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

‘Most things do,’ muttered Rikke, frowning at Leo. The Young Lion, grinning into the wind with his carefree friends, the bloody young lads together, the bloody young heroes, the bloody young pricks. She sucked some chagga juice out of her gums and sent it spinning into the churned-up water.

She kept thinking of things she could’ve said to him. Pearls of wit and wisdom like he’d never get from those idiots. He’d have died in the Circle if it wasn’t for her Long Eye. And he treated her as if she was an embarrassment.

She was working up to being properly angry when he threw back his head and gave that big, open, honest laugh of his, and all she felt was sad they’d fallen out, and jealous he wasn’t laughing with her, and let down by him and by herself and by the world. The truth was, she bloody missed him. But she was damned if she was saying sorry. It should be him saying sorry to her, on bended knees. But how could you hate a man with an arse like—

He glanced towards her and she made sure she looked away. Him catching her looking would be like he’d scored a point somehow. But looking away from Leo meant looking back to this bald bastard, who was still considering her as if he found her of quite some interest.

‘Who the hell are you, anyway?’ she asked. Somewhat rude, but her failed romance and her endlessly hot and smarting eye and a week or two of seasickness had worn down her patience.

His smile only grew wider. A hungry smile, like a fox at the henhouse. ‘My name is Bayaz.’

‘Like the First of the Magi?’

‘Exactly like. I am he.’

Rikke blinked. Perhaps she should’ve punched him for a liar. But there was something in his glittering green eyes that made her believe it. ‘Well, there’s a thing.’

‘And you are Rikke. The Dogman’s daughter.’ She stared at him, and he smiled back. ‘Knowledge is the root of power. In my business, you have to know who’s who.’

‘What is your business?’

He leaned close, almost hissing the word. ‘Everything.’

‘That’s quite some area of responsibility.’

‘Sometimes, I admit, I think I should have aimed lower.’

‘Shouldn’t you have a staff?’

‘I left it at home. However big a chest you bring, it never quite fits in. And magic, you know, it’s all rather …’ And he squinted thoughtfully towards the city. ‘Out of fashion, these days.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ she said, shifting her chagga pellet across her mouth and chomping it on the other side. ‘I’ve been blessed with the Long Eye.’ At that moment, she glimpsed the faintest phantom of a sinking ship, its mast tipping towards them as it foundered on a stormy sea. She cleared her throat, doing her best to ignore the ghostly sailors toppling into the brine. ‘Or possibly cursed with it.’

‘Fascinating. And what have you seen?’

‘Frustrating glimpses, in the main. Ghosts and shadows. An arrow and a sword. A black pit in the sky with the knowing of everything inside. I saw a wolf eat the sun and a lion eat the wolf then a lamb eat the lion then an owl eat the lamb.’

‘And what does that portend?’

‘I’m entirely fucked if I know.’

‘What do you see when you look at me?’

She frowned sideways. ‘A man who could tell more truth and eat fewer pies.’

‘Ah.’ And he rested one broad hand on his belly. ‘Profound revelations indeed.’

Rikke grinned. Had to admit she was starting to like him, even if she had no idea whether to believe a word he said. ‘What brings the First of the Magi to Adua?’

‘I have been detained far too long in the ruined West of the world by the demands of some most unreasonable siblings. They are mired in the past. Blinkered to the future. But I like to stop off in Adua whenever I can. Try to make sure no one is destroying what I have built.’ He narrowed his eyes across the bay, crammed with vessels of every shape, size and design. ‘People’s capacity for self-harm never ceases to amaze me. They love to find their own path, even if it clearly leads off a cliff. And the Union has many enemies.’

Rikke raised her brows at the endless city. ‘Who’d be fool enough to make war on this?’

‘The Gurkish, before their empire collapsed like an undercooked meringue. And Bethod, against my advice. Then Black Dow, against my advice. Then Black Calder. Against my advice.’

‘Seems your advice ain’t as popular as you’d like,’ said Rikke, glancing sideways.

Bayaz gave a disappointed sigh, like the governess in Ostenhorm when she tried to explain to Rikke what deportment was. ‘People must sometimes be allowed to make their own mistakes.’

She shielded her eyes against the spray as they cut through the mad confusion of shipping towards the swarming docks. She could hear the faint din of voices bellowing and wagons rumbling and cargo hitting the wharves.

‘How many live here?’ she whispered.