The Blade Itself tfl-1

by Joe Abercrombie

  “It should indeed.”

  “Make sure the ship is fast. Once we are ready I do not wish to waste a day.”

  “On that you may depend,” said the Navigator, scooping up the heavy bag of coins. “To sail in slow vessels is not my way! No! I will find for you the fastest ship in all Adua! Yes! She shall fly like the breath of God! She shall skip over the waves like—”

  “Merely fast will do.”

  The little man inclined his head. “The time of departure?”

  “Within the month.” Bayaz looked at Logen. “Why don’t you go with him?”

  “Uh?”

  “Yes!” shouted the Navigator, “we will go together!” He grabbed Logen by the elbow and began to pull him towards the door.

  “I will expect some change, Brother Longfoot!” called Bayaz, from behind.

  The Navigator turned in the doorway. “There will be change, on that you may depend. An eye for value, a flair for barter, a dauntless purpose in negotiation! These are but three,” and he smiled broadly, “of my remarkable talents!”

  “It is a fabulous place, this Adua. Truly. Few cities are its equal. Shaffa, perhaps, is larger, but so very dusty. None could deny that Westport and Dagoska have their sights. Some think of Ospria, on its mountain slopes, as the most beautiful city of the world, but Brother Longfoot’s heart, it must be said, belongs to great Talins. Have you been there, Master Ninefingers, have you seen that noble settlement?”

  “Er…” Logen was busy trying to keep up with the little man, dodging between the endless flow of people.

  Longfoot stopped so suddenly that Logen almost piled into him. The Navigator turned, his hands raised, a faraway look in his eye. “Talins at sunset, seen from the ocean! I have witnessed many remarkable things, believe me, but I declare that to be the most beautiful sight in all the world. The way the sun gleams on the myriad canals, on the glinting domes of the Grand Duke’s citadel, on the graceful palaces of the merchant princes! Where now does the shining sea end, and the shining city begin? Ah! Talins!” He turned and charged off once more and Logen hurried after him.

  “But this Adua is a fine place, certainly, and growing every year. Things have changed a great deal here since my last visit, indeed they have. Once there were only noblemen and commoners. The noblemen owned the land so they had the money and therefore the power. Ha. Simple, you see?”

  “Well—” Logen was having trouble seeing much further than Longfoot’s back.

  “But now they have trade, and so much of it. Merchants, and bankers, and so forth. Everywhere. Armies of them. Now commoners can be rich, you see? And a rich commoner has power. Is he a commoner now, or a nobleman? Or is he something else? Ha. Very complicated all of a sudden, no?”

  “Er—”

  “So much wealth. So much money. But so much poverty too, eh? So many beggars, so many poor. Hardly healthy, so rich and so poor, so close together, but it’s a fine place still, and always growing.”

  “I find it too crowded,” mumbled Logen as a shoulder barged past him, “and too hot.”

  “Bah! Crowded? Do you call this crowded? You should see the great temple in Shaffa at morning prayer! Or the grand square before the Emperor’s palace when new slaves are up for auction! And hot? Do you call this hot? In Ul-Saffayn, in the far south of Gurkhul, it gets so hot during the summer months that you can cook an egg on your doorstep. Truly! This way.” He ducked through the passing crowds towards a narrow sidestreet. “This way is the quickest!”

  Logen caught him by the arm. “Down there?” He peered into the gloom. “You sure?”

  “Can you doubt it?” demanded Longfoot, suddenly horrified. “Can it be that you could doubt it? Among all my remarkable talents, it is my skill at navigation that is paramount! It is for that talent, above all, that the First of the Magi has made so generous a contribution to the coffers of the order! Could it be that you… but wait.” He held up his hand and began to smile again, then tapped Logen on the chest with his forefinger. “You do not know Brother Longfoot. Not yet. You are watchful and cautious, I see it, fine qualities in their place. I cannot expect you to have my unshakeable faith in my abilities. No! That would not be fair. Unfairness is not an admirable quality. No! Unfairness is not my way.”

