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

‘I’m guessing it doesn’t take you too long?’

Rikke glanced down at herself. ‘Get my boots on and I’m pretty much there.’

‘Wonderful.’ Orso was looking down at her, too, the ghost of a smile about his lips. He brushed her neck with a fingertip, then slid it down until it caught the hem of the sheet, and started to drag that down, too. ‘We may be able to fit in a brief round of diplomacy before the parade.’

‘Well … I was sent to improve relations with the Union.’ And she kicked the tray clattering off onto the floor, spat a bit of egg after it, grabbed a fistful of Orso’s jacket and dragged him down on top of her.

No Expense Spared

‘The bloody people ,’ bellowed Leo over the cheering.

‘There are a lot of them,’ Orso shouted back.

They crowded to the edges of every roadway, crammed every roof and window. The streets were canyons of humanity, the squares were seas of faces. Just when Leo thought there couldn’t be any more in the world, they’d turn a corner and another avenue would open up, smiles stretching into the distance. His wounded side was sore from all the riding, his wounded arm from all the waving, his wounded face from all the grinning.

‘Are they taking them from the back and rushing them to the front down side streets, or something?’

‘Bearing in mind my mother organised this,’ said Orso, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’

The parade itself must’ve been several thousand strong. At the front rode magnates of the Open Council, garlanded with braid and medals. Leo got an approving nod from Lord Isher as he glanced over his shoulder. An energetically shaken fist from Barezin. A self-satisfied salute from Heugen.

Further back were lesser aristocracy, officers of the army and fur-trimmed bureaucrats. Wedged between them and the glittering ranks of tramping soldiers were a group of ambassadors, emissaries and foreign worthies with a daunting array of skin tones and national costumes.

Leo realised with a twinge of guilt that Rikke was probably among them. He wondered what she’d done after the ball last night. Probably sat on her own in the darkness, plotting his doom. He turned his eyes hastily forward, towards the magnificent standard flying at the very head of the column, its white horse rearing against a golden sun. Just the sight of it made the embers of Leo’s patriotic fervour flare back into life. A relic of a better time, when the Union was ruled by righteous warriors, not copper-counting cripples.

‘The Steadfast Standard,’ he murmured, in a voice hushed with awe.

Orso nodded. ‘The very piece of cloth that fluttered at the head of Casamir’s conquering armies.’

‘Without him there’d be no Angland at all. Now there was a great king.’

‘Indeed.’ The crown prince sighed. ‘Makes one realise how terribly far the monarchy has fallen.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Orso, with a sad little smile. He looked sad in general, considering this was all partly in his honour. ‘ No one has a lower opinion of the royal family than me, and that is with some savage competition. Makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it? Whether Casamir and Harod and the rest were really the great men history paints them as. Or were they just yesterday’s mediocrities, bloated up with centuries of stolen credit into today’s towering heroes?’ He gestured to the crowds. ‘I mean, it’s you they’re here for. You’re the one defeated Stour Nightfall. Men are wearing their beards like you. Wearing their swords like you. There’s a play about your duel, I believe.’

‘Any good?’

‘I’m sure it’s less exhilarating than the original.’

Leo had to admit he quite liked the crown prince. He’d expected him to be a real wilting dandy and, yes, you wouldn’t have called him a man’s man, but there was no doubt he was a damn good-looking fellow, and he turned out to be really quite thoughtful and generous. A hard man to hate. Leo was learning that people and their reputations rarely had much in common. He found himself, ironically, joining the Arch Lector in trying to inflate Orso’s achievements.

‘You liberated Valbeck, Your Highness. Put down a bloody rebellion.’

‘I surrounded a city and had a very good breakfast, discussed terms and had a very good lunch, accepted a surrender and had a very good dinner, then found the majority of my prisoners already hanged when I got up the next morning. My own fault for being a late riser, I suppose.’

‘But you’re the heir to the throne—’

‘My parents might agree on nothing else, but they do agree on that. Being heir to the throne takes no effort, however. Believe me, I know. You, on the other hand, have risked your life.’ He waved a hand towards the scar on Leo’s face. ‘Covered with the red marks of bravery! My most serious wound was sustained when I struck my head getting out of bed dead drunk. The bleeding was quite spectacular, to be fair, but the glory was minimal.’

Leo’s eye was caught by a knot of dark-skinned beggars in the crowd. ‘Lot of brown faces around,’ he said, frowning.

‘Troubles in the South. Refugees are pouring across the Circle Sea, seeking new lives.’

‘Fought a war against the Gurkish thirty years ago, didn’t we? You sure they can be trusted?’

‘Some can and some can’t, I would’ve thought. Just like Northmen. Just like anyone. And they’re not all from Gurkhul.’

‘Where, then?’

‘All across the South,’ said Orso. ‘Kadir, Taurish, Yashtavit, Dagoska. Dozens of languages. Dozens of cultures. And they’ve chosen to come here. Makes you proud, doesn’t it?’

‘If you say so.’ Leo knew nothing about those places except that he didn’t want the Union to become one of them. He took no pride in the watering down of his homeland’s character. ‘Don’t you worry there might be …’ Leo felt a need to lower his voice. ‘ Eaters among them?’

‘I’m not sure cannibal sorcerers are one of our most pressing problems.’

‘Some of them can steal people’s faces. That’s what I heard.’ Leo craned around to frown at those Southerners again. ‘They can disguise themselves as anyone.’

‘Then wouldn’t a pale face make a better disguise than a dark?’

Leo frowned. He hadn’t actually thought of that. ‘Just … hardly feels like the Union’s the Union any more.’

‘Surely the great strength of the Union has always been its variety. That’s why they call it a Union.’

‘Huh,’ grunted Leo. Orso would think that. He was a half-Styrian mongrel himself. Something landed in his lap. A flower. Looking towards an upstairs window, he saw a group of smiling girls, tossing down more. He grinned and blew them a kiss. Seemed the only decent thing to do.

‘Adua appears to be enjoying you,’ said Orso. ‘How have you been enjoying it?’

‘Can’t say I take to the vapours. And the politics is pretty murky, too. Since the Closed Council didn’t help fight the war, I’d hoped they’d at least help pay for it.’

‘Easier to open a gate to hell, in my experience, than the king’s purse.’

‘A royal waste of my time. But, on the other hand … I met a woman. Never met one quite like her before.’

Orso gave a sharp little laugh. ‘Fancy that. So did I.’

‘Beautiful. Clever. Sharp as a dagger and fierce as a tiger.’

Another laugh. ‘Fancy that. So did I.’

‘But so poised, so elegant … every inch the lady.’

Orso laughed louder than ever. ‘Well, there we differ. Does your paragon of womanhood have a name?’

Leo cleared his throat. ‘Reckon I’d better not say.’

‘Went further than just a meeting, then?’