A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness, #1)

by Joe Abercrombie

“I saw a wolf eat the sun. Then a lion ate the wolf. Then a lamb ate the lion. Then an owl ate the lamb.”

“Life is small discomforts, girl! They’re how you know you are alive.”

“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.”

“War?” “It’s when a fight gets so big almost no one comes out of it well.”

“My da used to say times of peace are when the wise prepare for violence.” “Your da was mad as a bootful of dung.”

Battles may sometimes be won by the brave, but wars are always won by the clever.

“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.”

Your best shield is a smile, her father always said.

She had long ago learned that at least half of everything is presentation. Seem a victim, soon become one. Seem in charge, people fall over themselves to obey.

“Well, well.” The man behind the counter was easing forwards, wiping his hands on his stained apron and giving Savine a lingering look up and down. “I’m tempted to say this is no place for a lady like you.” “We’ve only just met. You really have no idea what kind of lady I am. Why, you could be taking your life in your hands just talking to me.”

“They warned me,” Kort grunted as he slid Valint and Balk’s note from the pouch. “That you care about nothing but money.” “Why, what a pompous crowd they are. Beyond a point I passed long ago, I don’t even care about money.” Savine flicked the brim of her hat in farewell. “But how else is one to keep score?”

“You must take me for a rare kind of fool,” she said, angling her face towards him. “No, no.” He bent to brush one heavily powdered cheek with his lips. “Just the usual kind.”

“Once the killing starts, it rarely sticks to those who deserve it.”

But that’s what growing up is, maybe. Realising what a fucking arse you’ve been.

“You’ve two choices in war,” said Barniva, “boredom or terror, and in my experience boredom’s far preferable.”

Barniva looked up. “You’ve two choices in—” “Finish that sentence and I’ll stab you,” said Leo.

“You have to trust they’ll be along. Patience is a warrior’s most fearsome weapon. Take it from me. I’ve been in a few fights.” “Did you win any?”

“Thinking of learning some sword-work?” “You ask me, swords are best swung by other men.”

How do I make them take my say-so when my own blood won’t? If Stour weren’t my son, I’d be forced to say the boy’s a fucking prick.”

She raised a brow. Clover loved to see things done well, and she’d a hell of a brow-raise, did Wonderful.

May smiled at him, and he smiled that he could make her smile, and wondered that someone who’d done all the bad he’d done could’ve had a hand in making something as good as she was.

What is the point in prosperity, after all, if everyone has it?

“This only strengthens my conviction that there really is no place in business for women.” “And yet here I am,” said Savine, smiling all the wider. “And here you are, with your begging bowl. No doubt there are many parts of Union life in which there is no place for women. But you cannot stop me buying or selling a thing.”

“We both know what utter fools people are.”

“I have been asking questions all my life. I learned that some are better left unanswered.”

It hurt. Her face, her side, her pride. But it was not the pain that really shook her. It was the powerlessness. The total misjudgement of her own abilities. The curtain had been twitched aside, and she saw just how fragile she was. How fragile anyone was, compared to a sword swung in anger. The world was a different place than it had been a few moments before, and not a better one.

There was no trace of guilt on her father’s face. Constant pain, as he always liked to say, had cured him of that. “Fencing is one thing,” he said. “Actual violence quite another. Few of us are made for it. It is healthy to be disabused of our self-deceptions every now and then, even if it hurts.”

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.

The sad truth is that pretty people can slide through all kinds of scrapes that’d end very badly for the ugly.

How’d she get loose, anyway?” “Caul Shivers was waiting on the other side of the river,” hissed Stour, clenching his fists. “Killed four of my men.” “Shivers.” Magweer was clenching his fists just the same way. “Wish I’d run into that old fucker.” Wonderful and Clover burst out laughing at the exact same time. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, and she leaned back, fist on his shoulder, and no doubt they made quite a picture chortling away but they really couldn’t help ’emsleves. “Good one,” said Clover, with a sigh. “Good one.”

“There’s no fight too big for me,” he growled back. “Really?” asked Wonderful. “What if it’s just you and nineteen o’ them?”

Stour opened his arms wide, opened his eyes wide, put on the big act. “The only chain I want is a chain of blood!” Made not the slightest sense. How could you make a chain out of blood anyway? Terrible metaphor.

“I never will unpick the riddle of why men want what they want.”

“We can’t correct the misapprehensions of every idiot any more’n we can correct the tide.”

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.”

“Your defeats teach you more than your victories,” muttered Leo, trying to slap some warmth into his muscles. “They hurt more, too.”

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.”

“Misjudgement is as much a part of life as unhappiness. It is nice to hold the power and make the choices for everyone. But the risk of making any choice is always that you might make the wrong one. We must make our choices nonetheless. Fear of being a grown-up is a poor reason to remain a child.”

“Did you escape from them?” he whispered. Vick gave a sad smile as she sat down opposite him, in the chair for the one who asks the questions. “No one escapes from them.” “Then—” “I am them.”

“A good liar lies as little as possible.”

“The scriptures hold much praise for charity. But they also say only the thrifty will enter heaven.” “A cynic might observe that the scriptures can be used to support both sides of every argument.” Zuri had the tiniest smile at the corner of her mouth. “A cynic might say that is the point of them.”

Everyone knew he was a vain, lazy, useless waste of flesh. A man she should not want. A man she could never have. And she was totally in love with him.