  “I meant—”

  “I shall convince you!” shouted Longfoot. “Indeed I shall! You will come to trust my word before your own! Yes! This way is the quickest!” And he strode off down the dingy alleyway with remarkable speed, Logen struggling to keep up though his legs were a good half-foot longer.

  “Ah, the back streets!” called the Navigator over his shoulder as they passed down dark and grimy lanes, the buildings crowding in ever closer. “The back streets, eh?” The alleys grew narrower, darker, and dirtier still. The little man turned to the left and the right, never pausing for an instant to consider his course. “Do you smell that? Do you smell that, Master Ninefingers? It smells like…” he rubbed his thumbs and fingertips together as he strode along, searching for the words “…mystery! Adventure!”

  It smelled like shit to Logen. A man lay on his face in the gutter, dead drunk perhaps, or maybe simply dead. Other men passed by, limping and haggard, or standing in threatening groups in doorways, handing round bottles. There were women here too.

  “Four marks and I’ll give you a blessing, Northman!” one of them called to Logen as they passed. “A blessing you won’t soon forget! Three, then!”

  “Whores,” whispered Longfoot, shaking his head, “and cheap ones too. You like women?”

  “Well—”

  “You should go to Ul-Nahb my friend! Ul-Nahb on the shores of the Southern Sea! You could buy a bed-slave there. Indeed you could! They cost a fortune, but they train these girls for years!”

  “You can buy a girl?” asked Logen, mystified.

  “Boys too, if your taste bends that way.”

  “Eh?”

  “They train them for years, truly. It’s a whole industry down there. You want skilled? Do you? These girls have skills you wouldn’t believe! Or visit Sipani! There are places in that city—phew! The women are beautiful, beautiful every one! Truly! Like princesses! And clean,” he muttered, peering at one of the scruffy women by the roadside.

  A bit of dirt didn’t bother Logen any. Skilled and beautiful all sounded too complicated to him. One girl caught his eye as they passed, leaning against a door-frame with one arm up. Watching them pass with a half-hearted smile. Logen found her pretty, in a desperate sort of a way. Prettier than he was anyway, and it had been a long time. You have to be realistic about these things.

  Logen stopped in the street. “Bayaz wanted change?” he muttered.

  “He did. He was most specific on the subject.”

  “There’s money to spare, then?”

  Longfoot raised one eyebrow. “Well, perhaps, let me see…”

  He pulled out the purse with a flourish and opened it, rooting around inside. There was a loud jingling of coins.

  “You think that’s a good idea?” Logen glanced nervously up and down the street. Several faces had turned towards them.

  “What’s that?” asked the Navigator, still poking around in the purse. He pulled some coins out, holding them up to the light and peering at them, then pressed them into Logen’s palm.

  “Subtlety isn’t one of your talents, is it?” Some of the shabby men in the alley began to move slowly, curiously towards them, two from in front, one from behind.

  “No indeed!” laughed Longfoot. “No indeed! I am a straight-talking man, that is my way! Yes indeed! I am a… ah.” He had noticed the shadowy figures sidling towards them now. “Ah. This is unfortunate. Oh dear.”

  Logen turned to the girl. “Do you mind if we…” She slammed the door shut in his face. Other doors up and down the street began to close. “Shit,” he said. “How are you at fighting?”

  “God has seen fit to bless me with many remarkable talents,” murmured the navigator, “but combat is not one of them.”<
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  One of the men had an ugly squint. “That’s a big purse for a little man,” he said, as he came close.

  “Well, er…” murmured Longfoot, creeping behind Logen’s shoulder.

  “An awful big load for a little man to carry,” said the other.

  “Why not let us help you with it?”

  Neither one of them had weapons ready, but by the way their hands were moving Logen knew they had them. There was a third man behind him too, he could sense him moving forwards now. Close. Closer than the other two. If he could deal with that one first, the one behind, his chances might be good. He couldn’t risk looking round, that would spoil the surprise. He’d simply have to hope for the best. As always.

