The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,75

teeth, “there.” She worked her hips in circles, she giving a little growl and he a little sob each time she pushed lower. Her face inched closer until her open mouth pressed against his open mouth.

And they bit and snapped and grunted at each other, squirming on the carpet of their meticulously decorated living room.

The King’s Pimp

Orso puffed out his cheeks as he rearranged his hand. Awful hand. Utter crap. “I suppose it’s comforting, in a way,” he murmured, “that some things don’t change.”

The same table in the same little place they’d always favoured. The same overwrought furniture and the same threadbare drapery. The girls were different, and looked even more nervous than they used to, but then the girls were always different and always looked nervous. It all seemed a little sadder than he remembered. But maybe he was the sad one.

Oh, and six Knights of the Body stood about the walls, bristling with weaponry, trying to look as inconspicuous as half a dozen fully armoured men can in a brothel, which proved to be not very. Corporal Tunny didn’t appear to notice. He was a man who could play cards through battle, flood or riot and, indeed, claimed to have done so on more than one occasion.

“Oh, we’re still here.” And he carelessly nudged a few more coins into the pot.

“Can’t see that changing,” said Yolk, filling up everyone’s glasses again. Orso really should’ve told him not to, but he was too drunk to bother.

“Unless the king were to go to war again, of course.” Tunny raised his grey brows significantly at Orso. “In which case, my standard-bearing services are always at Your Majesty’s disposal.”

“Glad to know that my standard, if nothing else, would be competently handled.” Orso tossed his awful hand away with a flourish. “But I think I’ve had quite enough of war.”

“You show more wisdom than your father, in that case.” Tunny started to rake in the pot. “I’ll have to stick to procuring whores for Your Majesty.”

“How do you feel about being the king’s pimp?” Orso let go a burp. A royal burp, he supposed. He’d been drinking all day. Hadn’t helped. Never did.

“Daresay there are worse jobs.” Tunny gripped his pipe between his yellowed teeth as he shuffled. “Less marching than in the standard-bearing game, at least. More fighting, mind you, but at least there’s the chance of making people happy. Sure you won’t join us, Colonel Gorst?”

Gorst shook his head, eyes eternally roving around the dim room as though a Styrian assassin might spring from the dresser at any moment. If one had, Orso never doubted Gorst would have been ready with the utmost extremes of lethal force.

“You two know each other?” Orso looked from the old bodyguard to the old standard-bearer. They were probably of an age, but otherwise could hardly have been less alike.

“Fought together at the Battle of Osrung,” said Tunny, starting to deal. “Well, I say fought. He fought. I just sat there.”

Yolk raised a finger. “I sat there, too.”

“So you did, boy, and you even managed to do that badly.”

Yolk grinned. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s doing things badly.”

“I hear you sentenced Wetterlant to dangle,” said Tunny, still flicking out cards.

“I did,” said Orso. “Terrible decision.”

“Everyone says he’s guilty,” threw in Hildi, who was sitting cross-legged on the dresser between two large candlesticks shaped like naked women.

“Guilty as hell,” said Orso.

“So… you should’ve let him off?”

“That would’ve been a terrible decision, too.”

Yolk’s face crinkled up with incomprehension. Its usual expression. “So…”

“I tried to manage a compromise in which he’d get life in prison, probably to worm his way out when nobody was looking.”

“Compromise is always a good idea,” threw in one of the whores.

Orso raised his brows at her, and she blushed, and looked at the floor. “So I thought, but it turned out to be the worst option of all. I made the fatal mistake of trying to improve things. And of trusting Lord bloody Isher.” He scraped up his hand and started sorting through it. “A king can only select from a range of wrong choices and bad outcomes.” Another awful hand. Even worse than the last. “A lifetime of trying to ferret out the least worst in a mist of lies, stupidity and imperfect information.”

“Sounds like the army life,” muttered Tunny. “Wish you’d come to me first. I could’ve told you Isher’s a snake.”

“I should put you on my Closed Council.” Orso paused a moment, looking at his glass. “Actually, I’ve