Because, Rews realised as he looked towards the gathering Gurkish storm on the far side of the bridge, this was most certainly going to be a sacrifice.
‘This is suicide,’ he whispered to himself.
‘Corporal Tunny?’ called Glokta, buttoning his jacket.
‘Sir?’ The keenest of young soldiers snapped out the keenest of salutes.
‘Could you bring me my breastplate?’
‘Of course, sir.’ And off he ran to get it. There were a lot of people running to get things. Officers to get soldiers. Men to get horses. Civilians to get away, Lady Wetterlant with a dewy-eyed glance over her shoulder. Rews was quartermaster of the regiment, wasn’t he? He should have some urgent business to be about. And yet he could only stand there, his own eyes very wide and more than a little dewy themselves, mouth and hands opening and closing to no purpose whatsoever.
Two very different kinds of courage were on display. Lieutenant West was frowning towards the bridge, his face pale and his jaw clenched, determined to do his duty in spite of his very real fear. Colonel Glokta, meanwhile, smirked at death as though it were a jilted lover begging for more, entirely fearless in his certain knowledge that danger was something that applied only to the little people.
Three kinds of courage were on display, Rews realised, because he was there, too, displaying what a total lack of it looked like.
And, indeed, a fourth soon arrived in the form of young Corporal Tunny, sun gleaming on his highly polished strapping, Glokta’s breastplate in his eager hands, eyes bright with the courage of untried youth desperate to prove itself.
‘Thank you,’ said Glokta as Tunny did up the buckles, his narrowed eyes focused on the gathering body of Gurkish cavalry beyond the river, more horses appearing with frightening speed. ‘Now I’d like you to hop back to the tent and get my things squared away.’
Tunny’s face was a picture of shocked disappointment. ‘I was hoping to ride down there with you, sir-’
‘Of course you were, and I’d like nothing better than to have you at my side. But if we both die down there, who’ll take my personal effects back to Mother?’
The young corporal blinked away tears. ‘But, sir-’
‘Come, come.’ And Glokta slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t wish to cut short a glittering career. I’ve no doubt you’ll make Lord Marshal one of these days.’ Glokta turned his back on the stunned corporal and hence dismissed him utterly from his mind. ‘Captain Lackenhorm, would you mind going to the enlisted men and asking for volunteers?’
The prominent lump on the front of Lackenhorm’s stringy neck bobbed uncertainly. ‘Volunteers for what duty, Colonel?’ Though the duty was obvious enough, set out clearly before them all in the valley below, a vast melodrama slowly unfolding on a grand stage.
‘Why, to clear the Gurkish from that bridge, you silly old goat. Quick now, and get them armed and ready, sharp as you like.’
The man gave a nervous smile and hurried away, partly tangled with his sword.
Glokta sprang up onto the fence, one boot on the lower rail and one on the upper. ‘I plan to teach these Gurkish a little lesson today, my proud boys of his Majesty’s First!’
The young officers crowded eagerly about him, just as though they were ducks and Glokta’s heroic platitudes were crumbs.
‘I won’t order anyone to come – let the decision be on each man’s conscience!’ He curled his lip. ‘How about you, Rews? Will you be waddling after us?’
Rews thought his conscience could probably bear the strain. ‘I would like nothing better than to join the charge, Colonel, but my leg-’
Glokta snorted. ‘I understand entirely, carrying that body of yours around is a challenge for any leg. I wouldn’t want to inflict such a burden on some underserving horse.’ Widespread laughter. ‘Some men are made to do great things. Others to do … whatever it is you do. Of course you’re excused, Rews. How could you not be?’
The crushing insult was altogether drowned in a giddy wave of relief. He who laughs last, after all, laughs loudest, and Rews doubted many of his tormentors would be laughing in an hour’s time.
‘Sir,’ West was saying as the colonel swung from the fence into his saddle with the agility of an acrobat. ‘Are you sure we have to do this?’
‘Who else do you suppose is going to?’ asked Glokta, jerking the reins and pulling his steed savagely about.
‘A lot of men will surely die. Men with families.’
‘Why, yes, I expect so. It is a war, Lieutenant.’ A scattering of obsequious laughter from the other officers. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’
‘Of course, sir.’ West swallowed. ‘Corporal Tunny, would you be good enough to saddle my horse-’
‘No, Lieutenant West,’ said Glokta, ‘I need you to stay here.’
‘Sir?’
‘When this is all over I’ll require an officer or two who can tell his arse from a pair of melons.’ He directed a withering glance at Rews, who hitched his wrinkled trousers up a little. ‘Besides, I suspect that sister of yours will grow up to be quite a handful. Couldn’t rob her of your sobering influence, could I?’
‘But, Colonel, I should-’
‘Won’t hear of it, West. You’ll stay and that’s an order.’
West opened his mouth as if to speak, then smartly shut it, drew himself up and gave a rigid salute. Corporal Tunny did the same, the shimmering of a tear at the corner of his eye. Rews crept guiltily to follow suit, light-headed with horror and delight at the thought of a Glokta-less universe.
The colonel grinned at them, his full complement of perfect, brilliantly white teeth almost painful to look upon in the sun’s bright glare.
‘Come now, gentlemen, don’t be maudlin. I’ll be back before you know it!’
With a jerk on the reins he caused his horse to rear, frozen for an instant against the bright sky like one of those heroic statues, and Rews wondered if there could ever have been a more beautiful bastard.
Then the dust showered in his face as Glokta thundered down the hillside.
Down towards the bridge.
Small Kindnesses
Westport, Autumn 573
When Shev arrived to open up that morning, there were a pair of big, dirty, bare feet sticking out of the doorway of her Smoke House.
That might once have caused her quite the shock, but over the last couple of years Shev had come to consider herself past shocking.
‘Oy!’ she shouted, striding up with her fists clenched.
Whoever it was on their face in the doorway either chose not to move or was unable. She saw the long legs the feet were attached to, clad in trousers ripped and stained, then the ragged mess of a torn and filthy coat. Finally, wedged into the grubby corner against Shev’s door, a tangle of long red hair, matted with twigs and dirt.
A big man, without a doubt. The one hand Shev could see was as long as her foot, netted with veins, filthy and scabbed across the knuckles. There was a strange shape to it, though. Slender.
‘Oy!’ She jabbed the toe of her boot into the coat around where she judged the man’s arse to be. Still nothing.
She heard footsteps behind her. ‘Morning, boss.’ Severard turning up for the day. Never late, that boy. Not the most careful in his work but for punctuality you couldn’t knock him. ‘What’s this you’ve caught?’
‘A strange fish, all right, to wash up in my doorway.’ Shev scraped some of the red hair back, wrinkled her nose as she realised it was clotted with blood.
‘Is he drunk?’
‘She.’ It was a woman’s face under there. Strong-jawed and strong-boned, pale skin crowded with enough black scab, red graze and purple bruise to make Shev wince, even if she rarely saw anyone who wasn’t carrying a wound or two.
Severard gave a soft whistle. ‘That’s a lot of she.’
‘And someone’s given her a lot of a beating, too.’ Shev leaned close to put her cheek near the woman’s battered mouth, heard the faintest wheezing of breath. ‘Alive, though.’ Then she rocked away and squatted there, wrists on her knees and her hands dangling, wondering what to do. There’d been a time she just dived into whatever messes presented themselves without a backward glance, but somehow the consequences always lurked nearer to hand than they used to. She puffed her cheeks out and gave the weariest of sighs.