A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness #1) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,121

of furniture. Oh, the sisterhood, the spirit, the nobility of poverty!

It turned out there was nothing romantic about shitting in a bucket while someone else watched. Nothing spirited about hoarding the bones from the chicken for tomorrow’s dinner. Nothing sisterly about the women who tore at each other over scraps scavenged on the great rubbish heaps. Nothing noble in the cramps you got from rotten water at the pump, or the lice you picked from your armpits, or being endlessly cold, endlessly hungry, endlessly scared.

And yet living this way did not make Savine sorry for the people who were forced to do it every day. Who did it in the many buildings just like this one she profited from all across the Union. It only made her desperate never to live this way herself again. Perhaps that made her selfish. Wicked. Evil, even. While she fled whimpering through the city on the day of the uprising, she had sworn to a God she did not believe in that she would be good, if it meant she could live.

Now she was happy to be evil, if it meant she could be clean.

‘You were in Colonel Vallimir’s house,’ said May. Savine stared at her, caught off balance and failing to hide it, the constant nagging ache of fear turned suddenly, terribly sharp.

‘What?’ she croaked.

‘The night before the uprising.’ May could not have looked calmer. ‘I served you jelly.’

Savine’s eyes slunk to the door. But there was no way out of this room without going through the other. Where a man she had seen stomp another man’s head into the road was arguing with his wife. ‘Horrible jelly,’ she muttered.

‘I was trying to work out how much your dress cost,’ said May. Far more than this room. Probably more than this whole building. ‘Your hair was different.’ She glanced up at the mousy fuzz starting to grow back on Savine’s scalp. ‘A wig?’

‘Lots of us wear them. In Adua.’ So she knew who Savine was. She had always known. But she had not told. Savine took a deep breath, trying not to let the fear show. Trying to think. The way she used to in a meeting with partners. A negotiation with rivals.

May nodded slowly. As if she guessed Savine’s thoughts. ‘Beautiful dresses. Horrible jellies. Different world, isn’t it? You asked me what I thought about the city.’

‘You were … very honest.’

‘Little too honest for my own good, I expect. Always been a problem of mine. You stood up for me, though. I listened at the keyhole, and you stood up for me.’

Savine cleared her throat. ‘Is that why you took me in?’

‘Wish I could say yes.’ May sat forward, thin hands dangling over her knees. ‘But that wouldn’t be entirely honest. Fact is, Vallimir’s whole house was buzzing with news of your visit. Everyone desperate to get a look at you. I know who you are, my lady.’

Savine twitched. ‘You don’t have to call me that.’

‘What should I call you? Savine?’

Savine flinched. ‘Best for both of us if you don’t call me that, either.’

May lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Lady Glokta, then?’

Savine grimaced. ‘Best not to even think the name.’ There was a long silence while they looked at each other. Next door, someone had started singing. Always happy songs, because there was misery enough here without singing up more. ‘Might I ask … whether you’re thinking of telling anyone?’

May sat back. ‘My father thinks you’re just some waif got lost. My mother guesses you’re somebody, but she’d never guess who. Best we keep it that way. If news got out …’ She left that hanging. It was nicely judged. There really was no need to say more. Savine remembered the crowd of men in her mill, all looking at her. The mob. The hate in their faces.

She carefully licked her lips. ‘I would … appreciate your discretion. It would put me … very much in your debt.’

‘Oh, I’m counting on it.’

Savine turned up the hem of her dress, heartbeat thud, thud, thudding in her ears, and dug down inside the fraying seam with a finger, hooking out the earrings she had been wearing the day of the uprising. First one, then the other, the unfamiliar gleam of gold in the shadows.

‘Take these.’ Her voice was far too eager for a negotiator of her experience. ‘They’re gold with—’

‘Don’t think they’d go with my ensemble.’ May’s eyes flicked down to her own threadbare dress, then back up to Savine. ‘You keep ’em.’

Silence