The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,138

his fist, then he turned it over, and opened it, and showed them the silver coin glinting there.

“I’ve a tattoo like that.”

Broad smiled, but it was hard to keep smiling once he’d turned around. “Sarlby?” He hardly recognised the man he’d fought beside in Styria, stood beside in Valbeck. His back looked bent somehow, and his hair was clipped short and scattered with bald patches, and his face so lean you could almost see the little fibres shift in his cheeks.

“Gunnar Broad, back from the dead.” Sarlby’s voice had a throaty crackle to it. Seemed he’d aged ten years in the ten months since they last spoke. “Heard you were looking for me.”

“That I am.” Broad caught his hand and shook it, and thought how weak it felt. Like squeezing a glove full of dust.

“I thought maybe you was one of the ones they hanged,” said Sarlby.

“I thought maybe you was, too. Glad to see you’re not.”

Sarlby didn’t return the well-wishes. Didn’t look like he had much room for ’em. “I see you’ve prospered,” he said, giving Broad a long look up and down.

Sad thing was he’d picked the most threadbare clothes he could find. Maybe because he didn’t want to stand out. Maybe because he was shamed about why he did. Even so, he looked like a rich man among these ghosts and beggars. He’d forgotten how bad it could get. Strange, how quick you forget.

No matter how hungry Sarlby looked, he ate slow. As if it hurt.

He was a shred of the man he’d been. A ghost of himself. Didn’t matter how strong you were, or tough, or brave, this life would grind you down soon enough. The work, and the smoke, and the dust, and the sickness, and the rank water and the rotten food and the bad living and the never enough of anything.

“So where you living now?” asked Sarlby, out the side of his mouth as he chewed.

“In Ostenhorm.”

“Angland, eh? Got work up there, then?”

“Some.”

“Not mill work, I reckon.”

“No.” Broad thought about lying. But he owed Sarlby the truth, didn’t he? Owed him that much. “Been working for Savine dan Brock.”

Sarlby gave an ugly snort. “Savine dan Glokta, you mean. The Darling o’ the Slums! You ever see that pamphlet of hers?” He laughed, dry and choking, and it turned into a cough, and he had to wash it down with the thin ale they served here. “How fucking stupid does she think we are?”

“From what I’ve seen she’s a pretty good judge,” said Broad. “Of that and most everything else.”

“And what does the likes o’ you do for the likes o’ her? Turn your hand to millinery, did you? Or have you gone from poacher to gamekeeper?”

“I’ve done what I had to,” growled Broad, feeling the anger coming up hot. “I’ve got a wife and daughter to take care of. They’re happy for the first time in years. You think I’m saying sorry for that?”

Sarlby held his eye. “Didn’t ask you to. Just want to know where you stand, is all.”

Broad realised he’d got out of his chair and was bent over the table, clenched fists trembling on the wood and his lips curled back. Realised everyone in the wretched little place was looking at him. He blinked, and slowly lowered himself again, and made his fists unclench. Seemed an effort. Like there were barrel-bands around his hands, holding ’em shut.

“I tried it your way.” He settled his lenses back on his sweaty nose, made himself breathe slow. “Look where it got us.”

“All we done was take a first step. There’ll be many more, on the road to freedom. And much more lost along the way, I don’t doubt. Might be I’ll never see the end of it.” Sarlby had the light of belief in his eyes. Or maybe the light of madness. Maybe there was no difference. “But the day’ll come when my kind will. Depend on that, Bull Broad. There’s a Great Change coming.”

“So… you’re still with the Breakers?”

Sarlby slowly forked up the last of his food, and slowly chewed it, and looked at Broad with narrowed eyes. “What’s it to you whether I’m with ’em or not?”

Broad paused. Felt like huddling in the trenches at Borletta, his hand on the ladder, waiting to rush at the walls. One more step, then there’d be no going back. He whispered it. “I need to talk to the Weaver.”

He saw the muscles on the side of Sarlby’s gaunt face squirm as he clenched his