A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness #1) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,84

like a thirsty dog’s. ‘They were free. Got ’em off a dead man.’ And he stuffed the sweet in his mouth. ‘Oh.’ His eyes went even wider. ‘Oh.’ He closed them, and chewed, and melted into his seat.

‘Good?’ asked Lisbit.

‘Like sunshine,’ he mumbled.

‘You really should say thank you.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Savine hid it well, but Vick noticed the twitch of annoyance on her face. She offered the box again. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Not for me,’ said Vick. ‘But you’re very kind.’

‘I doubt everyone would agree.’

‘If everyone agreed, I’d be out of a job.’ Vick forced herself not to wince as she drew in her outstretched leg and slid the window all the way down. ‘Pull up!’ she called to the driver. ‘We’ll go on foot from here.’

‘It’s true one must be careful who one is seen with.’ Savine opened her eyes very wide as the carriage rattled to a halt. ‘My mother likes to tell me a lady’s reputation is all she has. Ironic, really. Her reputation is dismal.’

‘Sometimes you don’t value a thing till you’ve thrown it away,’ muttered Vick.

Valbeck was hidden behind the hills to the north as she hopped down into the rutted mud, but she could see the smoke from the city’s thousands of chimneys, spreading on the breeze to make a great dark smudge across the sky. Maybe she could smell it, too. Just an acrid tickle at the back of her throat.

‘Is that all your luggage?’ asked Savine as Tallow dragged their stained bags down from the mass of boxes on the roof.

‘We travel light,’ said Vick, pulling on her battered coat and giving her shoulders the labourer’s hunch that went with it.

‘I envy you that. It sometimes seems I can’t leave the house without a dozen trunks and a hat stand.’

‘Wealth can be quite a burden, eh?’

‘You’ve no idea,’ said Savine as Lisbit swung the door shut.

‘Thanks for the sweet, my lady,’ croaked out Tallow.

‘Such wonderful manners deserve a reward.’ And Savine tossed the box through the window.

Tallow gave a little gasp as he caught it, fumbled it, managed to stop it falling and finally clasped it tight to his chest. ‘Don’t know what to say,’ he breathed.

Savine smiled. Open, and easy, and full of opulently polished pearly teeth. ‘Then silence is probably your best option.’ It nearly always was, in Vick’s opinion. Savine touched her fan to the brim of her perfect little hat. ‘Happy hunting.’

Fan snapped, whip cracked and the carriage lurched on towards Valbeck. Tallow watched it go in sad silence, shading his eyes against the midday glare. Vick shook her hair out, stuck her hand in the ditch beside the road and made sure she combed dirty water through to the ends.

‘You really have to do that?’ asked Tallow.

‘We’re among the desperate now, boy,’ she said, putting some labourer’s gravel in her voice. ‘Need to look like it.’ And she reached out and smeared mud down his cheek.

He sighed as Savine’s carriage was lost behind some trees, that fancy box still clasped tight.

‘Never met anyone like her,’ he whispered.

‘No.’ Vick slapped some life into her stiff leg, sniffed, hawked and spat on the road. Then she snapped her fingers at Tallow. ‘Give us one of those sweets, then.’

Friends Like These

The Vallimir residence, high on the hill where most of the affluent citizens of Valbeck had their houses, was a lesson in the dangers of excessive wealth and inadequate taste. Everything – furniture, cutlery and guests most of all – was too weighty, too fancy, too shiny. Mistress Vallimir’s dress was a misjudged purple, the curtains a garish turquoise, the soup a lurid yellow. The colour of urine with a taste not far removed.

‘I’ve never known such a hot spell!’ clucked the lady of the house, fanning herself ever more vigorously.

‘Oppressive,’ said Superior Risinau, head of Valbeck’s Inquisition, dabbing a dewy sweat from his plump cheeks that instantly sprang back. ‘Even for the season.’

It was very far from helping that Savine’s menses were now in full and particularly brutal first-day flow. Drawers like a battlefield, as her mother delighted in saying. Even bundled in a triple napkin, she would not have been at all surprised, on getting up, to find she had left a great bloody smear across the Vallimirs’ tasteless upholstery. A contribution to the party to live long in the memory. She had to suppress a wince at a particularly sharp pang, set down her overembellished spoon and slid her bowl away.

‘Not hungry, Lady Savine?’ asked Colonel Vallimir, peering down