Gideon the Ninth (The Locked Tomb, #1)

by Tamsyn Muir

“Oh, Griddle!” said Harrow pityingly, in the silence. “But I don’t even remember about you most of the time.”

There was a lopsided smile tugging at Gideon’s mouth, unsuppressed, and looking at it made Harrowhark’s expression slide into something even moodier and more petulant.

Gideon, here’s some money. You can spend it right here, on bones.’ ‘Gideon, I’ll always be nice and not a dick to you if you come back. You can have Crux’s room.’ ‘Gideon, here’s a bed of writhing babes. It’s the cloisterites, though, so they’re ninety percent osteoporosis.’”

“You’d have the nuns eat each other if you got bored. You are a psychopath.”

you know that you are a disgusting little cuckoo!”

“I hate it when you act like a butt-touched nun,”

Gideon, who was only honestly sorry for one of the thin...

“I’m not going to sign as me, you utter moron, that would give the whole game away,”

Only a complete asshole would agree to such a duel,

would take a dyed-in-the-wool douchebag. It would be an embarrassing act of cruelty.

Blood flecked Harrow’s lips.

“By your mother. And to the floor.”

“I swear by my mother. I have nothing on me. To the floor,”

“My God, Griddle, you’re not even wearing leather. I’m hardly that good.”

“Are you asking me to … throw her a bone?” “Nav!”

“I gave her my whole life,”

Hands erupted from little pockets in the ground, perfect, four-fingered and thumbed;

Harrow was breaking out in blood sweat, and her returned stare was calm and cold and assured.

Her booted foot knocked Harrow into the arms of two of her creations, who carted her easily out of harm’s way.

Gideon had always known that this would be how she went: gangbanged to death by skeletons.

Harrowhark kicked Gideon in the face.

The boot pressed itself to her throat, then down and down and down, forcing her back into the hard grit floor.

“It’s pathetic, Griddle,”

“I turn up the volume. I put on a show. You feel bad. You make it so easy. I got more hot and bothered digging all night.”

“Of course. This floor’s hard as hell, and there’s a lot to cover.”

“You insane creep,”

“Buck up, Griddle,”

GIDEON WILLED HERSELF TO pass out as Crux’s cold, bony fingers closed around one of her ankles.

She felt nothing: not pain, not anger, not disappointment, just a curious sense of wonder and disconnect as she was hauled bodily through the doors of Drearburh.

Crux kicked her in the head.

who’d left her leg and any hope of getting the hell out of here on some far-off front line.

wide and sad Ninth youngster of thirty-five,

He was still lumpy and sad.

Ortus was basically a morbid donkey.

Coupling him to Harrow had been rather like yoking a doughnut to a cobra.

Gideon had been eleven when the Lord and Lady of the House of the Ninth had slipped into death in sudden, awful secret.

say hang on a minute, this sounds like … A LOAD OF HOT GARBAGE,

The letter could have been a drawing of a butt and they would have been lining up thrice to kiss the edge of the paper.

“because nobody loves their people, their sacred brothers and sacred sisters, as the Ninth House loves her people—her

one of the faithful decided to go the whole hog and have a heart attack, and this distracted everyone.

that one of the hermits had died of shock,

Gideon failed to hide a snicker as Harr...

what comes of Mortus marrying an immigrant Eighth, you shameful hag—”

Gideon was grinning so hugely that her split lips recommenced bleeding.

“She lies,” said Gideon absently, by way of greeting. “If you hadn’t noticed. She never keeps her promises. Not a one.”

“You have always suffered from a want of duty, Nav. You can’t argue that. You couldn’t spell obligation if I shoved the letters up your ass.”

gotta say, I don’t think that would help,” said Gideon. “God, I’m glad you didn’t teach me my spelling.”

Her butt hurt from being dragged. She was going to be swollen with bruises before nightfall,

“Don’t hypothetically shove stuff up my butt again,” said Gideon, “it never does any good.”

“How the hell are you going to get out of this one, Nonagesimus?”