  Logen gritted his teeth and flung his elbow backwards. It hit the man behind in the jaw with a heavy crunch, and Logen caught his wrist in his other hand, which was lucky, because he had a knife out and ready. Logen smashed him in the mouth with his elbow again, tearing the blade from his limp fingers as he dropped into the street, head smacking against the dirty cobbles. He whipped round, half expecting to get stabbed in the back, but the other two hadn’t moved too quick. They had knives of their own out, and one had taken a half-step towards him, but he paused when he saw that Logen had the blade up, ready to fight.

  It was a meagre kind of a weapon, six inches of rusty iron without even a cross-piece, but it was better than nothing. A lot better. Logen waved it around in the air in front of him, just to make sure that everyone could see it. Felt good. His odds were much improved.

  “Right then,” said Logen, “who’s next?”

  The other two moved apart, trying to get to either side of him, weighing their knives in their hands, but they didn’t seem in any great rush to come on.

  “We can take him!” whispered the squinter, but his friend didn’t look too sure.

  “Or, you can have this.” Logen opened up his clenched fist, showing the coins that Longfoot had given him. “And leave us be. This much I can spare.” He swished the knife around a bit more, just to add some weight to his words. “This is what you’re worth to me—this much, no more. What’s it to be?”

  The one with the squint spat on the ground. “We can take him!” he hissed again. “You go first!”

  “You fucking go!” shouted the other.

  “Just take what I’m offering,” said Logen, “then we none of us have to go.”

  The one that he’d elbowed groaned and rolled over in the road, and the reminder of his fate seemed to decide them. “Alright, you fucking northern bastard, alright, we’ll take it!”

  Logen grinned. He thought about throwing the coins at the one with the squint then stabbing him while he was distracted. That’s what he’d have done in his youth, but he decided against. Why bother? Instead he opened his fingers and tossed the money into the road behind him, moving towards the nearest wall. He and the two thieves circled each other cautiously, each step taking them closer to the coins and him closer to escape. Soon they’d swapped places, and Logen backed away down the street, still holding the knife in front of him. When they were ten paces apart the two men squatted down and began to pick the scattered coins up from the ground.

  “I’m still alive,” Logen whispered to himself as he quickened his pace.

  That had been lucky, he knew. It’s a fool who thinks that any fight is too small to be the death of him, however tough he is. Lucky that he caught the one behind just right. Lucky that the other two had been slow. But then he’d always been lucky with fights. Lucky at getting out of them alive. Not so lucky with the getting into them. Still, he felt good about this day’s work. Glad he hadn’t killed anybody.

  Logen felt a hand clap him on the back, and he span round, knife at the ready.

  “Only me!” Brother Longfoot held up his hands. Logen had nearly forgotten the Navigator was there. He must have stayed behind him the whole time, perfectly silent. “Well handled Master Ninefingers, well handled! Truly! I see that you are not without some talents of your own! I am looking forward to travelling with you, I am indeed! The docks are this way!” he shouted, already moving off.

  Logen took one last look back at the two men, but they were still grubbing around on the ground, so he threw the knife away and hurried to catch up to Longfoot. “Do you Navigators never fight?”

  “Some among us do, oh yes, with empty hands and weapons of all kinds. Most deadly, some of them, but not I. No. That is not my way.”

  “Never?”

  “Never. My skills lie elsewhere.”

  “I would have thought your travels would bring you across many dangers.”

  “They do,” said Longfoot brightly, “they do indeed. That is when my remarkable talent for hiding is at its most useful.”

  Her Kind Fight Everything

  Night. Cold. The salt wind was keen on the hilltop, and Ferro’s clothes were thin and ragged. She hugged her arms and hunched up her shoulders, staring sourly down towards the sea. Dagoska was a cloud of pinprick lights in the distance, huddled around the steep rock between the great, curving bay and the glistening ocean. Her eyes could make out the vague, tiny shapes of walls and towers, black against the dark sky, and the thin neck of dry earth that joined the city to the land. An island, almost. Between them and Dagoska there were fires. Camps around the roads. Many camps.

  “Dagoska,” whispered Yulwei, perched on a rock beside her. “A little splinter of the Union, stuck into Gurkhul like a thorn. A thorn in the Emperor’s pride.”

  “Huh,” grunted Ferro, hunching her shoulders still further.

