The Trouble with Peace (The Age of Madness #2) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,9

the damn thing made his hand hurt. Felt too delicate for his aching fingers. “You reach an age it’s hard to learn new ways, I reckon.”

“You’re too young to be stuck in the past.”

“I don’t know.” Broad frowned as he prodded at that slice of meat, a little blood seeping. “The past has a way of holding on.”

An awkward pause at that. “Tell us you’re staying home tonight,” said Liddy.

“Wish I could. Got to head over to the diggings.”

“At this time?”

“Won’t take long, I hope.” Broad set down his cutlery and stood. “Got to make sure the work keeps going.”

“Lady Savine can’t do without you, eh?”

May proudly puffed up her chest. “Told me she relies on him more and more.”

“Well, tell her she has to share you with your family.”

Broad snorted as he came around the table. “You bloody tell her.”

Liddy was still smiling as she tipped her face up, lips soft against his. She’d put weight on. They all had, since the lean times in Valbeck. She had that curve to her figure and that glow to her cheek she’d had when they first courted. That same smell she’d had when they first kissed. All that time passed, and he loved her just the same.

“Worked out all right,” she said, fingertips light on his cheek. “Didn’t it?”

“No thanks to me.” He had to talk around a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. For all the trouble I brought—”

“That’s behind us,” said Liddy, firm. “We work for a fine lady now. No trouble here.”

“No,” said Broad. “No trouble.” And he trudged towards the door.

“Don’t work too hard, Da!” called May. When he looked back, she was smiling at him, and that smile caught at something. Like there was a hook in his chest and whatever she did tugged at it. He smiled back. Raised an awkward hand in farewell. Then he saw the tattoo on the back and jerked it down. Worked it into the cuff of his fine new jacket.

He made sure he shut the door firmly behind him.

Broad strode through a forest of flaking iron columns, across the darkened warehouse floor towards an island of lamplight, footfalls echoing in all that inky emptiness.

Halder stood with his arms folded and his face in shadow. He was one of those men who liked his silence. Bannerman leaned against a pillar near him, that cocky tilt to his hips. He was one of those men who always had too much to say.

Their guest sat in one of three battered old chairs, hands tied to the back, ankles to the legs. Broad stopped in front of him, frowning down. “You’re Gaunt?”

“I’m Gaunt.” Didn’t try to deny it, at least. Sometimes they did. Broad didn’t blame them.

“Funny name for him,” said Bannerman, looking at Gaunt like he was naught but a lump of clay. “’Cause he’s quite sturdy, really. Wouldn’t call him fat. But I wouldn’t call him gaunt.”

“Have some respect, eh?” said Broad as he took his jacket off. “We can do this without being disrespectful.”

“What difference does it make?”

Broad draped the jacket over the back of a chair and stroked the fine cloth flat with the side of his hand. “Makes some to me.”

“We’re not here to make friends.”

“I know why we’re here.” Broad met Bannerman’s eye, and held it till he licked his lips and looked away. Then he shifted the chair around so it faced Gaunt and sat. He pushed his lenses up his nose, then clasped his hands. He found it helped to have a routine. Like when he swept the brewery in Valbeck. Just a job to get done, like any other.

Gaunt watched him all the while. Scared eyes, of course. Sweat on his forehead. Determined, though. Tough man to break, most likely. But anything breaks if you squeeze it hard enough.

“My name’s Broad.” He saw Gaunt looking at the tattoo on the back of his hand. He let it hang there. “Used to be in the army.”

“We all did,” said Bannerman.

“You know who we work for now?”

Gaunt swallowed. “For Kort?”

“No.”

Gaunt swallowed again, harder. “For Savine dan Glokta.”

“That’s right. We hear you’ve been organising, Master Gaunt. We hear you’ve persuaded the workers to down tools.”

Bannerman made a disapproving tut, tut, tut noise with his tongue.

“Way things are in the diggings,” said Gaunt, “the hours they work and the pay they get, they didn’t need much persuading.”

Broad nudged his lenses down to rub at the sore bridge of his nose, then nudged them back up. “Look. You seem