A Little Hatred

Highlights

Page 3

Isern held a fingertip to her scarred lips, the way she did when she was on the verge of deep pronouncements. ‘I’ve no frigging clue. Mayhap the turning of time’s wheel shall unlock the secrets of these visions.’ Rikke spat, but her mouth still tasted like despair. ‘So … wait and see.’ ‘Eleven times out of twelve, that’s the best course.’ Isern scratched at the hollow above her collarbone and winked. ‘But if I said it that way, no one would reckon me a deep thinker.’

Page 5

Rikke sighed. ‘Guess not. Just, in the songs, it’s a thing witches and magi and deep-wise folk used to see into the fog of what comes. Not a thing that makes idiots fall down and shit themselves.’ ‘In case you never noticed, bards have a habit of dressing things up. There is a fine living, d’you see, in songs about deep-wise witches, but in shitty idiots, less.’

Page 16

‘But if we fall back … Ritter died for nothing. If we fall back, how will that look?’ She stood. ‘Like womanly weakness and indecision, I hope. Then perhaps the rash heads on the Northmen’s side will prevail and pursue us with manly smiles on their manly faces, and when the king’s soldiers finally arrive, we’ll cut them to pieces on ground of our choosing.’ Leo blinked at the floor and felt the tears on his cheeks. ‘I see.’ She had her soft voice, now. ‘It was rash, it was reckless, but it was brave, and … for better or worse, men do look up to a certain kind of man. I won’t deny we all need something to cheer for. You gave Stour Nightfall a bloody nose, and great warriors are quick to anger, and angry men make mistakes.’ She pressed something into his limp hand. The standard with Nightfall’s wolf on it. ‘Your father would have been proud of your courage, Leo. Now make me proud of your judgement.’

Note: Exceptional leadership by Finree. I appreciate her character more after having read the Heroes. I like characters who understand war like she does here, but I also appreciate she cuts him down for his mistakes and tries to build him back up.

Page 19

Some folk said Isern was a witch, and no doubt she’d a witchy look and a witch’s temper, but even she couldn’t magic food out of rocks and bogwater at the arse-end of winter. Sadly.

Page 20

Rikke found she was rubbing at her back, trying to get her thumb up to where that shaft had been, but she couldn’t quite reach. No more than that boy had been able to. ‘Don’t reckon he deserved it, really.’ ‘Deserving won’t make much difference to an arrow. The best defence against arrows is not a life nobly lived but to be the one who shoots them, d’you see?’ Isern sat back against her, smelling of sweat and earth and chewed chagga. ‘They were your father’s enemies. Our enemies. Wasn’t as if there was any other choice.’

Note: Damn that’s a good line 😆

Page 20

She felt Isern’s hand firm on her shoulder, and was grateful for it. ‘If killing folk ever starts to feel right, you’ve a worse kind of problem. Guilt can sting, but you should be thankful for it.’ ‘Thankful?’ ‘Guilt is a luxury reserved for those still breathing and with no unbearable pain, cold or hunger demanding all their fickle attention. Long as guilt’s your big problem, girl …’ Rikke saw the faint gleam of Isern’s teeth in the gathering darkness. ‘Things can’t be that bad.’

Note: Say one thing about Joe. Say that he knows how to write wise characters.

Page 23

‘This is the place. Our heartfelt thanks for your guidance.’ And Zuri slipped a coin into Savine’s gloved hand so she could hold it out. She was not at all above sentimental displays of generosity. The whole point of squeezing one’s partners in private was so they could do the squeezing in public. Savine, meanwhile, could smile ever so sweetly, and toss coins to an urchin or two, and appear virtuous without the slightest damage to her bottom line. When it comes to virtue, after all, appearances are everything.

Note: Great intro to the character

Page 47

She knew she’d been unhappy there. She’d said it so often, even she was tired of her moaning. Now she rubbed at the torn and stinking fur on her cloak and wondered how she could’ve been so hurt by cold words and sharp looks. Seemed foolish and childish and weak. But that’s what growing up is, maybe. Realising what a fucking arse you’ve been.

