Sharp Ends (First Law World, #7)

by Joe Abercrombie

‘Respect, Raubin. That shit costs nothing, but it can spare a man from trying to hold his brains in all the way back home. Am I clear enough?’

‘We’re like brothers,’ said Brack, grinning all over his tattooed face. ‘We share the risks, we share the food, we share the rewards, and from time to time we even share a laugh.’

‘Stay here and mind the gear.’ Raubin gave a long sigh of relief and Craw felt his lip curl. He didn’t blame the man for being a hell of a coward, most men were. Craw was one himself. But he blamed him for letting it show. ‘Don’t get too comfortable, though, eh? If the rest of us come to grief these Fox fuckers’ll track you down before our blood’s dry and more’n likely cut your fruits off.’ Raubin’s sigh rattled to a quick stop. ‘Cut your head off,’ whispered Never, eyes all scary-wide. ‘Pull your guts out and cook ’em,’ growled Jolly Yon. ‘Skin your face off and wear it as a mask,’ rumbled Brack. ‘Use your cock for a spoon,’ said Wonderful. They all thought about that for a moment.

He checked his knife, his backup knife, and his backup backup knife, all tight in their sheaths. You can never have too many knives, someone once told him, and it was solid advice, provided you were careful how you stowed ’em and didn’t fall over and get your own blade in your fruits.

‘This is the Father of Swords, and men have a hundred names for it. Dawn Razor. Grave-Maker. Blood Harvest. Highest and Lowest. Scac-ang-Gaioc in the valley tongue, which means the Splitting of the World, the Battle that was fought at the start of time and will be fought again at its end.’ For a moment he had Craw wondering if he’d list the whole bloody hundred but thankfully he stopped there, frowning at the hilt, wound with dull grey wire. ‘This is my reward and my punishment both. This is the only blade I need.’

Craw worked his dry tongue around his dry mouth. Always ran out of spit at a time like this, and however often he did it, it never got any better. He glanced out the corner of his eye at the others, none of ’em showing much sign of a weak nerve. He wondered if they were bubbling up with worry on the inside, just like he was, and putting a stern face on the wreckage, just like he was. Or if it was only him scared. But in the end it didn’t make much difference. The best you could do with fear was act like you had none.

You have been a fine sidekick so far.’ ‘I thought this was an equal partnership.’ ‘All the best sidekicks think that,’

I have seen hell, Verturio said, and it is a great city under siege.

When there is no law, there is no crime.

‘I’ve had about as much of this as I can take!’ ‘So you keep saying. And yet the next day you take some more.’ ‘I’m bloody furious!’ ‘I believe you.’ ‘I mean it!’ ‘If you have to tell someone you are furious, and then, furthermore, that you mean it, your fury has failed to achieve its desired effect.’

A problem left behind was just the same as a problem solved. Wasn’t it?

Surprise is like virginity. You only get the one chance at using it, and that normally turns out a crushing disappointment.

There’s always a worse case than your worst case, and more often than not, it happens.

‘Madam, I’m a soldier. The last thing I want is a fight.’

And she walked across the empty quay and down the steps to the nearest wharf. The thief’s walk, neither striding boldly nor scurrying crouched. The walk of someone forgettable going about their boring business. A walk that raises no eyebrows and no alarms. A good thief goes unseen. A truly great one merely goes unnoticed.

‘I have heard you exaggerate a hundred million times, Shevedieh. I know how it sounds. That was the much rarer sound of you letting slip the truth.’

What was she doing with a damn garrotte anyway? She’d never used a garrotte in her life, except once to cut a cheese and that was for a joke and hadn’t even ended up that funny. You can make an argument for a knife. Sometimes people just need a knifing. Like Crandall had. She shed no tears for him. But once you start garrotting people you can’t claim to stand with the righteous.

‘Fuck,’ she said, simply. Sometimes no other word will cover it.

If you want to be a fine new person with a fine new life you’ve got to put the person you were behind you, like a snake sheds its skin. You’ve got to stop picking through your hoard of hurts and grievances like a miser with his coins, set ’em down and allow yourself to go free. You’ve got to forgive and you’ve got to trust, not because anyone else deserves it, but because you do.