08 A Little Hatred: Book One (The Age of Madness)

‘Never heard his name,’ said Malmer. ‘Never really saw his face, but—’

There was a clatter as the doorknob turned and Vick twisted around, ready to snap at the Practical to get out. The words never left her lips.

Superior Pike stood in the doorway, his burned face expressionless, two Practicals at his shoulders, even crueller glares than usual above their masks.

‘Well, well,’ he said in a papery whisper, stepping into the narrow room. ‘This is cosy.’

The legs of Vick’s chair screeched as she stood. ‘Superior Pike. An honour.’

‘The honour is very much mine. That was remarkable work in Valbeck, Inquisitor. Both subtle and bold. Both cunning and courageous. Without you, this uprising might have had a far bloodier ending. But I should not be surprised. His Eminence has always had the trick of picking the right person for a job.’

Vick humbly bowed. ‘You’re too kind, Superior.’

‘Not many people would agree with you on that score,’ said Pike, his eyes shifting to Malmer.

‘This man was one of the leaders of the uprising. I was asking him some questions about its origins.’

‘I thought we had our wayward colleague Superior Risinau to blame for that?’

‘Possibly.’ Vick left it there. Never use more words when fewer will do the trick.

‘I would love to watch you work. There are few people from whom I could learn something about interrogation.’ Pike gave a sorry sigh. ‘But His Eminence wants you to return to Adua. He wishes to congratulate you personally.’

‘It’s really no trouble to—’

‘Enjoy your rest.’ Pike laid a hand on her shoulder. The very lightest of touches, but it still made her skin tingle unpleasantly. ‘No one could say you have not earned it. I will uncover all that can be uncovered.’ And one of the Practicals placed a heavy box on the table, instruments rattling inside. ‘Trust me.’

Vick glanced back at Malmer. Once, in the camps, while they were dragging logs across a frozen lake, a convict had fallen through the ice. Another two had slid on their bellies to the hole, hoping to drag them from the water. They’d gone through, too.

If you want to survive, you’d better get a good sense for lost causes. Then you’d better let them go. Let them go before you go down with them. She turned towards the door.

‘We should talk at some point, you and I.’ Pike was one of those people with a nasty habit of calling you back, just to show he could.

‘About what, Superior?’

‘There are many people in the Inquisition who have spent time in the prison camps of Angland, but most of them held the keys.’ He leaned close to murmur, the tickle of his breath making the hairs stand on the back of her neck. ‘Those few of us who spent time on the other side of the locks should stick together. We should remind each other … of the lessons learned there.’

She gave a queasy smile. ‘They’re always at the front of my mind.’

Malmer stared as one of the Practicals began to take instruments from the case, arranging them in a neat row down one side of the table.

Vick had liked him from the moment she met him. She didn’t enjoy that scene one bit. But you’d better get a good sense for the lost causes. Then you’d better let them go. She hunched her shoulders and turned for the door.

‘Now then. Master Malmer, was it? I think you were saying something about … the Weaver?’

And the latch dropped shut.

The New Man

Orso’s eyes flickered open.

Pale light. The rustle of canvas in the breeze. It took him a moment to remember where he was.

Valbeck. And something to feel very pleased about …

The uprising was finished, and …

Savine!

He rolled over, ever so slowly, hardly daring to look, suddenly terrified that he had dreamed the whole thing and the bed would be empty.

But there she lay, beside him. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, sharp collarbones gently shifting with her breath.

For a moment, he felt the prickle of tears, had to squeeze his lids shut. She was safe. She was with him. The smile spread across his face.

He had proposed. He had actually done it. And, true, she might not technically have given him an actual yes, but dragging him to the bed seemed a long way from a no. When he picked out a pair of boots, he changed his mind three times and was racked by doubts all day. About this, the biggest decision of his life, there was no question in his mind. Savine was the woman for him. The one he wanted and the one he needed. She always had been.

He shifted towards her. Reached out to touch her face.

He wanted to wake her. To hold her. To fuck her again, certainly, but it was much more than that. This was love, not lust. Or at any rate, it was both. He wanted to tell her about all the hopes he had. Hopes for them. Dreams for the nation. Plans for all the good they could do.

Then he paused, fingertips just shy of her cheek, the warmth of her breath on his palm.