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

Malmer sat back, giving Broad that careful look again. ‘You told me a lot of stories about Styria. Must confess I somewhat stopped listening.’

‘Well, start fucking listening ’cause this is about the best man I know! First up the ladders at the siege of Borletta! First didn’t fall straight back down, leastways. He was always the first man in. How many times? Five?’ He caught Broad’s wrist and pushed his sleeve up to show the stars on his knuckles. ‘Look at those bastards!’ Like he was showing off some prize vegetable. ‘Look at those bastards .’

Broad pulled his hand free, drew it up into his sleeve. ‘I put all that behind me.’

‘In my experience, the past don’t drop back far,’ said Malmer. ‘You’ll vouch for him?’

‘Ain’t a man he served with wouldn’t vouch for him ten times over. By all the fucking Fates, yes, I’ll vouch for him!’

‘Then you’re hired.’ Malmer dipped his pen, calmly tapped it off and let it hover over his ledger. ‘So … Bull? Or Broad?’

‘Gunnar Bull,’ said Broad. ‘Put that down.’

‘Address?’

‘We’re in a cellar on Draw Street. Houses there don’t have numbers.’

‘In the cellars?’ Sarlby shook his head in disgust. ‘We’ll get you out of there, don’t worry.’ And he hooked a friendly arm around Broad’s shoulders and led him through into the noisy, smelly warmth of the brewery. ‘What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Thought you had a farm somewhere.’

‘Had to sell it,’ muttered Broad, stumbling on the lie.

Sarlby just grinned. ‘Trouble, eh?’

‘Aye,’ croaked Broad. ‘A little.’

‘Want a nip?’ he asked, holding out a flask.

Broad did, in fact. A lot more than was healthy. Took an effort to force out the words. ‘Best not. I never could leave it at one.’

‘You weren’t so shy in Styria, as I recall,’ said Sarlby, taking a swig.

‘I’m trying not to make the same mistakes twice.’

‘That’s all I ever bloody seem to do! What do you make of Valbeck?’

‘It’s all right, I guess.’

‘It’s a fucking slag heap. It’s a fucking meat grinder. It’s a fucking pit .’

‘Aye.’ Broad puffed out his cheeks. ‘It’s a pit.’

‘Fine for the rich folks up on the hill but what do we get? We who fought for our country? Open sewers. Three families to a room. Filth in the streets. The weak preyed on by the strong. There was a time folk cared about doing the right thing, wasn’t there?’

‘Was there?’

But Sarlby didn’t hear. ‘Now all a man’s worth is how much work can be squeezed from him. We’re husks to be scraped out and tossed away. We’re cogs in the big machine. But there’s those who are trying to make it better.’

Broad raised a brow at that. ‘I find men who prate a lot on making things better tend to make ’em a whole lot worse on the way.’

Sarlby didn’t hear that, either. He’d always been a great one for not hearing things he didn’t want to. Maybe everyone is. He leaned close, like he’d a secret to share. ‘You heard of the Breakers?’

‘Bandits, ain’t they? Break machines. Burn mills. Traitors, I heard.’

‘Only the fucking Inquisition say so.’ Sarlby spat on the sawdust-scattered ground. He’d always been a great one for spitting, too. ‘The Breakers are going to change things! They don’t just break machines, Broad, they break chains. Your chains and mine.’

‘I’ve got no chains on me.’

‘Says the man living in a cellar on Draw Street. I’m not talking about chains on your wrists, Broad. I’m talking about chains on your mind. Chains on your future! On your children’s futures. The masters’ll be brought low! Those who get fat on our sweat and our pain. The lords and ladies. The kings and princes.’ Sarlby’s eyes glittered at the fine future he saw coming. ‘No more rich old bastards telling us how it’s going to be. Every man with a say in how he’s governed. Every man with a vote .’

‘So no more king?’

‘Every man’ll be a king!’

Broad might’ve called it treason once, but his patriotic feelings had taken quite the kicking the last couple of years. Now it just sounded like daydreams. ‘Not sure there’s enough king to go around,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t want trouble, Sarlby. Had more than my share.’

‘Some folk are made for trouble, Bull. You were always at your best with your fists clenched.’

Broad winced at that. ‘At my worst, too.’

‘You were there, on the walls. You know how it is. Anything worth anything has to be fought for!’ And Sarlby bared his teeth and punched at the air, a Ladderman’s tattoo like Broad’s showing on the back of his fist.

‘Maybe.’ Broad felt a tickle of excitement, a stab of joy, but he pushed it away, twisted his own hand up into his sleeve as far as it would go. ‘But I’ve fought enough.’

He’d made Liddy a promise. This time, he meant to keep it.

A Blow for the Common Man

‘Everything ready?’ asked Sibalt. Even in the darkness, Vick could sense his nerves, and it didn’t help with hers.

She glanced up at Moor, a big outline on the wagon’s seat, reins in his hands. She glanced at Tallow, perched beside him, rain beaded on his oversized oilskin. She almost asked again if they were sure they wanted to do this. But there’s a time when doubts might do some good. A time to chew over the risks and the consequences. Then a moment passes. A moment you might not even notice. Then it’s too late, and you’ve got to commit, and give it everything with no backward glances.

‘It’s ready,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

Grise caught her arm in the darkness. ‘What about them?’ And she jerked her head towards the two bedraggled nightwatchmen either side of the foundry’s gate, faces pinched in the light of their own lanterns.

‘They’re paid.’

‘You paid the fuckers?’

‘It’s easier to shift a man with gold than steel, and it almost always ends up cheaper.’ And before Grise had the chance to answer, Vick struck out across the street, head down, collar up.

She glanced each way, but the drizzle was on their side, the lane almost empty. The blood thudded in her head as she walked to the gate. Fear creeping up her throat and making her want to rush, want to shout. She told herself she’d been in tighter corners and knew it was true. She kept her breaths deep, her steps slow.

‘Got a delivery for you,’ she said, shocked by how calm her own voice sounded.

The nightwatchman lifted his lantern to get a look at her and Vick narrowed her eyes at the glare. He knocked on the gates and there was the clatter of a bar being lifted. They took deliveries all night here. Nothing to remark upon.

‘Let’s go!’ called Vick, and Moor gave the reins a flick, brought the wagon across the muddy street and through into the darkened yard. Coal heaps and wood stacks were gloomy ghosts, glistening with wet. The side of the shed loomed up, cliff-like, the angry gleam of fires beyond the windows.

Moor called softly to the big carthorse and slipped on the brake, handed the reins to Tallow. Sibalt clambered down from the back of the wagon, wiping his hands on his leather apron.

‘Working so far,’ he muttered as he walked with Vick to the great foundry door.

‘So far,’ she said. The big padlock had been left open and she slid it from the hasp, planted her hands on the big handle next to Sibalt’s. His hands and hers, side by side. They heaved together, wheels clattering as the door slid open.

A waft of heat spilled from inside. The furnaces, and the engines, and the forges still giving off a welcoming glow. It’d never be cold in here, never be dark. Vick picked out the black outlines of the ironwork. The skeleton of the building. The pillars where they’d pack the powder.