Note: Ah well.

Page 53

‘I have a war to fight.’ ‘That’s the problem. You’re not bloody fighting.’ ‘Did you never read that Verturio I gave you? Not fighting is what war’s all about.’ And taking the last word, as ever, she trotted off westwards with her retinue following.

Note: An author who understands war. Amazing. D&D could learn from this.

Page 60

‘You been eating well?’ he asked, looking her up and down. ‘You’re like hugging a bundle of spears.’ ‘Always been lean.’ ‘Oh, me too.’ And he patted his belly. ‘The body of a hero lies just below this carefully nurtured layer of fat.’

Page 64

‘I’ve a task for you, Wonderful. There’s a girl out in these woods.’ Rikke had a bad feeling in her stomach. Worse than the hunger, and she shrank against the bank like she could become one with the dirt. ‘I want her.’ A snorting chuckle from the enthusiastic pisser. ‘Well, who wouldn’t want a girl out in the woods?’ There was a silence, like the jest had miscarried. Certainly Rikke wasn’t fucking laughing. ‘How do we tell this girl from another?’ ‘They say she’s got a twitchy way. She’ll have a gold ring through her nose, maybe a cross painted over her eye.’ Rikke touched the tip of her tongue to the ring through her nose and whispered, ‘Fuck.’

Page 109

Probably she should’ve told Isern to let her go, big dramatic gesture, time for a single tear before she plunged to her doom, but that’s not how it works when the Great Leveller’s breathing on your neck. She clutched at Isern’s sinewy arm like a drowning woman to the mast of a sinking ship, choking and struggling and kicking and like as not to drag them both over.

Page 110

She looked over her shoulder, through the slackening rain saw dogs yapping and growling and prowling at the ravine’s edge and, a few strides above them, a man kneeling in the trees. Close enough she could see the frown on his dirty face, the frayed edge of his archery guard, the bow drawn in his hand. Her eyes went wide, and one burned hot. Hot as a glowing coal in her skull. She heard the flapping click of the bowstring. She saw the arrow. But she saw it with the Long Eye. And for an instant, like the dawn sun blazing into her room as the shutters were flung wide, the absolute knowing of that arrow burst upon her. She saw where it was, all it was, where it had been and would be. She saw its making, smith with teeth clenched as he hammered out the head, fletcher with tongue wedged in his cheek as he trimmed the flights. She saw its ending, shaft rotted and head flaked away to rust among the brambles. She saw it in the quiver hooked over the foot of the archer’s bed as he kissed his wife Riam goodbye and hoped that her broken toe mended. She saw its bright point cut through a falling raindrop and scatter it into glittering mist. She knew with utter certainty where that arrow would be, always. So she flicked her hand out, and when it came to meet her, as she knew it must, it was the easiest thing to push it. Just to nudge it with her finger so it missed Isern as she limped away and spun off harmless into the trees, bouncing once and coming to rest in the undergrowth in its right place, in the only place it could be, where she’d seen it rot away among the brambles. ‘By the dead,’ breathed Rikke, staring at her hand. There was a bead of blood on the tip of her forefinger. Arrowhead must’ve grazed it. And a quivering shiver went all the way through her. She hadn’t really believed it till this moment, not even when she saw Uffrith burning, just like in her dream. But now there was no denying it. She had the Long Eye. It still throbbed, warm in her clammy face. She stared at the archer, his brow knitted up in shock as he stared back, his jaw dropping lower and lower. A great joyous, wondering giggle bubbled up at the impossible thing she’d done, and Rikke stuck her fist up and screamed, ‘Give my regards to Riam! Hope her toe mends!’ Then she scampered after Isern, caught her under the armpit and helped her on into the dripping trees.

Note: This power is so cool. Very unique.

