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

‘Nonsense. All I did was stand here.’ And spend Savine’s money, and smile, and develop a top-quality salute, anyway. ‘You’re the one who did the work, Colonel Forest!’

‘ Colonel bloody Forest,’ muttered Tunny, shaking his head as if at unbearable affectations, while Yolk, always keen to follow his leader, gave a sneer to match.

Forest ignored them. At ignoring Tunny, as at so many things, he appeared steeped in experience. ‘They’ve all served before, Your Highness. Some fought in the North. Most fought in Styria. All I did was remind ’em how to go about the business, and that’s no more than my job.’

‘Men can do their jobs badly but you’ve done yours bloody well. I’m lucky to have you.’ And Orso gave Forest the special smile. The one he reserved for moments of actual happiness.

The two of them had formed a winning partnership, so far. Forest provided the experience, judgement, warmth, discipline, courage, facial scarring and, of course, superb moustache. Orso supplied the sparkle, the … Well, his facial hair had always been wretched and he had no noticeable scars, so honestly the sparkle was about all. Perhaps that was what the historians would call him. The King of Sparkle. He gave a helpless snort of laughter. People could have called him worse, he supposed. Indeed, they often had.

‘A king’s job is not to do things well.’ Orso gave the slightest wince at the Styrian words, pronounced at ostentatious volume among hundreds of men who had been fighting Styrians for the last ten years – and losing. He had forgotten his mother had come to observe. She sat in her folding chair in the shade of a portable purple awning, her ladies arranged about her on the grass like the gilt frame to a masterpiece. ‘It is to pick the people who will do them well on his behalf.’

‘You sound almost impressed, Mother,’ said Orso, switching to Styrian himself, but at least doing it quietly. ‘I hadn’t realised your voice could actually take that tone.’

‘Nonsense, Orso. You have heard me be impressed with other people on occasion.’

He sighed. ‘True enough.’

‘And it is hardly as though you have done anything you could expect to impress me since you went over to solid food.’

He sighed again, more deeply. ‘Also true enough.’

‘A future king has no business fighting.’

‘All the greats were warriors, no? Harod, Casamir, Arnault—’

The queen waved the weighty names away. ‘No doubt the common folk swoon over a conquering king, but it’s the coupling kings who found the dynasties.’

‘I’ve spent years coupling. That’s never impressed you, either.’

‘It’s who you couple with , Orso, as you very well know. I’d much rather you were getting married.’ She sat back, giving him a thorough examination, tapping at the arm of her folding chair with one exquisitely manicured fingernail. ‘But if you must play soldiers in the meantime, I will admit …’ And she allowed the corner of her mouth to bend by an infinitesimal fraction. ‘I am impressed.’

Orso often told himself that he long ago gave up caring about his mother’s opinions. The glow of satisfaction that warmed him to the roots of his hair revealed that for one of his many lies. ‘I suppose everyone grows up sooner or later,’ he said, turning away so she would not see him blush.

The queen stood, her folding chair instantly whisked away by one of her liveried footmen. ‘Perhaps you could help your father do it.’ And she turned back towards the palace, her ladies-in-waiting forming a glittering spearhead of which she was the diamond point.

‘Her Majesty looked almost … pleased,’ muttered Tunny, lowering the Steadfast Standard and rolling the royal heirloom up with superb skill. Say what you like about the man, and people often did, but he knew his way around a flag. ‘And I’ve a feeling that’s not easily done.’

Orso raised his brows. ‘She’d rather I was getting married, apparently.’

‘You could marry Colonel Forest,’ said Tunny. ‘I definitely sense love blooming between you two.’

‘A man could do a lot worse. Forest is experienced, organised, dependable, considerably more intelligent than me yet defers to me anyway. Aside from a quim, he has every quality one could ask for in a bride.’

Tunny glanced over at Forest, face reddening beneath that fine fur hat as he bellowed orders at the men. ‘That bloody hat of his looks like a quim.’

Orso choked back a laugh. It actually did, a little. ‘Watch your mouth, Corporal. I may be forced to promote you.’

‘Anything but that.’ Tunny had been offered the role of sergeant major but flatly refused to consider anything above corporal. Some men are like water. No matter how high they are lifted, they always yearn to return to the appropriate level. He squinted up at the blazing sun. ‘Hope you’ve packed some warm clothes, Your Highness. Hard to imagine now, but it gets bitter up there in the North.’

‘It’s what the place is known for, after all.’

A knight herald was striding over, past the footmen busily dismantling the queen’s awning. ‘Your Highness!’ he thundered at entirely unnecessary volume, snapping his armoured heels together. ‘His Majesty wishes to see you at once !’

‘At the palace?’

‘At the House of Questions, in the company of Arch Lector Glokta.’

Orso winced. ‘Can’t they see I have an army to lead to glory?’ He thought about that for a moment. ‘Or to watch Colonel Forest lead to glory?’

Tunny leaned in to mutter, ‘You’ve made glory wait twenty years. Daresay another hour won’t make the difference.’

‘At last!’ snapped the king as Orso stepped through the door, plainly very far from his usual good-humoured self.

His Eminence sat behind his desk in his wheeled chair, a blanket over his knees in spite of the heat, looking even more grim, gaunt and pale than usual, which took some doing. Orso had once seen a three-day-old plague corpse with better colour to its cheeks. Standing at Glokta’s shoulder was perhaps the one man in the entire Union more hideous than he: his deputy, Superior Pike, whose entire face was obliterated by monstrous burns. Pike’s expression was hard to read, but overall the mood was far from encouraging.

As was his long-established habit, Orso began with deflection. ‘I’ve got quite the busy day, Father. If you want to see me off, you—’

‘You’re not going to the North,’ growled the king.

‘I’m … what?’ Orso was robbed of the chance to move on to evasion and forced straight to entitled upset. ‘Father, I worked for this—’

‘Other men work for things all the time! What makes you special?’

I’m the crown prince of the bloody Union! was on the very tip of Orso’s tongue, but luckily Pike spoke first, his soft voice betraying no more emotion than his burned face.

‘Your Highness, there has been an uprising in Valbeck.’

Orso swallowed. ‘Uprising?’ The word was a decidedly ugly one to use before someone of royal blood. Could Pike not have gone for something a bit more neutral, like incident ? Even riot would have been preferable. Then he realised the fact that the Superior was using it, in front of a king, a crown prince and their Arch Lector, might be a good guide to the severity of the situation.

‘It is coordinated, well organised and on a considerable scale. It would appear the workers at several mills rose up simultaneously, overpowering foremen, guards and owners.’

‘They’re in control of these mills?’

The Arch Lector’s left eye began to twitch and he dabbed away a tear. ‘It would appear that they are in control of the whole city. They may well have infiltrated the town watch, too. Perhaps … even the Inquisition.’