Sharp Ends: Stories from the World of The First Law (22 page)

Shevedieh opened her mouth to make an elaborate retort, thought a moment, and decided against. ‘Basically, yes. Horald’s taken Carcolf. Now he wants me out on Carp Island.’ She forced the words through clenched teeth. ‘I could really use your help—’

Javre gave a snort so explosive snot spattered down her chapped top lip. She did not appear to notice. ‘See, boys? You give them everything!’ And she beat her chest with a fist so hard it left a great pink mark. ‘You give them your heart and they spit it in your face!’

‘How can you spit a heart?’ asked Shev, but Javre was not interested in unmixing her metaphors.

‘The moment they get in trouble, oh, the fucking moment? Straight back to Mummy!’ She glared unsteadily at Shev. ‘Well, Mummy is fucking busy!’

‘Mummy is fucking embarrassing herself.’

‘That is Mummy’s
fucking
prerogative. Shuffle those cards, Tunny, you cunny.’ He did no more than raise a brow as he set to shuffling. ‘I thought you were all done with me and had fine new friends. What of the grand duchess, the Snake of Talins, the Butcher of Caprile? Mother to a king, I hear.’

‘Bless his eternal Majesty,’ grunted Tunny out of the corner of his mouth, flicking cards to each of the four players, conscious and otherwise.

‘I only met the woman twice,’ said Shev. ‘I doubt she knows my name.’

‘But her all-powerful Minister of Whispers, Shylo Vitari, surely does. Can she not reach from the shadows and pluck your lover from danger?’

‘She’s on her way south to Sipani.’

‘What of your grinning merchant friend, Majud? He has deep pockets.’

‘It’s getting him to reach into them that’s the problem.’

‘That Northman you were working with, then? The one with the eye. Or … without it.’ Javre accidentally poked herself while waving at her face with her cards, had to clap a hand over her running eye, but at least she accidentally wiped the snot from her lip, too. ‘Trembles?’

‘Shivers.’ Shev gave a little shiver of her own at the memory of that scarred face, the expression on it as he killed those three Sipanese who’d been chasing her. Or the terrible lack of expression. ‘Some help it’s better to do without,’ she muttered.

‘You can do without mine, then.’ Javre raised the glass towards her mouth in a wobbly hand, face fixed in concentration. Shev slapped it from her fingers and it shattered in the corner.

‘I need you sober.’

Javre gave a snort. ‘That is never going to happen, Shevedieh. If I get my way, that is never going to happen again.’

‘Here,’ said Tunny, holding out his own glass, ‘have mine—’

Shev slapped it from his hand and it shattered in almost exactly the same spot as the last one. He frowned, slowly removing the pipe from his mouth for the first time. ‘Bloody hell, girl, I wish you wouldn’t—’

Javre shoved her fist under his nose, cards crushed in it, red eyes bulging, lips curling back and spraying spit. ‘Talk to my friend like that again, you fucking cocksucker, you will be picking your teeth from my knuckles!’

Tunny peered down at that great, scarred hand, one of his eyebrows going up, ever so slowly. ‘Madam, I’m a soldier. The last thing I want is a fight.’

Forest cleared his wet throat and somewhat unsteadily rose. ‘Ladies, with great respect, I think that puts an end to the evening. We’ve an early start tomorrow. Back to Midderland after our defeat, you know.’ He jabbed Yolk with his elbow and the little man started awake.

‘I raise!’ he shouted, staring wildly about. ‘I raise!’ Then he flopped from his chair onto hands and knees and was sick on the floor.

Tunny was already sweeping his winnings into a battered hat. Forest caught Yolk by the belt and began to drag him away, still desperately trying to raise.

‘An honour,’ said Tunny as he backed towards the door through the pool of puke, almost falling over the snoring figure. ‘An absolute fucking
honour
.’

‘I will see you on the battlefield!’ shouted Javre.

Tunny winced and waved one finger round and round. ‘Let’s say nearby!’ And he was gone into the smoky murk.

‘You have spoiled my fun, Shevedieh, as always.’ Javre uncurled her fingers. A couple of the ruined cards dropped out. A couple of others were stuck to her palm and she had to shake them off. ‘I trust you are bloody well pleased with yourself.’