Page 115

He wondered why he hadn’t sung out. She’d just looked like such a desperate, ragged little scrap to have all these bastards chasing her, and when the hunt was on, he’d always secretly rooted for the fox. If you can’t find a way to win that doesn’t involve torturing some half-mad girl, then maybe you don’t deserve to win at all. Or maybe that was all shit, and it was just ’cause she was pretty. The sad truth is that pretty people can slide through all kinds of scrapes that’d end very badly for the ugly.

Page 115

Clover looked from Greenway to Magweer and shrugged. ‘Seems hunting girls just ain’t my sport.’ Stour stepped closer, staring at Clover with those ever-wet eyes of his. ‘Your sport is whatever I say it is.’ Clover shrugged it off. ‘I’m eager to serve, great prince, but I can’t just turn into a butterfly. Your father sent me for my cunning, not my running. Why, you might as well order the river to blow and the wind to flow.’

Note: Dialogue is solid.

Page 118

‘It’d be a shame, I’ll admit.’ Wonderful watched Clover as he stretched out and crossed his legs. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘What we should all be doing.’ Clover closed his eyes. ‘Biding my time.’ ‘What’s the difference between biding it and wasting it?’ Clover saw no need to open his eyes. ‘Results, woman. Results.’

Page 128

‘So tell me. These good people. If they get a little more, what will they want then?’ Vick paused a moment, but there was nothing else to say. ‘A little more.’ ‘Because that is the nature of people. And their little more must be taken from someone else, and that someone else will be less than delighted. One cannot eliminate unhappiness any more than one can eliminate darkness. The goal of government, you see,’ and the Arch Lector prodded at the air with his bony forefinger, ‘is to load the unhappiness onto those least able to make you suffer for it.’

Page 134

‘Hmmm.’ Orso sat back, arms folded. It seemed, like most things in life, this was going to be a great deal more difficult than he had hoped. ‘It’s a question of money, then?’ ‘Your Highness,’ and Lord Marshal Brint gave a sigh that bespoke an infinite weariness, ‘it is always a question of money.’

Page 135

Orso sagged unhappily back into his chair. He remembered now why he had abandoned government and channelled his energies into women and wine. ‘It’s a question of priorities, then?’ ‘Your Highness,’ and the lord chancellor perched his lenses back on his nose, ‘it is always a question of priorities.’

Page 139

‘Well, I wouldn’t want to interfere with your making his position comfortable.’ Orso gave a helpless shrug. He was quite out of ideas. ‘It’s a question of politics, then?’ ‘Your Highness,’ and Arch Lector Glokta smiled, once again displaying that yawning gap in his front teeth. ‘It is always a question of politics.’

Page 152

‘Progress just means bad things happen faster.’ Terry Pratchett

Page 161

‘Might be you should be careful what lessons you learn from Isern-i-Phail.’ ‘She wants what’s best for me. What’s best for the North.’ Her father gave a sad smile at that. ‘Believe it or not, we all want what’s best. The root o’ the world’s ills is that no one can agree on what it is.’

Page 226

I might have told him, in those hours, stories of my own. Scylla and Glaucos. Aeëtes, the Minotaur. The stone wall cutting into my back. The floor of my hall wet with blood, reflecting the moon. The bodies I had dragged one by one down the hill, and burned with their ship. The sound flesh makes when it tears and re-forms and how, when you change a man, you may stop the transformation partway through and then that monstrous, half-beast thing will die. His face would be intent as he listened, his relentless mind examining, weighing and cataloguing. However I pretended I could conceal my thoughts as well as he, I knew it was not true. He would see down to my bones. He would gather my weaknesses up and set them with the rest of his collection, alongside Achilles’ and Ajax’s. He kept them on his person as other men keep their knives.

