Gideon the Ninth (The Locked Tomb, #1)

by Tamsyn Muir

stupendous work of a titty nature,

Great band name

“You egotistical foetus, you think our Lady rang the muster call just for you?”

Sick burn

His father—cavalier to Harrow’s father—had been an enormous, stony man of some gravity and devotion, with a sword and two huge panniers of fibulae, but Ortus wasn’t made in his mould. Coupling him to Harrow had been rather like yoking a doughnut to a cobra.

I fealt the Emperor with every bone in my body. I fealt hard.” “You wouldn’t know fealty if it—” “Don’t hypothetically shove stuff up my butt again,” said Gideon, “it never does any good.”

“Oh, nonsense!” said Harrow languorously. “She’s a genius. With the proper motivation, Griddle could wield two swords in each hand and one in her mouth. While we were developing common sense, she studied the blade. Am I right, Griddle?”

Qween

Harrow’s face was bright with elation and fervour. Gideon would have sworn there were tears in her eyes, except that no such liquid existed: Harrow was a desiccated mummy of hate.

“Surprise, my tenebrous overlord!” said Gideon. “Ghosts and you might die is my middle name.”

Gideon knew at this point that some really intelligent answer was the way to go; something that would have impressed the Reverend Daughter with her mechanical insight and cunning. A necromantic answer, with some shadowy magical interpretation of what she had just seen. But her brain had only seen the one thing, and her palms were damp with the sweat that came when you were both scared and dying of anticipation. So she said, “The arms kind of looked like swords. I want to fight it.” “You want to fight it.” “Yep.” “Because it looked … a little like swords.” “Yop.”

But first, Griddle, I’m afraid I have to pass out.” And she crumpled neatly back onto the floor. Pure sentiment found Gideon kicking out one leg to catch her. She ended up lightly punting her necromancer on the shoulder but assumed that it was the thought that counted.

Gideon mumbled, “Harrow, you can’t just ask someone why they want to be a Lyctor,” but was roundly ignored.

"On Wednesdays we wear black. Also every other day"

How they got all the way up the ladder, Gideon later had no idea;

Nor the author, possibly

But Gideon was experiencing one powerful emotion: being sick of everyone’s shit. She unsheathed her sword. She slid her gauntlet over her hand, and tightened the wrist straps with her teeth. And she looked over her shoulder at Harrowhark, who was apparently breaking out of a blue funk to experience her own dominant emotion of oh, not again. Gideon silently willed her necromancer to put her knucklebones where her mouth was and, for the first time in her life—for the first real time—do what Gideon needed her to do. And Harrowhark rose to the occasion like an evening star. “The Ninth House will represent the Sixth House,” she said, sounding cold and bored, as though this had been her plan all along. Gideon wanted to sing. Gideon wanted to dance her up and down the corridor. She broke out in a broad, unnervingly un-Ninth smile, and Naberius Tern—who had gone from greasy villainy to aggrieved caution—was having to force his smirk.

Since when has the Ninth been bosom with the Sixth?” “We’re not.” “Then—” Harrowhark said, in the exact sepulchral tones of Marshal Crux: “Death first to vultures and scavengers.”

Metal. As. Fuck. This deserves a tattoo. Also can't help but feel The Sepulchral Tones are an indie band from the 9th house

The Sixth House adept adjusted his glasses again and said, “Sorry. Ninth cavalier, I should ask you your thoughts on all of this.” She cracked the joints in the back of her neck as she considered the question, stretching out the ligaments, popping her knuckles. He urged again, “Thoughts?” Gideon said, “Did you know that if you put the first three letters of your last name with the first three letters of your first name, you get ‘Sex Pal’?”

A+ 10/10 book of the decade Caldecot, Pulitzer, Grammy, Oscar and Employee of the Month

“Do I look like I’m at the queenhood of my power?” This would’ve made anyone sweat. “Uh—” “If you lie I’ll mummify you.” “You look like a bucket of ass.”

Again, the absolute best dialogue

I—I did not want to hurt you, Griddle! I didn’t want to disturb your—equilibrium.” “Harrow,” said Gideon, “if my heart had a dick you would kick it.”

Gideon’s stomach churned, but her brain was more urgent than her nausea. “Why leave me, though?” she demanded. “They murdered the rest of the House, but they left me off the list?” There was a pause. “We didn’t,” said Harrow. “What?” “You were meant to die, Griddle, along with all the others. You inhaled nerve gas for ten full minutes. My great-aunts went blind just from releasing it and you weren’t affected, even though you were just two cots away from the vent. You just didn’t die. My parents were terrified of you for the rest of their lives.”

“Too many words,” said Gideon confidentially. “How about these: One flesh, one end, bitch.” The Ninth House necromancer flushed nearly black. Gideon tilted her head up and caught her gaze: “Say it, loser.” “One flesh—one end,” Harrow repeated fumblingly, and then could say no more.

Her adept said: “I’ll keep it off you. Nav, show them what the Ninth House does.” Gideon lifted her sword. The construct worked itself free of its last confines of masonry and rotten wood and heaved before them, flexing itself like a butterfly. “We do bones, motherfucker,” she said.

If you didn't stand up and pump your fist in this air at this line I don't fucking like you