A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness #1) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,186

must’ve been. ‘How many houses does she have?’

‘This is the townhouse of Lady Savine’s father, His Eminence the Arch Lector. Lady Savine spends much of her free time here, though she has very little.’ Zuri glanced quickly at a watch she wore on a chain around her neck and slightly upped the pace. ‘But she owns five houses of her own also. One in Adua which she uses for meetings of the Solar Society and other social functions, one in Keln, one in Angland, a small castle in the country near Starnlend and one in Westport.’ She leaned close to murmur. ‘But so far as I am aware, she has never actually been to that one.’

‘It’s a small castle,’ squeaked May in Broad’s ear.

They passed a kitchen where a woman was giving some dough a thorough pounding, another sawing away at some fish with a filleting knife. ‘How many people work for her?’ asked Liddy.

‘In her personal service, including you and my brothers and the new face-maid, thirty-four. In her various business ventures, well … hundreds. Thousands, maybe.’

‘What business is she in?’ croaked Broad as they turned up a long staircase.

‘It might be better to ask what business she isn’t in. What experience do you have?’

‘I can stitch,’ said Liddy. ‘Was assistant to a dressmaker once. I can wash, I can cook some.’

‘Lady Savine will always find work for someone who can use a needle. Her wardrobe provides labour for legions on its own.’ She turned a key and led them into a room flooded with light. Trees whispered in the breeze outside the three big windows, yellow leaves gently falling. Through one doorway, Broad could see a big old bed frame. He was wondering if they were there to clean the place when she held the key out to him. ‘You can use these rooms for now. Until we find you something better.’

‘Better?’ muttered Broad, staring at a vase of fresh flowers on a fine old table. He’d always thought himself unfortunate. Now he wondered what he’d done to deserve all the luck. Why was he standing in these clean-smelling rooms while crows pecked at the corpses of better men on the road to Valbeck? All he could think was that deserving’s got nothing to do with anything. Life just falls on you, like rain.

‘What role did you see yourself occupying, Master Broad?’

Broad pushed his lenses up his nose and slowly shook his head. ‘Never saw myself occupying anything in a house like this one. I was working in a brewery, my lady—’

Zuri smiled. ‘No need to call me that. I am Lady Savine’s companion.’

‘I thought you were friends,’ said May.

‘We are. But if I ever forgot that I am also her servant and she is also my mistress, we would not stay friends for very long.’ She looked to Broad again. ‘What else?’

‘My family were herders, going way back.’ She didn’t care about that. He hardly even cared about that any more, it felt like a thousand years ago. ‘And … I was in the army … for a while.’

Zuri’s eyes came to rest on the tattooed back of his hand. ‘You have seen action?’

Broad swallowed. He was getting the feeling she didn’t miss much. ‘Some. In Styria.’

‘You didn’t learn anything on campaign?’

‘Nothing that’d be useful in a lady’s service.’

Zuri laughed as she turned towards the door. A laugh with quite the edge on it. ‘Oh, you might be surprised.’

Drinks with Mother

Savine had hoped that once she was home with her things about her, bathed, perfumed and safe in her armour of corsetry, she would be herself again. Better, in fact, because adversity builds character. She would be the deep-rooted tree that bends in the storm but cannot be broken. She would be the sword that comes through fire tempered and blah, blah, fucking blah.

Instead, she was a dead stick shattered. Pig iron, melted to a slurry. Valbeck was not behind her in the past, it was now, all around her. She jumped at whispers and startled at shadows, as if she were still hiding in the corner of May’s sweltering room and the gangs were restless in the street outside. While she powdered the freckles on her nose away to pale perfection, she felt as if her slit guts were unravelling across the floor. She could hardly remember that easy confidence she used to have. She was an impostor in her own clothes. A stranger in her own life.

‘Mother!’

‘Savine! Thank the Fates you’re safe!’

‘Thank the Broads.