Note: Smart move. Never trust Odysseus

Page 188

Judge grinned as she held out her hand to pull someone up onto the wagon. A plump man in a dark, well-tailored suit, soft and pale, oddly out of place in this rough company. ‘Here he is,’ murmured Gunnar, folding his arms. ‘Here who is?’ whispered Vick, though from that silence she already guessed the answer. ‘The Weaver.’ ‘Friends!’ called the plump man, stroking gently at the air with his thick fingers. ‘Brothers and Sisters! Breakers and Burners! Honest folk of Valbeck! Some of you know me as Superior Risinau of His Majesty’s Inquisition.’ And he held up his pink palms, and gave a sorry smile. ‘For that I can only apologise.’ Vick could only stare. If she’d been off balance before, she was knocked on her back now. ‘Fucking shit,’ she heard Tallow breathe. ‘The rest of you know me as the Weaver!’ The crowd gave a jagged murmur, part anger, part love, part anticipation, as though they’d come to see a prizefight and the champion had just strutted into the circle. A fat man prone to folly, Glokta had said. No imagination, but plenty of loyalty. For the first time in Vick’s memory, it appeared His Eminence had made a most serious misjudgement.

Note: Great reveal. I’m reading his for the second time, and it caught me by surprise.

Page 204

Bloody brown witch had everyone convinced she knew best. And now she was bringing her brothers back, too. And Lady Savine had just said, ‘Bring ’em in! Let ’em live here, where the decent folk have to live!’ Lisbit couldn’t believe it. As if there weren’t enough of them in Midderland already. She wanted to be kind. She was a generous person. Big-hearted, ask anyone. Always giving bits to the tramps when she had one spare. But there had to be a limit. Folk in the Union had their own problems, without a crowd of brown bastards flooding in and bringing more. They were everywhere now in Adua! There were places in the city a decent person hardly dared tread.

Note: Author sounds like a bleeding heart liberal

Page 206

‘Stop!’ roared Kurbman, shoving one man out of his way, then another. ‘Stop!’ He grabbed one lad, who’d eagerly stuck his hand up the girl’s torn skirt, by the throat and threw him to the ground. ‘Have you forgotten who we are? We’re not animals! We’re Breakers!’ In that moment, as their maddened faces turned towards him, he had his doubts. But he kept on shouting anyway. What else could he do? ‘We done this so we wouldn’t be victims. Not so we could make victims o’ them. We’re better’n that, brothers!’ And he tore at the air with his hands, trying to make ’em see. ‘We done this to bring the Great Change! For justice, remember?’ He knew better, o’ course. Some done it for justice, some for vengeance, some for profit and some for the chance to run riot, and it wasn’t like there was no room for a mixture. At a time like this, all flushed with victory and violence, even the better ones could turn dark. Still, there were just enough o’ the first group to get some doubts going. ‘You thinking to let ’er go?’ someone asked. ‘No one’s letting anyone go,’ said Kurbman. ‘They’ll be judged with the others. Judged fair. Judged proper.’ ‘I’m just the face-maid,’ gasped the girl, her powder streaked with tears. At that moment, two of the others came out dragging Vallimir between them, his clothes torn and his face bloody and his eyes barely open. One of the lads spat on him. ‘Fucking bastard!’ growled another. Kurbman stepped in front of him, hands up. ‘Easy, brothers. Let’s not do anything we’ll regret.’ ‘I’ll be regretting nothing,’ snapped someone. ‘And I ain’t your brother,’ said another. ‘If you’ve not got the guts for this, leave it to those who do,’ said a third, like making yourself part of a mob was quite the act o’ courage.

Page 210

Always thought he’d be a weaver, like his old man. There’d been these golden years, just after Curnsbick patented his spinning engine, when yarn came spooling out of the new manufactories so cheap they were giving it away, and weavers were suddenly in high demand. Dressed like lords, they’d been, and walking with a swagger. And, aye, the spinners had faced some lean times, poor bastards, but that was their problem. Then, around the time Colton finished his apprenticeship, along came Masrud’s weaving engine, and in the length of three summers, the weavers got the way the spinners had before them, which was to say thin. Only made it worse that a lot o’ the spinners had turned their hands to weaving, since that was where the money was, and there was no money there no more. So Colton was out o’ work. Came to Valbeck, where everyone said there was always work, but everyone had the same idea. So he’d become a guard. Folk looked at him like that was treachery. But he’d needed the coat. He’d needed the meals. And now he was shackled to a chain along with a load of rich bastards. In a cruel joke, they’d even stolen his coat. Hardly seemed fair. But then ask the spinners about fair.

