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

Praise for Joe Abercrombie

‘Abercrombie writes dark, adult fantasy, by which I mean there’s lots of stabbing in it, and after people stab each other they sometimes have sex with each other. His tone is morbid and funny and hard-boiled, not wholly dissimilar to that of Iain Banks … And like George R.R. Martin Abercrombie has the will and the cruelty to actually kill and maim his characters … Volumetrically speaking, it’s hard to think of another fantasy novel in which this much blood gets spilled’ Lev Grossman, Time Magazine

‘The books are good, really good. They pulled me in. Well-developed world. Unique, compelling characters. I like them so much that when I got to the end of the second book and found out the third book wasn’t going to be out in the US for another three months, I experienced a fit or rage, then a fit of depression, then I ate some lunch and had a bit of a lay down’ Patrick Rothfuss

‘The battles are vivid and visceral, the action brutal, the pace headlong, and Abercrombie piles the betrayals, reversals, and plot twists one atop another to keep us guessing how it will all come out.’ George R.R. Martin

‘Abercrombie writes fantasy like no one else’ Guardian

‘Joe Abercrombie is probably the brightest star among the new generation of British fantasy writers … Abercrombie never underestimates the horrors that people are prepared to inflict on one another, or their longlasting, often unexpected, consequences. Abercrombie writes a vivid, well-paced tale that never loosens its grip. His action scenes are cinematic in the best sense, and the characters are all distinct and interesting’ The Times

‘Highly recommended – a funny, finely-wrought, terrifically energetic work of high fantasy. Seek it out’ Joe Hill

‘Joe Abercrombie has created a world able to stand alongside landscapes the likes of George RR Martin and JRR Tolkien have created in terms of drama, political intrigue and, of course, bloodshed’ SciFiNow

‘Abercrombie leavens the bloody action with moments of dark humor, developing a story suffused with a rich understanding of human darkness and light’ Publishers Weekly

‘The consistently high standard of the stories in Sharp Ends make it a triumph. Granted, readers would be advised to acquaint themselves with their setting, but anyone who was excited by Abercrombie’s debut ten years ago will feel those butterflies again. It’s a masterful approach, displaying everything that’s great about the short story format, from a writer at the height of his powers’ Starburst

Dedication

For Lou,

With grim, dark

hugs

JOE ABERCROMBIE

GOLLANCZ

LONDON

Contents

Cover

Praise for Joe Abercrombie

Dedication

Title Page

PART I

Blessings and Curses

Where the Fight’s Hottest

Guilt Is a Luxury

Keeping Score

A Little Public Hanging

The Breakers

The Answer to Your Tears

Young Heroes

The Moment

Break What They Love

It Was Bad

A Sea of Business

Fencing with Father

Fencing with Father

Promises

A Blow for the Common Man

Knowing the Arrow

Biding Time, Wasting Time

The Bigger They Are

Questions

The Machinery of State

Sore Spots

PART II

Full of Sad Stories

Surprises

The Lion and the Wolf

No Unnecessary Sentiment

Friends Like These

Sinking Ships

Welcome to the Future

The Little People

Something of Ours

The Man of Action

Ugly Business

In the Mirror

A Deal

The New Monument

All Equal

Young Men’s Folly

The Party’s Over

Eating Peas with a Sword

The Battle of Red Hill

Settle This Like Men

PART III

Demands

Taking the Reins

A Fool’s Weapon

Hopes and Hatreds

Where Names Are Made

The Poor Pay the Price

The New Woman

Lost Causes

The New Man

Two of a Kind

Empty Chests

Like Rain

Drinks with Mother

Drinks with Mother

Questions

Civilisation

A Natural

Good Times

A Bit About Courage

Substitutes

No Expense Spared

My Kind of Bastard

Long Live the King

Acknowledgments

The Big People

Also by Joe Abercrombie from Gollancz

Copyright

PART I

‘The age is running mad after innovation;

and all the business of the world

is to be done in a new way.’

Dr Johnson

Blessings and Curses

‘Rikke.’

She prised one eye open. A slit of stabbing, sickening brightness.

‘Come back.’

She pushed the spit-wet dowel out of her mouth with her tongue and croaked the one word she could think of. ‘Fuck.’

‘There’s my girl!’ Isern squatted beside her, necklace of runes and finger bones dangling, grinning that twisted grin that showed the hole in her teeth and offering no help at all. ‘What did you see?’

Rikke heaved one hand up to grip her head. Felt like if she didn’t hold her skull together, it’d burst. Shapes still fizzed on the inside of her lids, like the glowing smears when you’ve looked at the sun.

‘I saw folk falling from a high tower. Dozens of ’em.’ She winced at the thought of them hitting the ground. ‘I saw folk hanged. Rows of ’em.’ Her gut cramped at the memory of swinging bodies, dangling feet. ‘I saw … a battle, maybe? Below a red hill.’

Isern sniffed. ‘This is the North. Takes no magic to see a battle coming. What else?’

‘I saw Uffrith burning.’ Rikke could almost smell the smoke still. She pressed her hand to her left eye. Felt hot. Burning hot.

‘What else?’

‘I saw a wolf eat the sun. Then a lion ate the wolf. Then a lamb ate the lion. Then an owl ate the lamb.’

‘Must’ve been a real monster of an owl.’

‘Or a tiny little lamb, I guess? What does it mean?’

Isern held a fingertip to her scarred lips, the way she did when she was on the verge of deep pronouncements. ‘I’ve no frigging clue. Mayhap the turning of time’s wheel shall unlock the secrets of these visions.’

Rikke spat, but her mouth still tasted like despair. ‘So … wait and see.’

‘Eleven times out of twelve, that’s the best course.’ Isern scratched at the hollow above her collarbone and winked. ‘But if I said it that way, no one would reckon me a deep thinker.’

‘Well, I can unveil two secrets right away.’ Rikke groaned as she pushed herself up onto one elbow. ‘My head hurts and I shat myself.’

‘That second one’s no secret, anyone with a nose is party to it.’

‘Shitty Rikke, they’ll call me.’ She wrinkled her nose as she shifted. ‘And not for the first time.’

‘Your problem is in caring what they call you.’

‘My problem is I’m cursed with fits.’

Isern tapped under her left eye. ‘You say cursed with fits, I say blessed with the Long Eye.’

‘Huh.’ Rikke rolled onto her knees and her stomach kept on rolling and tickled her throat with sick. By the dead, she felt sore and squeezed out. Twice the pain of a night at the ale cup and none of the sweet memories. ‘Doesn’t feel like much of a blessing to me,’ she muttered, once she’d risked a little burp and fought her guts to a draw.

‘There are few blessings without a curse hidden inside, nor curses without a whiff of blessing.’ Isern carved a little piece of chagga from a dried-out chunk. ‘Like most things, it’s a matter of how you look at it.’