‘You’ve spoiled your own fun, as always, and I’m about as far from pleased as it’s possible to be, since you ask.’ She slid into Yolk’s chair. ‘No one else is going to help me, Javre. They don’t trust Carcolf. They don’t want Horald to kill them.’

Javre gave another snort and had to wipe more snot from under her scabbed nose with her scabbed knuckles. ‘On the Great Leveller I am ambivalent, as you know, but if you think I trust that wiggling snake any more than the plague—’

‘I don’t think we’re ever going to see eye to eye on her, do you?’

‘It is hard to see eye to eye with someone a foot shorter than you. She looks like a snake, moves like a snake, thinks like a snake. She saw you coming, Shevedieh, just like she always does, and she thought
dinner
. In spite of all the wrongs she has made you lick up down the years, she only had to swagger that round arse past you once and you were hooked all over again. She sank that ship with you on it, lest we forget!’

‘It’s different this time,’ muttered Shev, not sure whether the words hurt so much because they were false, or because they were true.

‘It is never different. Nothing ever is. How can a woman as clever as you not see it?’

‘I
do
fucking see it!’ screamed Shev, thumping the table and making the bottles rattle. ‘But I don’t care any more! I have to make the best of it. I have to have …
something
, before it’s too late!’ She felt tears stinging her eyes, her voice going high and warbly, but she couldn’t stop it. ‘I can’t run any more, Javre! I can’t run. I’m tired, and I need your help. Please. Help me.’

Javre stared at her for a long moment. Then she jerked up, barging the table over and sending its cargo of glasses, pots, bottles, pipes scattering, shattering, clattering across the filthy floor.

‘Cunt of the Goddess, Shevedieh, you know you only had to ask!’ She stabbed Shev painfully in the tit with one inept finger. ‘My sword is yours, always!’ Her brow knitted with puzzlement, then she stared wildly around. ‘Where
is
my sword?’

Shev sighed and nudged it from under Javre’s chair with the toe of her boot.

It was dark, down on this quietest part of the docks. The sea flapped and slopped at the mossy stones of the quay, and the warped supports of the wharves, and the slimy flanks of the moored boats. The reflections of the few lamps, torches and candles that still burned danced and broke in the restless water.

A gust of wind fluttered the ragged papers on the warehouse wall. Bills celebrating young King Jappo’s coronation pasted over bills celebrating the victory at Sweet Pines pasted over bills condemning Union aggression pasted over bills revelling in the ascension of Monzcarro Murcatto pasted over bills announcing the death of Monzcarro Murcatto pasted over bills trumpeting victories and defeats of enemies and rulers long forgotten. Probably it was only the ancient crust of bills that kept the warehouse standing.

Shev frowned out across the bay. In the distance she could just see a few faint points of light, flickering ghostly.

‘Carp Island,’ muttered Javre, planting a hand on her hip and nearly missing, she was that drunk.

Shev puffed out her cheeks. ‘And on Carp Island, Burroia’s Fort.’

‘And in Burroia’s Fort, Horald the Finger.’

‘And with Horald the Finger …’ Shev trailed off. God, she hoped Carcolf was still alive.

‘Once we are there,’ murmured Javre, leaning close enough that Shev almost gagged on the boozy reek of her breath, ‘what’s your plan?’

She wished she had time to get Javre sober. Or at least clean. But she did not. ‘Rescue Carcolf. Kill Horald. Don’t get killed ourselves.’

A pause, while Javre pushed the greasy hair out of her face then flicked something that had been stuck in it off her fingers. ‘I think you will agree that it is lacking detail.’

Shev took a glance up and down the quay. The thief’s glance, which looks without seeming to look. ‘You never complained about charging into the jaws of death before. Without plans, without weapons … without clothes, on more than one occasion.’

‘On clothes I am ambivalent, as you know, but I have
always
hated plans.’

‘Then why are you worried now?’

‘Because I always knew
you
would have one.’

‘Welcome to my life of constant doubt, anxiety and occasional sudden and unpredictable horror, Javre. I hope you enjoy your
fucking
visit.’ 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.

She stopped by a boat that suited, checked the oars were in the bottom, then winced at a loud clatter, turned to see that Javre had stumbled into a set of fishing nets on a frame and was now tangled with them, desperately trying to stop them falling. She finally got them settled, shrugged at Shev, then strode down the wharf towards her, about the most conspicuous woman who ever drew breath.

