ‘You only have to look at it.’

‘Such cavalier disrespect. One day, madam, I shall be your king!’

‘And your queen will no doubt spit your come into a golden box to be shared out on holidays for the public good. My congratulations to you both, Your Highness.’

He gave vent to a silly giggle. ‘Why does someone as altogether perfect as you waste her energy on a dolt like me?’

She pushed out her lips discerningly, as though considering the mystery, and for a strange, stupid moment he almost asked her. The words tickled at his lips. There was no one better suited to him. She had all the qualities he wished he had. So sharp. So disciplined. So decisive. Besides, it would have been worth it just for the look on his mother’s face. He almost asked her.

But circumstances always conspired to stop him doing the right thing.

‘I can only think of one reason,’ she said, hitching her skirts up and wriggling onto the desk beside him.

His sweaty arse juddered against the leather as he slid down onto still-wobbly legs, trousers flopping about his ankles. He flipped the box open and sprinkled some pearl dust onto the back of his hand, sniffed half himself then offered her the rest.

‘Let it never be said I think only of myself,’ he said as she covered one nostril to snort it up. She blinked at the ceiling for a moment, eyelids fluttering, as if she might sneeze. Then she dropped back on her elbows, working her hips towards him.

‘Get to it, then.’

‘You really are in no mood for romance today, are you?’

She slid her fingers into his hair, then twisted his head somewhat painfully down between her legs. ‘ My time is valuable.’

‘The naked gall.’ Orso gave a sigh as he hooked her leg over his shoulder, sliding his hand down the bare skin, hearing her gasp, feeling her shudder. He kissed gently at her shin, at her knee, at her thigh. ‘Is there no end to the demands of one’s subjects?’

The Breakers

‘What sort of a name is Vick, anyway?’

‘Short for Victarine.’

‘ Very fucking fancy,’ sneered Grise. Vick hadn’t known her long, but she was already getting tired of her. ‘Daresay you’ve got a fucking “dan” in your name, too, eh, your ladyship?’

She was joking. But things had to get pretty funny before Vick started laughing, and this didn’t qualify.

She held Grise’s eye. ‘I did have a “dan” in my name, once. My father was Master of the Royal Mints. Had a great big apartment in the Agriont.’ And Vick nodded towards her best idea of where the fortress was, though the points of the compass were hard to tell apart in a mouldy cellar. ‘Right next to the palace. Big enough for a statue of Harod the Great in the hall. Life fucking size.’

Grise had quite the frown on her round face now, light flickering across it as boots, and hoofs, and cartwheels clattered past the little windows high up near the ceiling. ‘You grew up in the Agriont?’

‘You weren’t listening. My father had an apartment there. But when I was eight years old, he trod on the wrong toes and the Inquisition took him. I hear it was Old Sticks himself who asked the questions.’

That changed the atmosphere, Grise flinching a little and Tallow blinking into the shadows as if the Arch Lector himself might be loitering behind the dusty shelves with a dozen Practicals.

‘My father was innocent. Of what they accused him of, anyway. But once Old Sticks got started …’ Vick slapped the table with a bang, Tallow jumping so high he nearly hit the ceiling. ‘He leaked confessions like a broken drain. High Treason. They sent him to Angland. To the camps right up North.’ Vick didn’t feel much like it, but she grinned. ‘And no one likes to split up a happy family. So they sent my ma with him. My ma, and my brother, and my sisters, and me. The camps, Grise. That’s where I grew up. So don’t question my commitment to the cause. Not ever.’

You could hear the ill squelch as Tallow swallowed. ‘What are the camps like?’

‘You get by.’

Oh, the filth, pain, hunger, death, injustice and betrayal that she buried in that phrase. The black chill of the mines, the searing glow of the furnaces, the gnashing rage and sobbing desperation, the bodies in the snow. Vick forced her face to stay blank, pressed down the past like you might press down the lid on a box full of maggots.

‘You get by,’ she said, firmer. When you tell a lie, you have to sound like you believe it. Goes double for the ones you tell yourself.

Grise spun around as the door squealed open, but it was only Sibalt come at last, Moor big and dour at his shoulder. He planted his fists on the table and took a heavy breath, that noble face of his sadly sagging.

‘What is it?’ asked Tallow, in a tiny voice.

‘They hanged Reed,’ said Sibalt. ‘They hanged Cudber. They hanged his daughter.’

Grise stared at him. ‘She was fifteen.’

‘What for?’ asked Tallow.

‘Just for talking.’ Sibalt put his hand on the boy’s thin shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘Just for organising. Just for trying to get workers to stand together and speak with one voice. That’s treason now.’

‘Then the time for talk’s fucking past!’ snarled Grise.

Vick was angry as anyone. But she’d learned in the camps that every feeling is a weakness. You have to lock your hurt away, and think about what comes next. ‘Who did they know about?’ she asked.

‘That all you can think of?’ Grise stuck her fat fist in Vick’s face and shook it. ‘Whether you’re fucking safe ?’

Vick looked from her fist to her eye. ‘Whatever names they knew, they’ll have given up.’

‘Not Cudber. He wouldn’t.’

‘Not even when they put the irons to his daughter?’ Grise had nothing to say to that, shock gradually wiping the anger off her face. ‘Whatever names they knew, they’ll have given up. Lots of other names, too, ’cause once you run out of truth, you start spilling lies.’

Moor shook his big lump of a head. ‘Not Reed.’

‘Yes, Reed, Cudber, his daughter, yes, you or me or anyone. The Inquisition’ll come for whoever they knew about, and soon. So who did they know about?’

‘Just me.’ Sibalt looked at her calm and level. ‘I made sure of it.’

‘Then you have to get out of Adua. For your sake, for the sake of the cause.’

‘Who the fuck are you to give orders?’ Grise leaned down over her with a stabbing finger. ‘You’re newest here!’

‘So maybe I’m thinking most clearly.’ Vick let her hand lie on her belt buckle where her brass knuckles were hidden. She didn’t rate Grise much of a threat, for all her bulk. People who shout a lot tend to take a while working up to more. But Vick was ready to put her down if she had to. And when Vick put someone down, she made sure they went down hard.

Lucky for Grise, Sibalt laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and eased her back. ‘Vick’s right. I have to get out of Adua. Just as soon as we strike our blow.’ And Moor slid out a dirty paper and unrolled it across the table. A map of the city. Sibalt tapped a spot in the Three Farms. Not far from where they’d started building that new canal. ‘The Hill Street Foundry.’

‘Though Hill Street’s gone,’ said Moor, in that plodding way he had, ‘since they pulled it down to build the Foundry.’

‘They’re fitting new engines there,’ said Sibalt.

Tallow nodded. ‘I passed ’em on the way. Engines that’ll put two hundred men and women out of work, I hear.’

‘And what?’ muttered Vick, frowning. ‘We’re going to break ’em?