Page 210

That woman was still sobbing just behind him. No idea how to cope with hardship, the rich. No practice. They’d get some practice now, he reckoned.

Page 221

‘Please,’ she said. It came out a desperate squeak. The beggar spun about. It was a woman. A pale woman with a shaved head. She looked mad. Streaks of dried blood from a scab on her scalp, dark paint smeared from one staring, red-rimmed eye. ‘My father … won’t wake up,’ said Hessel, the unfamiliar words clumsy in her mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’ The woman’s bloody neck shifted as she swallowed. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’ ‘Please!’ ‘You have to be quiet!’ hissed the woman, eyes sliding terrified towards the square.

Note: I hoped she’d adopt the kid but no.

Page 229

The queen waved the weighty names away. ‘No doubt the common folk swoon over a conquering king, but it’s the coupling kings who found the dynasties.’ ‘I’ve spent years coupling. That’s never impressed you, either.’ ‘It’s who you couple with, Orso, as you very well know. I’d much rather you were getting married.’ She sat back, giving him a thorough examination, tapping at the arm of her folding chair with one exquisitely manicured fingernail. ‘But if you must play soldiers in the meantime, I will admit …’ And she allowed the corner of her mouth to bend by an infinitesimal fraction. ‘I am impressed.’ Orso often told himself that he long ago gave up caring about his mother’s opinions. The glow of satisfaction that warmed him to the roots of his hair revealed that for one of his many lies. ‘I suppose everyone grows up sooner or later,’ he said, turning away so she would not see him blush.

Page 231

‘Good grief.’ Orso sank numbly into a chair. Valbeck had grown to be one of Midderland’s largest and most modern cities. Uprising was beginning to sound like a euphemism. This was a short step from outright revolt! ‘How could this happen?’ ‘A damn good question!’ snapped the king, frowning towards his Arch Lector. ‘The Breakers are at the heart of it,’ said Glokta. ‘And the Burners.’

Note: Weak sauce. Don’t see how a supposedly clever person would be so incompetent

Page 235

‘Sorry,’ said Leo sulkily, ‘am I boring you?’ ‘Oh, no, no, no.’ She rolled her eyes towards him. ‘Nothing gets a girl wet like hearing a man complain about his mother.’

Page 237

In fact, the least worried man in the forge was the smith who owned it, who simply looked angry to have been stopped working so a bunch of fools could argue under his steadily leaking roof. But that’s war for you. An ugly business that only leaves bad men better off. Why folk insisted on singing about great warriors all the time, Rikke couldn’t have said. Why not sing about really good fishermen, or bakers, or roofers, or some other folk who actually left the world a better place, rather than heaping up corpses and setting fire to things? Was that behaviour to encourage?

Page 239

A set of old warriors were gathered at his right side with well-polished armour but long-faded names. Scale would’ve called them his closest Named Men, his royal retinue, his king’s bodyguard. But their main purpose was to remind him of old victories, and insist he was still the man he’d been when he had half the belly and twice the hands, in spite of all the evidence.

Page 243

‘My father, Bethod!’ Scale roared at the gathering, swaying from good ale and bad knees. ‘Made himself King of the Northmen! He built cities, and bound them with roads. He forced the clans together, and carved out a nation where there was none before.’ No mention of the thirty years of bloodshed that had got it done. But that’s the nice thing about looking backwards. You can pick out the bits that suit your story and toss the unhappy truths to the wind.

Page 246

She had thought of trying to get out of the city, but the truth was she scarcely had the courage to look out of the window, let alone to risk the streets again. She found she had a great deal less courage altogether than she had smugly supposed while blackmailing investors, or choosing a wig, or pronouncing social death sentences in the salons of Adua. She had always reckoned herself such a gambler. No more audacious woman in the Union. Now she realised the games had always been rigged in her favour. She never had to gamble with her life before, and the stakes had risen suddenly far too high for her taste.

