The Devils (The Devils, #1)

by Joe Abercrombie

‘… at the behest of a ten-year-old Pontiff,’ and he waved towards Brother Diaz, ‘under the command of the Celestial Palace’s least effective monk—’ ‘Don’t talk to him like that!’ snarled Vigga. ‘He’s a good man! An honest man, and a brave man, and an excellent lover! Surprisingly bold and assertive—’ ‘Wait …’ Balthazar’s look of surprise turned to one of confusion. ‘What?’ ‘Oh.’ Vigga blinked. ‘Shit.’ ‘Really?’ Jakob of Thorn pressed the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. ‘Again?’ ‘When …’ Balthazar glanced from the monk to the werewolf and back, ‘where … how …?’ Brother Diaz looked pained. ‘Could we … talk about something else?’ ‘You spend years illuminating manuscripts,’ said Baptiste, working off one boot, ‘and singing hymns, and tending the monastery gardens, but all anyone wants to talk about is the one time you fucked a werewolf.’ ‘Three times,’ said Vigga, ‘in fact.’ ‘Once could be considered a mishap,’ said Baron Rikard, in a sermonising tone, ‘but three times begins to look like deliberate sin!’ ‘How can even once be a mishap?’ asked Sunny, confused. ‘Cardinal Zizka, I must confess,’ sang Baptiste as she pulled off her other boot and leaned back, wriggling her bare toes at the fire, ‘that I slipped while praying, my habit caught upon a stray nail, and my prick, engorged as it always is while filled with the love of our Lord, accidentally went up a lycanthrope’s twat.’ ‘I have heard it all.’ Balthazar stared off wide-eyed into the darkened forest. ‘The un...