  “The city is watched. Many soldiers. More than ever. It might be difficult to deceive so many.”

  “Perhaps we should go back,” she muttered hopefully.

  The old man ignored her. “They are here as well. More than one.”

  “Eaters?”

  “I must go closer. Find a way in. Wait here for me.” He paused, waiting for her to reply. “You will wait?”

  “Alright!” she hissed, “alright, I’ll wait!”

  Yulwei slipped off his rock and away down the slope, padding across the soft earth, almost invisible in the inky blackness. When the sound of his jingling bangles had faded into the night, she turned away from the city, took a deep breath, and scurried down the slope southwards, back into Gurkhul.

  Now Ferro could run. Fast as the wind, hours at a stretch. She’d spent a lot of time running. When she made it to the base of the hill she ran, feet flying across the open ground, breath coming quick and fierce. She heard water beyond, slid down a bank and splashed into the shallows of a slow moving river. She floundered on, knee-deep in the cold water.

  Let the old bastard track me through this, she thought.

  After a while she made a bundle of her weapons and held them above her head as she swam across, forcing against the current with one arm. She flapped out on the other side and ran on along the bank, wiping the water from her dripping face.

  Time passed slowly and light began to creep into the sky. Morning was coming. The river babbled beside her, her sandals beating out a rapid rhythm in the stubbly grass. She left the river behind, running on across the flat landscape, turning now from black to grey. A clump of scrubby trees loomed up.

  She crashed between the trunks and slithered down into the bushes, her breath rasping. She shivered in the half-light, heart pounding in her chest. It was silent beyond the trees. Good. She reached inside her clothes and pulled out some bread and a strip of meat, soggy from the swim but still edible. She smiled. She had been keeping half of everything that Yulwei gave her for the last few days.

  “Stupid old bastard,” she chuckled to herself between choking mouthfuls, “thought he could get the better of Ferro Maljinn, did he?”

  Damn she was thirsty. No help for that now, she could find water later. She was tired though, very tired. Even Ferro got tired. She would rest here for a moment, just a moment. Get the strength back in the legs, then on, on to… she twitched, annoyed. She could think
about the where later. Wherever was best for vengeance. Yes.

  She crawled through the bushes, sat back against one of the trees. Her eyes closed slowly, by themselves. Just rest for a moment now. Vengeance later.

  “Stupid old bastard,” she muttered. Her head dropped sideways.

  “Brother!”

  Ferro woke with a start, head knocking against the tree. It was light, too light. Another bright, hot day. How long had she been sleeping? “Brother!” A woman’s voice, not far off. “Where are you?”

  “Over here!” Ferro froze, every muscle tensing. A man’s voice, deep and strong. And close. She heard horse’s hooves, moving slowly, several horses, and near.

  “What are you doing, brother?”

  “She’s close!” shouted the man again. Ferro’s throat tightened. “I can smell her!” Ferro felt in the bushes for her weapons, shoved the sword and the knife through her belt, tucked the other knife up her one, torn sleeve. “I can taste her, sister! She’s very close!”

  “But where?” The woman’s voice drew nearer. “Do you think she can hear us?”

  “Perhaps she can!” laughed the man. “Are you there, Maljinn?” She threw her quiver over her shoulder and snatched up her bow. “We are waiting…” he sang, getting closer still, just beyond the trees now. “Come out, Maljinn, come out and greet us…”

  She bolted away, crashing through the bushes, sprinting across the open ground with desperate speed.

  “There she is!” cried the woman from behind. “Look at her go!”

  “Get her, then!” shouted the man.

  The scrubby grassland stretched away unbroken before her. Nowhere to run to. She span around with a snarl, nocking an arrow to her bow. Four horsemen were spurring towards her, Gurkish soldiers, sun glinting on their tall helmets and the cruel heads of their spears. Behind them, further back, were two other riders: a man and a woman. “Stop! In the name of the Emperor!” one of the horsemen shouted.

  “Fuck your Emperor!” Her arrow caught the first of the soldiers through his neck and he tumbled backwards from the saddle with a shocked gurgle, his spear flying out of his hand.