Note: Solid character development

Page 251

The uprising had changed some things, but others seemed wearily familiar. The workers were still working, the Practicals were still watching, the big hats might have moved around, but the men wearing them were still lecturing everyone else on the way things should be while doing none of the work themselves. Some Great Change.

Page 251

Vick rarely allowed herself the luxury of not liking people. No more often than the luxury of liking them. Either one could get you killed. But she was starting to truly despise Risinau. He was vain as a peacock, selfish as a toddler, and for all his high-flown language, she was starting to suspect he was a fool. Truly clever things are said with short words. Long ones are used to hide stupidity.

Page 252

‘I arrested him for organising here,’ said Risinau, gazing into the distance. ‘Twenty years ago, just after I joined the Inquisition, and the foundations of the first mills were being laid in Valbeck. We both were young men, then. Idealistic men. I arrested him, but in the end, I could only agree with him. That the workers would be ground down.’ Risinau gave a heavy sigh, the plump hand on his plump gut rising and falling with his breath. ‘I released him. To be my informant, I thought. I told myself that I had turned him, but the truth was … he turned me. We turned each other, maybe. Just the two of us, talking late into the night about the blows we would strike for the common man! Just the two of us … and the Weaver.’ Vick frowned. ‘Aren’t you the Weaver?’ ‘A title I borrowed from a better man,’ mused Risinau, before his fickle attention was snatched away.

Note: Good reverse

Page 263

‘This is a war, isn’t it? Stour Nightfall has moved ahead of his father and his uncle. Perhaps as much as a day ahead. His men are scattered, tired, undersupplied and exposed.’ The Dogman grinned. ‘Touch reckless of him.’ ‘A mistake I hope we can make fatal.’ ‘If we put a fat enough worm on the hook.’ ‘You know how warriors are about their flags.’ Leo’s mother turned to look at him. ‘Your standard should be the very bait he needs. Especially after you stung his pride by stealing one of his. We’ll make it look as though our rearguard is caught in a tangle on the bridge. Hopefully, it’ll be a temptation he can’t resist.’ ‘You want me here in the ruin?’ asked the Dogman. ‘Hidden and waiting for my signal. Angland’s forces will be concentrated behind that hill to the south. Once Nightfall is committed, we fall upon him from both sides and catch him against the river. If we manage it well, we might destroy him in one throw.’ ‘That’d do a lot to even the odds.’ ‘And make me feel a great deal better about all this retreating. Believe it or not, Leo, I enjoy it no more than you do.’ Leo couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face. ‘We’re going to fight them here.’ ‘The day after tomorrow, I hope. Do either of you have an opinion on the plan?’ Leo was too busy imagining the victory. The two hills would be the jaws of their trap. The Great Wolf, lured into the valley between them by his own arrogance, surrounded at the bridge and crushed against the water. What a song that would make! He was already wondering what they’d call the battle, when the history books were written.

Note: Perfect plan. If I know the author it’ll go nothing like this.

Page 274

‘Stop fussing,’ said Isern. ‘Neither of us’ll be fighting.’ ‘I can feel worried for those who will, can’t I?’ ‘Meaning your Young Lion?’ Isern grinned, tip of her tongue showing through that hole in her teeth. ‘Can’t spend your whole life fucking, you know.’ ‘No.’ Rikke gave a smoky sigh. ‘Something to aim for, though.’ ‘I’ve heard less noble goals, ’tis true.’

Page 324

‘What’s he like as a man?’ asked Shivers. ‘About what you’d expect from someone they call the Great Wolf. Certainly no better. What about Brock?’ Shivers shrugged. ‘About what you’d expect from someone they call the Young Lion. Certainly no worse.’ ‘Huh. Since we’ve got all the answers, I sometimes wonder why we follow these bastards.’

