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

‘We’re going to blow the lot to hell,’ said Grise. ‘With Gurkish Fire.’

Vick blinked at her. ‘How much have you got?’

‘Three barrels,’ said Sibalt. ‘That be enough, you think?’

‘In the right places, maybe. You know how to use it?’

‘Not really.’ Sibalt grinned at her. ‘But you do. Used it in the mines, didn’t you? In Angland.’

‘I did.’ Vick narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘What do you care?’ snapped Grise.

‘I care that your source is reliable. I care that it’s going to work. I care that it’s not going to pop too early and shower bits of us all over the Three Farms.’

‘Well, you can stop worrying, ’cause it comes straight from Valbeck,’ said Grise, smug as a king’s tailor. ‘Straight from the Weaver himself—’

‘Shush,’ hissed Sibalt. ‘Best if no one knows more than they have to. Don’t worry, the powder’s good.’

Grise slapped her fist into her palm. ‘A blow for the common man, eh, brothers?’

‘Aye,’ said Moor, slowly nodding his big head. ‘We’ll strike a spark.’

‘And the spark’ll start a fire,’ said Sibalt.

Vick sat forward. ‘If we do this, people get hurt. People get killed.’

‘Only those that deserve it,’ said Grise.

‘Once the killing starts, it rarely sticks to those who deserve it.’

‘You scared?’

‘If you’re not scared, you’re mad or stupid, and there’s no place for either on a task like this. We need to plan every detail.’

‘I got a job there labouring,’ said Moor. ‘I can map it out.’

‘Good,’ said Vick. ‘More plans mean fewer risks.’

Grise sneered her disgust. ‘All you ever fucking talk about is the risks!’

‘Someone needs to. This has to be something we choose, not something we blunder into ’cause we’re sore and can’t think of anything better to do with ourselves.’ She looked around those four faces, strange in the flickering light of the cellar. ‘This is what you all want, is it?’

‘It’s what I fucking want,’ said Grise.

‘It’s what I want,’ said Sibalt.

‘Aye,’ rumbled Moor.

She looked at Tallow last. He couldn’t be older than fifteen himself, and might only have had three good meals in that whole stretch. Reminded her of her brother, a little. Those skinny wrists sticking from frayed sleeves just a touch too short. Trying to put a hard face on but beaming fears and doubts out like a lighthouse through those big damp eyes.

‘There’s a Great Change coming,’ he said, finally. ‘That’s what I want.’

Vick smiled a grim smile. ‘Well, if I learned one thing in the camps, it’s that talking isn’t enough.’ She realised she’d closed her fingers to make a fist. ‘You want a thing, you have to fight for it.’

She stayed straddling him for a while afterwards, his chest pressed against hers with each snatched breath. Kissing at his lip. Biting at it. Then with a grunt, she slid off him, rolled onto her side next to him on the narrow bed, dragging the blankets up over her bare shoulder. It felt chill now they were done, frost showing in the smudges of lamplight at the corners of the little window.

They both lay silent, he staring at the ceiling, she staring at him. Outside the carts clattered by, and the traders offered their wares, and that drunk on the corner roared his meaningless pain and fury at nothing and no one. At everything and everyone.

Finally, he turned towards her. ‘Sorry I couldn’t step in with Grise—’

‘I can look after myself.’

Sibalt snorted. ‘No one better. I’m not sorry ’cause I think you need my help. I’m sorry I can’t give it. Better if they don’t know we’re …’ He slipped his hand up onto her ribs, rubbing at that old burn on her side with his thumb, trying to dig up the right word for what they were. ‘Together.’

‘In here, we’re together.’ She jerked her head towards the warped door in the warped frame. ‘Out there …’ Out there, everyone stood on their own.

He frowned at the little gap of coarse sheet between them as if it was a great divide that could never be crossed. ‘Sorry I can’t tell you where the Gurkish Fire comes from.’

‘Best if no one knows more than they have to.’

‘It’ll work.’

‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘I trust you.’ Vick trusted no one. She’d learned that in the camps, along with how to lie. Learned to lie so well, she could take one tiny sliver of truth and beat it out, like the goldsmiths beating a nugget of gold into leaf, till it could cover a whole field of lies. Sibalt didn’t doubt her for a moment.

‘I wish I’d met you sooner,’ he said. ‘Things might be different.’

‘You didn’t and they’re not. So let’s take what we can get, eh?’

‘By the Fates, you’re a hard case, Vick.’

‘We’re none of us hard as we seem.’ She slipped her hand around the back of his head, through the dark hair scattered with grey, held it firm, looked him in the eye and asked one more time. ‘You’re sure, Collem? You’re sure this is what you want?’

‘Don’t really matter what we want, does it? Bigger things than our future to consider. We can strike a spark that’ll set a fire burning. One day, there’ll be a Great Change, Vick. And folk like you and me will get our say.’

‘A Great Change,’ she said, trying to sound like she believed it.

‘When this is done, I’ll have to get out of Adua.’

She kept silent. Best thing to do when you’ve nothing to say.

‘You should come with me.’

She should’ve kept silent on that, too. Instead, she found she’d asked, ‘Where would we go?’

A grin spread across his face. Seeing it made her smile. Her first in a while. Hardly felt like her mouth should bend that way.

The frame groaned as he reached down beside the bed and came back up with a battered old book. The Life of Dab Sweet by Marin Glanhorm.

‘This again?’ asked Vick.

‘Aye, this.’ It fell open at an etching across both pages. As though it was often opened there. A rider alone, staring out across a sweep of endless grass and endless sky. Sibalt held that drawing at arm’s length as if it was a view spread out in front of them, whispered the words like a magic spell. ‘The Far Country, Vick.’

‘I know,’ she grunted. ‘It says under the picture.’

‘Grass for ever.’ He was half-joking. But that made him half-serious. ‘A place where you can go as far as your dreams can take you. A place where you can make yourself anew. Beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, I guess.’ She realised she’d reached towards that drawing with one hand, as if she might touch anything there but paper, and snatched it back. ‘But it’s a made-up drawing in a book full o’ lies, Collem.’

‘I know,’ he said, with a sad smile, like thinking about it was a fun game to play, but just a game. He flipped the book shut and tossed it back down on the boards. ‘Guess there comes a time you have to give up on what you want and make the best of what you’re given.’

She rolled over, pressing her back into his belly. They both lay silent, warm under the blankets, while the world went on outside, and the light of the furnaces across the street flickered orange beyond the misty windowpanes.

‘When we strike that spark,’ he murmured, voice loud in her ear, ‘it’ll change everything.’

‘No doubt,’ said Vick.

Another silence. ‘It’ll change everything between us.’

‘No doubt,’ said Vick, and she slipped her fingers through his and pressed his hand tight to her chest. ‘So let’s take what we can get. If I learned one thing in the camps, it’s that you shouldn’t look too far ahead.’