The Devil and the Dark Water

by Stuart Turton

but the curse of authority was that you could never admit to losing it.

“Questions are swords and answers are shields,” persisted Sammy, still staring at Sara. “I’m begging you, armor yourself.

“Keep that cleverness in your pocket, Lia. We’re surrounded by men who won’t take kindly to it, however well intentioned.”

“Because men don’t like being made to feel stupid, and there’s no other way to feel when you start talking.”

“Cleverness is a type of strength, and they won’t accept a woman who’s stronger than they are. Their pride won’t allow it, and their pride is the thing they hold dearest.”

No mother wanted to tell their child to be less than they were, but what use was encouraging a child into a thornbush.

Piety, true piety, came at a savage cost.

You know what men are when there’s nobody ordering them to be better. They don’t need Old Tom whispering suggestions in their ear. Evil comes from in here.” He hammered his chest. “It’s born in us. It’s what we are when you take away the uniforms and the ranks and the order.” Sara hadn’t needed a battlefield to teach her that lesson. Her entire life had been spent in study of men. Not from love or admiration, as was the proper way for a woman, but from fear. Men were dangerous. They were fickle of mood, liable to lash out when disappointed, and they were frequently disappointed—most often by their own shortcomings, though only a fool would tell them as much.

“Anger makes good men stubborn and stubborn men petty.

The rich mistakenly believed their wealth was a servant, delivering them whatever they wanted.

Wealth was their master, and it was the only voice they heeded. Friendships were sacrificed at its behest, principles trampled to protect it. No matter how much they had, it was never enough. They went mad chasing more until they sat lonely atop their hoard, despised and afraid.

Strength was the only currency of merit, and power was the only goal. Kindness, compassion, and empathy were trampled, exploited as weakness.

People gave the heavens a voice so they had something to ask for a better harvest, a healthy child, or a milder winter. God was hope, and mankind needed hope the way it needed warmth, food, and ale.

“Strong is strong and weak is weak, and it doesn’t matter if you wear breeches or skirts if you’re the latter. Life will hammer you flat.”

“There’s no glory except what the minstrels make up so the nobles can feel good about the slaughter they paid for. A soldier’s job is to end up dead far from home, fighting for a king who wouldn’t give them the crumbs from his table.”

The weak shouldn’t have to fear the powerful, and the powerful shouldn’t simply be allowed to take what they wanted without consequence.

Power should be a burden, not a shield. It should be used to everybody’s betterment, not merely for the person who wielded it.

People didn’t matter to the Company. They were commodities like everything else—free to produce and cheap to replace. Only what they dug out of the ground had value.

“He’s infatuated, weak, and lacking imagination. Consider the life I could build for my boys out of those flaws. Besides, my beauty won’t last forever. I must sell it for the best price I can.”

The entries were written in English—a clumsy language stitched together from too many disparate parts to be elegant.

They were rich because their families were rich. Their children would be rich because they were rich. On and on in an endless loop. By contrast, they were poor because they’d always been poor. They had nothing to look forward to and nothing to pass along. Wealth was a key and poverty was a prison, and they’d been born shackled through no fault of their own.

It was senseless and unfair, and mankind could withstand almost anything except unfairness.

“Courage isn’t an absence of fear,” cried out Sara. “It’s the light we find when fear is all there is.

“Because murderers can’t help but murder. Blackmailers can’t help but blackmail, and thieves can’t help but thieve,” said Sammy. “It’s the itch. The itch is what kills them all.”

Marriage is an inconvenient convenience. It’s the shackle we accept for our safety.”

I don’t believe women can be free, not while men are stronger. What use is the freedom to be assaulted in the first dark alley we come across? We can’t fight, so we sing, we dance, and we survive.

Marriage is the price I pay for the privilege of nobility, and I consider the price well spent. Poverty is the most dangerous thing for a woman. We’re not well suited to a life on the streets.”

Dark water is our soul, and Old Tom is swimming within it.”

They ask too much for too little. Them nobles in there are getting richer all the time off the back of our labor, and I’m sick of it.”

Truthfully, I always saw the Company as the real big bad of the novel.