The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,155

around a brazier.

Swords glittered inside. A neat row of brand-new swords, all the same, with a long, straight, single-edged blade and a dull steel grip, fresh oiled from the foundry.

“Two-score infantry swords.” Bannerman pulled one from the crate with a practised flourish and displayed it to Judge. “Latest pattern. Still warm from the Ostenhorm Armoury. Better than the King’s Own carry.” He nodded towards some other crates. “Two-score horseman’s axes and two-score halberds, too. Two-score breastplates and two-score helms. All best Angland steel.”

Another crate screeched as Halder ripped the lid off. He pulled out a flatbow, sleek and deadly looking, even the frame made of metal, bored through with slots to make it lighter.

“Latest design with the new Wearing crank,” said Halder. “A dressmaker could draw it and it’ll still pierce the heaviest armour.” He tossed the bow across to Sarlby and he snatched it from the air, twisted it over, rattled the trigger, seeming to stand a little straighter with a weapon in his hand.

“Good?” asked Judge.

“Good,” said Sarlby, holding the flatbow to his eye and sighting down it, then slowly starting to smile. “Very good.”

“Then there’s this.” Broad ripped the top from the biggest case, dragging a fistful of wood-shavings out of the way. Dull metal shone underneath. A great dark, tapering tube three strides long, and stamped into it: Armoury of Ostenhorm, 606.

“What’s this?” whispered Judge. “You’ve got a fucking thunder pipe?”

“No. You’ve got one. The newest kind. Can throw a solid ball a mile or turn a few handfuls of ironware into a rain of death. They’ve taken to calling ’em cannons,” said Broad. “From some Styrian word, I hear. But whatever you call it, it comes to the same thing.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Lightning in your pocket.”

“Never saw such a beautiful thing.” Judge stroked that metal with her fingertips, up and down with a steady swish, swish, and Broad felt that sick tickle stronger than ever, not sure whether it was Judge or the weapons or some combination of the two that dried his mouth out so.

Made him wonder, for a moment, what she might do with all this machine-sharpened steel. She who’d killed dozens in Valbeck with just a bit of rope? He told himself all he was doing was taking a thing from here to there on the orders of his mistress. Wasn’t his concern what folk chose to do with it after. A tale traders in weapons been telling themselves since weapons first were made, no doubt.

Judge’s black eyes rolled across to him, gleaming wetly in the echoing gloom of the warehouse. “Well, I don’t think I was ever brought nicer presents, Gunnar Broad. I thought nothing could warm me to Savine dan Brock, but she’s managed to light a fire in my quim even so. Perhaps she really will be the Darling of the Slums in the end.”

“And this is just a taste,” said Broad.

“Just slipping me the tip, eh, you fucking tease?”

“I tell the Brocks we’ve got a deal, there’s a full shipload waiting on the docks in Ostenhorm. Enough to arm a whole rebellion. And all they want is for you to speak to the Weaver, get the Breakers and Burners to do what they want to do anyway. Rise up, all at once. On the last day of summer. Throw up the barricades and fix the King’s Own where they are. Make sure they can’t come to help His Majesty. The Young Lion will do the rest.”

“Huh.” Judge considered him through narrowed eyes, point of her tongue showing between her teeth.

“What?”

“You know why they call me Judge? ’Cause I’m the best judge o’ character. One look and I know a body better than they know themselves.” She pulled a wicked-looking axe from a freshly opened crate, all bright steel with no ornament. “You say you’re one of us. Malmer’s old mate. Good old Bull Broad, doing his best for the simple folk. But I reckon the jury’s still out.”

Felt like Broad stood at a cliff-edge, one foot hovering in the empty air. But he was surrounded by angry madmen. Ones he’d just armed. There was no way back. His voice sounded husky in his ear. “How can I convince you?”

Judge smiled wide. “The very question I’ve been thirsting for. There’s three dozen fellow travellers of ours been jailed after a little riot. They’re being brought into Valbeck for a show trial and summary execution. Tomorrow night, is it, Sarlby?”

“Tomorrow night,” said Sarlby, holding