A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness #1) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,39

much so as older you. But I’ve heard it said that imitation is the most honest tribute. We have a whole theatre full of old fools trying to do a Curnsbick, after all. Do I complain?’

‘Whenever you’re not boasting.’

‘I’ve been boasting continuously for so long it hadn’t come up.’ And Curnsbick gave her the mildest of grins. ‘The Circle of the World is wide, Savine. You can allow someone else to occupy one little plot of it.’

‘I suppose so,’ she grudgingly admitted, putting the distasteful union of Arinhorm and Heugen from her mind. ‘As long as they’re paying me rent.’

But Curnsbick was no longer listening. The eager chatter was falling silent, the crowd parting like soil before the plough. A man strode through the throng, his facial hair meticulously barbered and lavishly waxed, his crimson uniform festooned with gold braid.

‘Bloody hell,’ whispered Curnsbick, gripping her wrist, ‘it’s the bloody king!’

Whatever the criticisms of His Majesty – and there were many, regularly circulated in ever more scurrilous pamphlets – no one could have denied that King Jezal always looked the part. He chuckled, slapped arms, shook hands, traded jokes, a beacon of slightly absent good humour. A dozen fully armoured Knights of the Body clattered after him, and at least two score clerks, officers, servants, attendants and hangers-on after them, chestfuls of unearned medals glittering beneath the thousand dancing candle flames above.

‘Master Curnsbick.’ His Majesty ushered the great inventor up from his knee. ‘So sorry I’m late. This and that at the palace, you know. Management of the realm. So much to take care of.’

‘Your Majesty,’ frothed Curnsbick, ‘the Solar Society is illuminated by your presence. I regret that we had to begin the addresses without you—’

‘No, no! Progress waits for no one, eh, Curnsbick? Not even kings.’

‘Especially not kings, Your Majesty,’ said Savine, sinking into an even deeper curtsy. One of the royal party issued a choked splutter at her insolence, but no risk, no profit.

Curnsbick held out his hand to present her. ‘And this is—’

‘Savine dan Glokta, of course,’ said the king. ‘It makes one very proud, to see one’s subjects showing such … enterprise and determination.’ He gave a strange little shake of his fist. So strong a gesture, so weakly delivered. ‘I’ve always admired people who … make things.’

Savine sank lower still. She had long ago become used to men staring at her. Had learned to tolerate it, to deflect it gracefully, to turn it to her advantage. But the look the king was giving her was not the usual kind. There was something awfully sad behind his blandly handsome grin.

‘Your Majesty is far too kind,’ she said.

‘Not kind enough.’ She wondered if he had somehow found out about her and his son. Had Orso let something slip? ‘With such young women to lead the way, the Union’s future looks bright indeed.’

Fortunately, there was a commotion further down the hall. A knight herald pushed through the crowd, winged helmet tucked under one arm. ‘Your Majesty, I have news.’

The king looked mildly annoyed. ‘That’s your job, isn’t it? Could you be more specific?’

‘News … from the North.’ He leaned in to whisper, and the king’s fixed smile sagged.

‘My apologies, Lady Savine. My apologies, everyone! I am needed at the Agriont.’ The gilt edge of His Majesty’s cloak snapped as he spun on one highly polished heel, his retinue crowding after like a gaggle of self-important ducklings behind their mother, not a smile among them.

Curnsbick puffed out his cheeks. ‘Do you think we could call ourselves endorsed by His Majesty after a visit of half a minute?’

‘A visit’s a visit,’ muttered Savine. The chatter was already louder than ever, people flocking towards the doors, jostling one another in their haste to be first to learn the news. And to profit by it. ‘Find out what that knight herald had to say,’ she murmured to Zuri. ‘Oh, and make a note – I would like Kaspar dan Arinhorm to have troubles with his business in Angland.’

Zuri slipped her pencil from behind her ear. ‘Rumours, regulations, or just no one answering his letters?’

‘Let’s start with a bit of each and see how we go.’

Savine had not made society a snakepit. She was simply determined to slither to the top of it and stay there. If that meant being the most venomous reptile in Adua, so be it.

Fencing with Father

‘Wake up, Your Highness.’ And there was the hideous scraping of curtains being flung wide.

Orso forced one eye open a slit, holding