Read The Collected Joe Abercrombie Online
Authors: Joe Abercrombie
The Collected Joe Abercrombie (354 page)
He was up at the window when he heard keys rattling down the corridor, and he almost smiled at the relief of knowing it was time. He hopped down from his pallet, right leg still stiff where Friendly had stuck his knife in it, stood up tall and faced the metal gate.
He hadn’t thought she’d come herself, but he was glad she had. Glad for the chance to look her in the eye one more time, even if they had the jailer and a half-dozen guards for company. She looked well, no doubt of that, not so gaunt as she used to, nor so hard. Clean, smooth, sleek and rich. Like royalty. Hard to believe she ever had aught to do with him.
‘Well, look at you,’ he said. ‘Grand Duchess Monzcarro. How the hell did you come out o’ this mess so fine?’
‘Luck.’
‘There you go. Never had much myself.’ The jailer unlocked the gate and pushed it squealing open. Two of the guards came in, snapped manacles shut round Shivers’ wrists. He didn’t see much purpose in making a fight of it. Would’ve been just an embarrassment all round. They marched him out into the corridor to face her.
‘Quite the trip we’ve been on, ain’t it, Monza, you and I?’
‘Quite the trip,’ she said. ‘You lost yourself, Shivers.’
‘No. I found myself. You going to hang me now?’ He didn’t feel much joy at the thought, but not much sorrow either. Better’n rotting in that cell, he reckoned.
She watched him for a long moment. Blue eyes, and cold. Looked at him like she did the first time they met. Like nothing he could do would surprise her. ‘No.’
‘Eh?’ Hadn’t been expecting that. Left him disappointed, almost. ‘What, then?’
‘You can go.’
He blinked. ‘I can what?’
‘Go. You’re free.’
‘Didn’t think you still cared.’
‘Who says I ever did? This is for me, not you. I’ve had enough vengeance.’
Shivers snorted. ‘Well, who’d have fucking thought it? The Butcher of Caprile. The Snake of Talins. The good woman, all along. I thought you didn’t have much use for the right thing. I thought mercy and cowardice were the same.’
‘Mark me down a coward, then. That I can live with. Just don’t ever come back here. My cowardice has limits.’ She twisted the ring off her finger. The one with the big, blood-red ruby in it, and tossed it in the dirty straw at his feet. ‘Take it.’
‘Alright.’ He bent down and dug it out of the muck, wiped it on his shirt. ‘I ain’t proud.’ Monza turned and walked away, towards the stairway, towards the lamplight spilling from it. ‘So that’s how this ends, is it?’ he called after her. ‘That’s the ending?’
‘You think you deserve something better?’ And she was gone.
He slid the ring onto his little finger and watched it sparkle. ‘Something worse.’
‘Move, then, bastard,’ snarled one of the guards, waving a drawn sword.
Shivers grinned back. ‘Oh, I’m gone, don’t you worry on that score. I’ve had my fill of Styria.’
He smiled as he stepped out of the darkness of the tunnel and onto the bridge that led away from Fontezarmo. He scratched at his itching face, took in a long breath of cold, free air. All things considered, and well against the run of luck, he reckoned he’d come out alright. Might be he’d lost an eye down here in Styria. Might be he was leaving no richer than when he’d stepped off the boat. But he was a better man, of that he’d no doubt. A wiser man. Used to be he was his own worst enemy. Now he was everyone else’s.
He was looking forward to getting back to the North, finding some work that suited him. Maybe he’d make a stop in Uffrith, pay his old friend Vossula a little visit. He set off down the mountain, away from the fortress, boots crunching in the grey dust.
Behind him, the sunrise was the colour of bad blood.
Acknowledgments
As always, four people without whom:
Bren Abercrombie, whose eyes are sore from reading it.
Nick Abercrombie, whose ears are sore from hearing about it.
Rob Abercrombie, whose fingers are sore from turning the pages.
Lou Abercrombie, whose arms are sore from holding me up.
Then, my heartfelt thanks:
To all the lovely and talented folks at my UK Publisher, Gollancz, and their parent Orion, particularly Simon Spanton, Jo Fletcher, Jon Weir, Mark Stay and Jon Wood. Then, of course, all those who’ve helped make, publish, publicise, translate and above all sell my books wherever they may be around the world.
To the artists responsible for somehow making me look classy: Didier Graffet, Dave Senior and Laura Brett.
To editors across the Pond: Devi Pillai and Lou Anders.
To other hard-bitten professionals who’ve provided various mysterious services: Robert Kirby, Darren Turpin, Matthew Amos, Lionel Bolton.
To all the writers whose paths have crossed mine either electronically or in the actual flesh, and who’ve provided help, laughs and a few ideas worth stealing, including but by no means limited to: James Barclay, Alex Bell, David Devereux, Roger Levy, Tom Lloyd, Joe Mallozzi, John Meaney, Richard Morgan, Adam Roberts, Pat Rothfuss, Marcus Sakey, Wim Stolk and Chris Wooding.
And lastly, yet firstly:
For unstinting support, advice, food, drink and, you know, editing above and beyond the call of duty, my editor, Gillian Redfearn. Long may it continue. I mean, I’m not going to write these damn things on my own . . .
For Eve
One day you will read this
And say, ‘Dad, why all the swords?’
Contents
For What We Are About to Receive …
THE UNION
High Command
Lord Marshal Kroy
– commander-in-chief of his Majesty’s armies in the North.
Colonel Felnigg
– his chief of staff, a remarkably chinless man.
Colonel Bremer dan Gorst
– royal observer of the Northern War and disgraced master swordsman, formerly the king’s First Guard.
Rurgen
and
Younger
– his faithful servants, one old, one … younger.
Bayaz, the First of the Magi
– a bald wizard supposedly hundreds of years old and an influential representative of the Closed Council, the king’s closest advisors.
Yoru Sulfur
– his butler, bodyguard and chief bookkeeper.
Denka
and
Saurizin
– two old Adepti of the University of Adua, academics conducting an experiment for Bayaz.
Jalenhorm’s Division
General Jalenhorm
– an old friend of the king, fantastically young for his position, described as brave yet prone to blunders.
Retter
– his thirteen-year-old bugler.
Colonel Vallimir
– ambitious commanding officer of the King’s Own First Regiment.
First Sergeant Forest
– chief non-commissioned officer with the staff of the First.
Corporal Tunny
– long-serving profiteer, and standard-bearer of the First.
Troopers Yolk, Klige, Worth,
and
Lederlingen
– clueless recruits attached to Tunny as messengers.
Colonel Wetterlant
– punctilious commanding officer of the Sixth Regiment.
Major Culfer
– his panicky second in command.
Sergeant Gaunt, Private Rose
– soldiers with the Sixth.
Major Popol
– commanding the first battalion of the Rostod Regiment.
Captain Lasmark
– a poor captain with the Rostod Regiment.
Colonel Vinkler
– courageous commanding officer of the Thirteenth Regiment.
Mitterick’s Division
General Mitterick
– a professional soldier with much chin and little loyalty, described as sharp but reckless.
Colonel Opker
– his chief of staff.
Lieutenant Dimbik
– an unconfident young officer on Mitterick’s staff.
Meed’s Division
Lord Governor Meed
– an amateur soldier with a neck like a turtle, in peacetime the governor of Angland, described as hating Northmen like a pig hates butchers.
Colonel Harod dan Brock
– an honest and hard-working member of Meed’s staff, the son of a notorious traitor.
Finree dan Brock
– Colonel Brock’s venomously ambitious wife, the daughter of Lord Marshal Kroy.