‘Could you be any louder?’ hissed Shev.

‘Undoubtedly,’ said Javre, turning back towards the nets. ‘Shall I demonstrate?’

‘No, no, that’s fine!’ With some effort Shev steered her towards the boat, unshouldered her bag and tossed it in, then followed it silently across the flapping water.

‘You will simply steal it?’

‘The one upside of being a thief,’ Shev muttered through tight lips, ‘is that you can make free with things that don’t belong to you. It’s practically a requirement of the job.’

‘I understand the principle, but this is some poor bastard’s livelihood. Some family of righteous, honourable, hardworking bastards, maybe. There might be a dozen little weeping children depending on it.’

‘Better to rob the righteous,’ muttered Shev as she slipped the oars silently through the rowlocks. ‘Evil people tend to be suspicious and vengeful.’

Javre made her voice go piping high. ‘Oh, Daddy, whatever shall the twelve of us eat now that the boat is gone?’

‘For God’s sake, Javre, do I tell you how to start fights, suck cocks, destroy my property or ruin my life? No! I trust to your unchallengeable fucking expertise! Now let me steal the boat I judge appropriate! We can bring it back when we’re done!’

‘When do we ever do that? At the very least we bring it back smashed.’

‘
You
bring it back smashed!’

Javre snorted. ‘You remember that cart we borrowed in—’

‘Might I remind you we have something of a demanding schedule?’ Shev pressed her fingers to her temples and gave a growl of frustration. ‘All the bloody arguing over every little bloody thing, it’s exhausting!’ She stabbed at the rower’s seat with a finger. ‘Just get in the fucking boat!’

‘Could you be any louder?’ Javre grumbled as she tossed the mooring rope in, followed it with the ragged bundle that contained her sword and clambered unsteadily after, the whole thing rocking alarmingly under her considerable weight. ‘You are the one always telling me I should give more thought to consequences,’

‘The consequence that’s preying on my mind is the love of my life with her fucking throat cut!’

Javre blinked as she dropped heavily between the oars. ‘Love of your life?’

‘Well, I mean …’ Shev hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to admit it, even to herself. ‘You know what I mean! Exaggerating, for effect.’

‘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.’

‘Shut up and row,’ grumbled Shev as she shoved the boat away from the slimy wharf.

Javre leaned to the oars, great muscles in her bare arms twitching and bulging with each stroke, the boat sliding smoothly out onto the calm, dark waters of the harbour. Shev undid the buckles on her bag and unrolled it, metal rattling.

Javre whistled softly as she peered down at all those gleaming tools. ‘Going to war?’

‘If need be.’ Shev buckled the sword-eater onto her thigh. ‘A wise man once told me you can never have too many knives.’

‘Sure you’ll be able to climb with all that weight of steel?’

‘We’re not all built like bulls.’ Shev slid the throwing blades one by one into the strapping inside her coat. ‘Some of us need an edge.’

‘Be careful the edge does not cut your head off, Shevedieh.’ She watched as, ever so gently, Shev slid a little vial of green liquid from her bag and into the fleece-lined loop on her belt. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

‘Depends what you think it is.’

‘I think it is as likely to blow she who throws it to hell as to blow those it’s thrown at to heaven.’

‘Fancy that, you’re not the only one who can go down in a fireball.’

‘You are more or less the only friend I have not been obliged to kill. I am concerned for your welfare.’

‘If you’re such a good friend you could try being happy for me.’

‘Happy to see you strung along by that golden-haired siren?’

‘Happy that I’ve found some little respite from the endless tide of
shit
my life has been!’ Shev winced, trying to find some position where her blowpipe wasn’t jabbing her in the armpit. ‘Did I complain when you were noisily enjoying your frequent dalliances?’

‘Did you complain?’ Javre snorted. ‘You, the baroness of bitching? The countess of carping? The princess of prating? The … er … the grand duchess of … of …’

‘I get the idea,’ snapped Shev, checking the trigger of her crossbow before she slid it into the holster under her coat.

‘Good, because apparently your memory is almost as short as you are. Complain, Shevedieh? You made my life a misery day in and day out for the past …’ Javre frowned up at the starry sky, moonlit lips moving as she counted. ‘Thirteen … no fourteen!’ She gave a long pause before her bleary eyes settled on Shev, then added in a weary drawl, ‘
Fourteen fucking years.
’