Bethod walked with a spring in his step and an unfamiliar joy in his heart. As though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and why not? How many enemies made, how much blood spilled, how many times had he beaten impossible odds, just to survive? How long had he been living in fear?
Peace. They had told him he would never have peace.
But it was as his father had always said. Swords are well enough, but the only true victories are won with words. Now he would set to building. Building something to be proud of. Something his father would have been proud of. Something his sons—
And then he saw the Dogman, lurking at the head of the steps with the strangest guilty look on his pointed face, and Bethod felt a horror flood up in him, cold as ice, and freeze all his dreams dead.
‘What are you doing here?’ he managed to whisper.
The Dogman only shook his head, tangle of long hair swaying across his face.
‘Is Ninefingers down there?’
The Dogman’s eyes were wide and wet, and his mouth opened, but he said nothing.
‘I told you not to let him do anything stupid,’ Bethod forced through his gritted teeth.
‘You didn’t tell me how.’
‘You want me to come down there with you?’ But Craw looked far from keen, and Bethod hardly blamed him.
‘Best I go alone,’ he whispered.
Reluctantly as a man digging his own grave, Bethod edged sideways down the steps, one at a time into the buried dark. The tunnel stretched away, torchlight shining on the damp rock at the far end, shadows shifting across the moss-streaked wall as something moved.
He wanted only to run, but he forced himself towards it, step by reluctant step, breath by wheezing breath. He started to hear strange noises over the thudding of his heart. A squelching and a crunching. A humming and a whistling. Growling and grunting and occasionally full-sung phrases, and badly sung at that.
The breath crawled in Bethod’s throat as he forced himself around the corner, and looked through the wide-open door and into the cell, and he went cold from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair. Cold as the dead.
Ninefingers stood, naked still, lips pursed as he tunelessly whistled, twisted muscles knotting and flexing as he worked, eyes shining with happiness, skin dashed and spattered black from head to toe.
There was something hanging all around the cell, glistening rope in swags and festoons like decorations for some mad festival. Guts, Bethod realised. Guts, unwound and nailed up.
‘By the dead,’ he whispered, putting one hand across his mouth at the stink.
‘That’s got it!’ And Ninefingers buried the big knife in the table and held the head dangling by one ear, blood still trickling from the hacked-off neck and spattering the floor. The head of Rattleneck’s son. He grabbed the slack jaw with his other hand and moved it clumsily up and down while he spoke through his clenched teeth in a piping mockery of a voice.
‘I want to go back to my daddy.’ And Ninefingers laughed. ‘Take me back to Daddy.’ And he chuckled. ‘I’m scared.’ And he sighed, and tossed the head away, and frowned at it as it rolled into the corner.
‘Thought that’d be funnier.’ And he looked around for something to wipe his hands on, blood-slick to the elbows, but couldn’t find anything. ‘You reckon Rattleneck’ll still want him?’
‘What have you done?’ whispered Bethod, staring at the thing on the table that hardly looked like it had ever been a man.
And Logen smiled that easy smile he used to have – the smile of a man who’d never entertained a dark purpose – and shrugged.
‘Changed my mind.’
Acknowledgements
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 the editors of anthologies who, unbelievably, paid me to write some of these stories in the first place: Lou Anders, Jonathan Strahan, George R. R. Martin, Gardner Dozois and Shawn Speakman.
To all the lovely and talented folks at my UK Publisher, Gollancz, and their parent Orion, particularly Simon Spanton, Sophie Calder, Jen McMenemy, Mark Stay and Jon Wood. Then, of course, to 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 continuing to make me look classy: Dave Senior and Laura Brett.
For keeping the wolf on the right side of the door: Robert Kirby.
To all the writers whose paths have crossed mine on the Internet, at the bar, or in some cases around the D&D table and in the fencing hall, and who’ve provided help, support, laughs and plenty of ideas worth the stealing. You know who you are.
And lastly, yet firstly:
My partner in crimes against fantasy fiction, Gillian Redfearn. There is no end sharper than the point of her pencil …
Also by Joe Abercrombie:
THE FIRST LAW TRILOGY:
The Blade Itself
Before They Are Hanged
Last Argument of Kings
Best Served Cold
Red Country
The Heroes
THE SHATTERED SEA TRILOGY:
Half a King
Half a War
Half a World
A Gollancz eBook
Collection copyright © Joe Abercrombie 2016
All rights reserved A Beautiful Bastard copyright © Joe Abercrombie 2016
Small Kindness copyright © Joe Abercrombie 2016
The Fool Jobs copyright © Joe Abercrombie. First published in Swords & Dark Magic, edited by Jonathan Strahan, 2010
Skipping Town copyright © Joe Abercrombie. First published in Legends, edited by Ian Whates, 2013
Hell copyright © Joe Abercrombie. First published in Best Served Cold, 2010
Two’s Company copyright © Joe Abercrombie 2016
Wrong Place, Wrong Time copyright © Joe Abercrombie 2016
Some Desperado copyright © Joe Abercrombie. First published in Dangerous Women, edited by Gardner Dozois and George R. R. Martin, 2013
Yesterday, Near a Village Called Barden copyright © Joe Abercrombie. First published in The Heroes, 2012
Three’s A Crowd copyright © Joe Abercrombie 2016
Freedom! copyright © Joe Abercrombie. First published in Red Country, 2013
Tough Times All Over copyright © Joe Abercrombie. First published in Rogues edited by Gardner Dozois and George R. R. Martin, 2015
Made a Monster copyright © Joe Abercrombie 2016
This Anthology edited by Gillian Redfearn.
The right of Joe Abercrombie to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2016 by
Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DZ
An Hachette UK Company This eBook first published in 2016 by Gollancz.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 575 10470 9
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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Sharp Ends: Stories from the World of The First Law Page 31