Note: Wise people understand the limits of their wisdom.

Page 374

‘Just promise me one thing.’ ‘Anything.’ ‘Let go of it.’ ‘Of what?’ ‘The feuds,’ said her father, and of a sudden, he looked so tired. ‘The grudges. The enemies. Take it from a man with a wealth o’ bitter experience. Vengeance is just an empty chest you choose to carry. One you have to go bent under the weight of all your days. One score settled only plants the seeds of two more.’ ‘So you’re telling me I should just forget what they said? Forget what they did?’ ‘There’s no forgetting. I’m hemmed in by the memories.’ And he flapped an arm about as though the shadows were full of an invisible crowd. ‘Besieged by the bastards. The hurts and the regrets. The friends and the enemies and those who were a bit o’ both. Too long a lifetime of ’em. You can’t choose what you remember. But you can choose what you do about it. Time comes … you got to let it all go.’ He smiled sadly down at the tabletop. ‘So you can go back to the mud without the baggage.’

Page 394

Vick wondered how many other people the Arch Lector had fed that same lie to. The idea that he might entirely trust anyone was sugaring the pudding too much, but she let it go. She let them both believe they both believed it.

Note: Nice phrase

Page 411

Broad looked up at her. ‘You believe in God, right?’ ‘Oh, yes. Absolutely.’ ‘Thought he was dead set against violence?’ ‘If he was set that firmly against it …’ And Zuri smiled as she closed his aching fist around the coin and gave it a fond pat. ‘Why would he make men like you?’

Page 416

She slurped down some more of the thin wine they’d given her. Didn’t taste of much but it was already having an effect. Namely making the tips of her ears feel hot and sinking her ever deeper into jealous depression. They tell you drink makes you happy, but what they mean is it makes happy folk happier. They don’t tell you that it makes unhappy folk more fucking unhappy than ever.

Page 435

‘What’s this?’ she asked, fishing a crumpled sheaf of papers from the tray. She was no expert on printing but she reckoned this a poor example. ‘It’s a newsbill. They tell you what’s happening.’ Orso thought about that. ‘Or they tell you what to think about what’s happening.’ He thought more. ‘Or the really successful ones just confirm what you already think about what’s happening.’

Note: I love the last kind.

Page 441

‘If you say so.’ Leo knew nothing about those places except that he didn’t want the Union to become one of them. He took no pride in the watering down of his homeland’s character. ‘Don’t you worry there might be …’ Leo felt a need to lower his voice. ‘Eaters among them?’ ‘I’m not sure cannibal sorcerers are one of our most pressing problems.’ ‘Some of them can steal people’s faces. That’s what I heard.’ Leo craned around to frown at those Southerners again. ‘They can disguise themselves as anyone.’ ‘Then wouldn’t a pale face make a better disguise than a dark?’ Leo frowned. He hadn’t actually thought of that. ‘Just … hardly feels like the Union’s the Union any more.’ ‘Surely the great strength of the Union has always been its variety. That’s why they call it a Union.’ ‘Huh,’ grunted Leo. Orso would think that. He was a half-Styrian mongrel himself.

Page 450

Still, feeling is free, so there was no shortage of emotion as the glittering ranks tramped past. There was jealous admiration: of beggars for commoners, of commoners for gentry, of gentry for nobility, of nobility for royalty, all twisting their necks looking always up to what they didn’t quite have. There was warlike enthusiasm, mostly from those who’d never drawn a sword in their lives, since those used to swinging them tend to know better. There was patriotic fervour enough to drown an island full of foreign scum, and righteous delight that the Union made the best young bastards in the world. There was civic pride from the denizens of mighty Adua, City of White Towers, for no one breathed vapours so thick or drank water as dirty as they did, nor paid so much for rooms so small.

Note: Beautiful writing.

Page 451

They said it would be better than ever when they were done. But things are always going to be better, or were better long ago. No politician ever got anywhere by telling people things are just right as they are.

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