The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,15

neat bribe.” Mozolia lowered the letter. “Well judged.”

“I understand that here in Westport, you like to be honest about your corruption.”

“I take it all back, you are positively fluent.” Mozolia rocked her weight forward and stood, casting Vick into shadow again. “I shall consider your offer.”

“Don’t take too long. We women really should do everything we can to work together.”

Vick nudged the over-heavy drapes aside to peer into the street. The sun was setting on a largely wasted day, a muddy flare above the maze of mismatched rooftops, the thirsty treetops, the puffing chimneys, the spires of a hundred temples to a dozen versions of the Almighty. She wondered if it helped, to believe in God. Whether it was reassuring or terrifying, to look at all this shit and know for sure it was part of some grand plan.

Vick pressed her thumb into her aching hip as she watched the candles being lit at some Thondish shrine, the lights twinkling in the windows, the bobbing torches of guides who led foreigners to Westport’s best hostelries, best eateries, best back-alley muggings. The low murmur of voices passed the door, a coquettish giggle tinkling off down the hallway.

Tallow frowned around the room. It was an idiot’s idea of how a palace might be decorated, all velvet and peeling gilt. “What kind of arsehole arranges to meet in a brothel?”

“One who likes whores and making people uncomfortable,” said Vick. Sanders Rosimiche, by all accounts, loved both. A strutting loudmouth, but one who’d voiced support for the Union in the past, and a vote was a vote. People often say that bullies should be stood up to, but Vick usually found it more productive to let them bully her. That was why she’d made a rare visit to a dressmaker, in the hope of looking as feminine and yielding as possible. Hair down and combed with oil in the Westport style. She’d even worn perfume, Fates help her. The one thing she’d refused was high shoes. In her line of work, you never knew when you might have to run for your life. Or kick someone in the face.

“Fuck these things,” she grunted, hooking a finger into her corset and trying vainly to wriggle into a comfortable position. Despite being made to measure, it fit her incredibly badly. Or perhaps it was cut to fit the woman people would like her to be, not the one she was.

She wondered what Sibalt would’ve said if he’d seen her dressed like this. I wish I’d met you sooner, maybe. Things might have been different. And she’d have said, You didn’t and they’re not. And he’d have given that weary smile of his and said, You’re a hard case, Vick, and he’d have been right. She caught herself missing him at the oddest times. Missing the warmth of him, the weight of him in her arms, the weight of his arms around her. Missing having someone she could touch.

But Sibalt cut his own throat when she betrayed him. Thinking about what he might’ve done was a waste of time.

She let the drapes fall and turned back into the room, caught Tallow frowning at her, as if at a puzzle he couldn’t quite find the answer to.

“Do you have to keep staring?” she snapped.

“Sorry.” And he shrank back like a puppy got a kick. “It’s just, you look…”

“Absurd?”

“Different, I guess—”

“Don’t forget it’s the same woman underneath. The one who’s got your sister for a hostage.”

“Not likely to forget that, am I?” he snapped, a hint of sullen, useless anger showing. Even that reminded her of her brother. The look he used to have when he told her they had to help people, and she told him they had to help themselves. That wounded righteousness. “Why are you even here?”

“You know why. The Union’s weak. Enemies everywhere. If we can’t hold on to what we already have—”

“I’m asking why you care a shit. Sent you to the camps, didn’t they? If I was you, I’d laugh while the Union sunk in the fucking sea. Why are you here?”

Her mouth twisted to spit the answer. Because she owed a debt to His Eminence. Because blackmail and betrayal was the only profession she’d ever excelled at. Because you stand with the winners. She had half a dozen answers to hand. It was just that none of them were any good. Truth was, she could have done anything. Run off to the Far Country like she and Sibalt had always joked about.