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

Savine felt that familiar flutter in her stomach, that familiar heat in her face. ‘When am I due at the Rucksteds’?’

Zuri consulted the watch. ‘Two hours and ten minutes.’

Savine thought about that, but not for long. ‘Please send Tilde my deepest regrets, but I cannot attend. I have a headache. Show Sworbreck’s girl in.’

She was, of course, not Sworbreck’s girl at all, but Prince Orso’s. Most princes would have employed some lord’s son as a valet, but he, with characteristic disregard for the rules, had a thirteen-year-old waif whose last job had been laundering soiled sheets in a brothel. Orso did love to surround himself with curiosities. Probably to distract as much attention from his being the heir to the throne as possible.

The girl stood there now, freckle-faced and threadbare with a battered soldier’s cap pulled all the way down to her eyes, as incongruous in Savine’s perfumed dressing room as a rat on a wedding cake. She watched Metello clamber up onto the stool to seat Savine’s wig with horrified amazement, as though she had happened upon a coven of witches about some arcane ritual.

‘Hildi, isn’t it?’ said Savine, watching her in the mirror.

She nodded. Quick eyes, she had. ‘My lady.’

‘Master Sworbreck has asked for me?’

The girl gave an impressively guarded wink. ‘At his office, my lady.’

‘Take your cap off in front of Lady Savine,’ said Lisbit, already putting on airs now she felt she had a promotion. Savine wondered if she would have throttled her by the time Zuri returned, and gave it about evens.

Hildi sourly pulled her cap off. She had a surprising mass of pinned-up, pale-blonde hair underneath. Metello gave a hum of interest, hopped from her stool to poke at it with a comb, rubbed a lock between finger and thumb, finally made Hildi squawk as she jerked a strand from her head and held it up to the light. She gave Savine a significant look from under her grey brows.

‘Such beautiful hair you have,’ said Savine.

‘Thanks,’ grumbled Hildi, still rubbing her head. ‘I guess.’

‘I’ll give you three marks for it.’

‘For my hair?’ Her surprise did not last long. ‘Ten.’

‘Five. You won’t miss it under that cap.’

‘The cap won’t fit without it. Ten or nothing.’

‘Oh, I like this girl. Give her twelve, Zuri.’

Zuri slipped out that curved knife of hers. ‘Hold still, child.’

Savine watched as Zuri neatly cropped her hair to stubble. ‘Like sunshine in a bottle,’ murmured Savine as Metello laid out the lengths. ‘We can stop into my wig-maker’s on the way. You run on ahead, girl.’ The thought of seeing Orso had quite chased away her upset over Zuri’s forthcoming absence, and she caught Hildi’s eye in the mirror and gave her the very same wink. ‘Tell Master Sworbreck I’ll be delighted to see him.’

‘Shit,’ she gasped, knocking over a heap of Sworbreck’s papers as she sagged back, spent, an avalanche of notes spilling onto the floor behind her. She unclenched her aching hand, the edge of the desk imprinted white across her palm.

‘You …’ She untangled the fingers of her other hand from Orso’s hair and patted him on the cheek. ‘Have been practising.’

‘As often as possible.’ Orso grinned as he wiped his face and shrugged her leg off his shoulder.

‘I really should tell Sworbreck …’ her breathing still ragged as she fished a niggling letter opener from under her shoulder and tossed it away, ‘to get a bed in here.’

‘Oh, I’d miss this desk.’ Orso leaned towards her, but not quite far enough, making her crane up to kiss him. ‘So many memories.’

She pushed down her skirts and reached for his belt. ‘Your turn.’

‘Can we … talk first?’

‘Talk first ?’ She narrowed her eyes. She was still pleasantly soft, flushed and shuddery all over, but if he thought to slip something by her, he would have a rude awakening. ‘What are you after?’

‘It’s this business in the North.’ He knelt in front of her, looking earnestly up. ‘We can’t leave Finree dan Brock to fight our battles for us. We’re supposed to be a bloody Union.’

‘Supposed to be—’

‘There has to be a response!’ He thumped the desk, hard enough to make the glasses rattle. ‘And … I feel I should be the man to lead it.’

She burst out laughing, saw he did not, and petered out into uncertain silence. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Deadly. I went to see my father. Then I went to see yours—’

She jerked up. ‘You did what ?’

‘Give me some credit, Savine, I didn’t lead with, “Your Eminence, I had my tongue up your daughter last night.” He doesn’t suspect a thing.’

‘You’d be a brave man to bet on what my father suspects.’

‘And I’m not one, is that it?’

He looked a little wounded, and she felt a little sad for him. ‘Oh, you poor baby.’ She put her arms around his neck, drew him close and kissed him softly. ‘After twelve years of drinking, gambling and fucking anything with a hole in it, does no one take you seriously?’

‘Plainly you don’t.’ And he stood up and started to button his shirt.

In fact, she thought she might be the only one who did. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ She pulled him back down, and pushed her hand through his hair, and held his head against her chest. ‘What did the great men tell Your Highness?’

‘My father gave me a battalion and said I can have command if I raise five thousand more men, but … for that I need money.’ He let a fingertip trail down her collarbone to the hollow at the bottom of her throat. ‘You know people. Rich people. People who might consider me … an investment.’

Savine frowned. If she judged an opportunity to be poor, she would not damage her reputation by passing it on. If she judged an opportunity to be good, she wanted it for herself. But five thousand soldiers meant a vast expense. Uniforms, weapons, armour, bedding, provisions. Then there was the army of men and women needed to get those men to the field and keep them there. The host of carts, wagons and beasts of burden. The food and supplies for them .

And, however much she wanted to be generous, Orso was beyond unreliable. He kept a brothel’s laundry girl instead of a servant, for pity’s sake. He scarcely understood the rules of business, let alone could be expected to observe them. If she was to lend him money, she would need guarantees. A crystal-clear understanding of what she expected in return. A contract. One so tightly binding, not even a king could wriggle free of it.

Perhaps encouraged by her thoughtful silence, he gave the slightest, uncertain smile. ‘What do you think?’

Her mouth smiled in return. Then, entirely independently of her mind, it said, ‘I’ll give you the money.’

There was a silence. As the expression gradually formed on his face, he looked more suspicious than grateful. And who could blame him? What the hell was she doing? ‘Just … like that? All of it?’

‘Why have money at all if you can’t help … a friend.’ Somehow she almost choked on the word.

‘No repayment plan? No favours in kind? No speak-to-this-fellow about that-piece-of-business?’

‘It’s all in a good cause, isn’t it? Patriotic.’ Good causes? Patriotism? It was as if some other person was speaking with her voice.

He reached up and gently stroked her cheek. He could be so delicate when he wanted. ‘Just when I think my opinion of you can’t get any higher … you surprise me. I have to go! There’s so much to organise.’

It wasn’t until he whisked his hand away that she realised she’d been pressing her face against it. She still felt the heat in her cheek. She was blushing like a child and turned away, embarrassed. Furious with herself, in fact.