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

‘Everyone looks better on their knees. It was my favourite thing about attending temple.’ Zuri set the book down to step in, winding the laces tight around her hands and pushing one knee into Savine’s back. ‘Breathe out.’

Savine’s lungs were emptied in a faint groan as Zuri pulled. She might have been slender as a willow switch but, by the Fates, she was strong as a docker. The feeling of constriction was, for a moment, quite terrifying. But great results require great pains.

People liked to think of beauty as some natural gift, but Savine firmly believed that just about anyone could be beautiful, if they worked hard at it and spent enough money. It was merely a question of emphasising the good, disguising the bad and painfully squeezing the average into the most impressive configuration. Very much like business, really.

‘That’s it, Zuri,’ croaked Savine, shifting her shoulders back and letting everything settle. ‘Unless you feel like it’s cutting you in half, it isn’t doing the job. Knots, Freid, before they loosen.’

‘Master Hisselring called.’ Zuri took up the book again. ‘He asks for another extension on his loan.’

Savine would have raised her brows had Lisbit not been in the midst of shaping them. ‘Poor old Hisselring. It would be a shame to see him lose his house.’

‘The scriptures hold much praise for charity. But they also say only the thrifty will enter heaven.’

‘A cynic might observe that the scriptures can be used to support both sides of every argument.’

Zuri had the tiniest smile at the corner of her mouth. ‘A cynic might say that is the point of them.’

When Savine felt herself softening, even for a moment, she found it effective to taunt herself with the things other people had that she did not. At that moment, the fine, rosy blush to Lisbit’s cheek was in her eyeline. It made the girl look like a peasant, but it was fashionable. One can always find some small, irrelevant thing to be jealous of. The moment you lose your murderous edge, after all, could be the moment you lose altogether.

Some might have said that made her self-serving, shallow and poisonous. She would have replied that the self-serving, shallow, poisonous people always seemed to come out on top. Then she would have laughed ever so sweetly, and whispered to Zuri to place a note in the book for their future destruction.

Savine considered her face in the mirror. ‘A touch more blush. And I think I have given Hisselring quite long enough. Call in the debt.’

‘My lady. Then there is Colonel Vallimir, and the mill in Valbeck.’

Savine gave the loudest groan of frustration she could while pushing her lips out for Lisbit’s brush. ‘Still making a loss?’

‘Quite the reverse. He reports a large profit this month.’

Savine could not help glancing sharply around, causing Lisbit to cluck with annoyance as she smudged, then lean in so close to correct it with a fingertip that Savine could smell her oversweet breath.

‘Blessed are the thrifty … does Vallimir explain his sudden success?’

‘He does not,’ said Zuri, slipping a necklace around Savine’s neck so gently she barely felt it. The new emeralds from her man in Ospria. Just the one Savine would have picked.

‘Suspicious.’

‘It is.’

‘We should pay him a visit. Make sure our partners realise that our eyes are always on the details. And we have plenty of other interests in Valbeck. There never was a city so ill-conceived, ill-built and ill-tempered, but there really is a great deal of money to be made there. Zuri, clear a few days somewhere in the next month so you and I can—’

‘I am afraid … I will not be able to accompany you.’ Zuri said it as she did everything. Gently. Gracefully. But very firmly.

Savine stared at her in the mirror, momentarily lost for words. Lisbit swallowed. Metello glanced up from the wig on its stand, comb frozen in her hand.

‘Things in the South are … worse than ever,’ said Zuri, eyes to the floor. ‘Some say the Prophet was killed by a demon. Some say he overcame her and is recovering from the battle. The emperor has been cast down, and his five sons struggle with each other. The provinces declare their independence and look to their own survival. Warlords and bandits spring up everywhere. It is chaos.’ Zuri looked up at her. ‘Ul-Safayn, my family’s home, has become lawless. My brothers are in danger. I have to help them get out.’

Savine blinked. ‘But Zuri … you’re my rock.’

And she was. She was beautiful, tasteful, discreet, spoke five languages, had a refined sense of humour and an effortless mastery of the workings of business, and yet somehow never stole the attention for herself. She would no doubt have held as high a place in Gurkish society as Savine did in the Union’s, had Gurkish society not crumbled into madness, causing refugees to flood across the Circle Sea and dark-skinned ladies’ companions to become so terribly fashionable in Adua.

Since Savine’s father first introduced her, a friendless exile in desperate need of a position, Zuri had made herself indispensable in a dozen ways. But it was more than that. Savine’s acquaintance was immense. A great web of favours, partnerships and obligations that stretched across the Union and beyond. But the truth was she had no friends at all. Apart from the one she paid.

‘You’ll be back soon?’ she found she had asked.

‘As soon as I can.’

‘Should I send some men with you—’

‘I will be safer alone.’

Savine caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and realised, even with the elaborate powdering, she looked quite crushed. That would not do at all.

‘But of course you must go,’ she said, a little too brightly. ‘Family comes first. I’ll pay for your passage.’

‘Lady Savine, I—’

‘You could check on our agents in Dagoska on the way. Make sure they are not fleecing us. And perhaps, under the circumstances, there might be some bargains to be had on the shores of the Gurkish Sea.’

‘I would not be surprised,’ said Zuri, frowning over at Freid.

She was clutching Savine’s dress like a shield, wide eyes showing over its embroidered collar. ‘Aren’t you worried about … Eaters ?’

Zuri sighed. ‘God knows I have enough real worries without inventing more.’

‘My aunt says the South is teeming with them,’ said Lisbit, always keen to jump into any gossip with both feet.

‘My father saw one,’ said Freid, breathless. ‘Years ago, at the Battle of Adua. They can steal your face, or turn you inside out just by looking at you, or—’

‘Tall tales spread by people who should know better,’ said Savine, sternly. ‘Lisbit, you will be my companion while Zuri is away. You’d enjoy a trip to Valbeck, wouldn’t you?’

Lisbit’s rosy cheeks went even rosier. ‘I’d be honoured, my lady!’

As though her honour was Savine’s concern. Without making a sound, Zuri screamed that she was a peerless lady’s companion, and therefore that the lady she accompanied must also be peerless. Lisbit sent no such message. She was pretty enough, but she would be worse than worthless with the book and she had no taste at all. Still. We must work with the tools we have , as Savine’s father was forever saying. She smothered her disappointment with a smile.

‘And, of course, if any of your family need work, or a place to stay, they will always be welcome with me.’

‘You are too generous,’ said Zuri. ‘As always.’

‘I daresay Master Hisselring would not agree. If your brothers are half as useful as you, it will be the best investment I ever make.’

There was a knock at the door and Lisbit opened it a crack, a moment later leaned close while Freid and Zuri were easing Savine’s dress on. ‘That girl’s here, my lady.’ Her lip wrinkled with distaste. ‘With a message from Spillion Sworbreck.’