The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie Read Free Book Online

amusing as humiliating one’s closest
friends.
    Jezal half sat, half lay back on his bench with one
leg stretched out, and allowed his eyes to wander over the other players. Major
West had rocked his chair so far onto its back legs that he looked in imminent
danger of tipping over entirely. He was holding his glass up to the sun, admiring
the way that the light filtered through the amber spirit inside. He had a
faint, mysterious smile which seemed to say, ‘I am not a nobleman, and may be
your social inferior, but I won a Contest and the King’s favour on the
battlefield and that makes me the better man, so you children will damn well do
as I say.’ He was out of this hand though, and, in Jezal’s opinion, far too
cautious with his money anyway.
    Lieutenant Kaspa was sitting forward, frowning and scratching
his sandy beard, staring intently at his cards as though they were sums he
didn’t understand. He was a good-humoured young man but an oaf of a card
player, and was always most appreciative when Jezal bought him drinks with his
own money. Still, he could well afford to lose it: his father was one of the
biggest landowners in the Union.
    Jezal had often observed that the ever so slightly
stupid will act more stupidly in clever company. Having lost the high ground already
they scramble eagerly for the position of likeable idiot, stay out of arguments
they will only lose, and can hence be everyone’s friend. Kaspa’s look of
baffled concentration seemed to say, ‘I am not clever, but honest and likeable,
which is much more important. Cleverness is overrated. Oh, and I’m very, very
rich, so everyone likes me regardless.’
    ‘I believe I’ll stay with you,’ said Kaspa, and tossed
a small stack of silver coins onto the table. They broke and flashed in the sun
with a cheerful jingle. Jezal absently added up the total in his head. A new
uniform perhaps? Kaspa always got a little quivery when he really held good
cards, and he was not trembling now. To say that he was bluffing was to give
him far too much credit; more likely he was simply bored with sitting out. Jezal
had no doubt that he would fold up like a cheap tent on the next round of betting.
    Lieutenant Jalenhorm scowled and tossed his cards onto
the table. ‘I’ve had nothing but shit today!’ he rumbled. He sat back in his
chair and hunched his brawny shoulders with a frown that said, ‘I am big and
manly, and have a quick temper, so I should be treated with respect by everyone.’
Respect was precisely what Jezal never gave him at the card table. A bad temper
might be useful in a fight, but it’s a liability where money is concerned. It
was a shame his hand hadn’t been a little better, or Jezal could’ve bullied him
out of half his pay. Jalenhorm drained his glass and reached for the bottle.
    That just left Brint, the youngest and poorest of the
group. He licked his lips with an expression at once careful and slightly
desperate, an expression which seemed to say, ‘I am not young or poor. I can
afford to lose this money. I am every bit as important as the rest of you.’ He
had a lot of money today; perhaps his allowance had just come in. Perhaps that
was all he had to live on for the next couple of months. Jezal planned to take
that money away from him and waste it all on women and drink. He had to stop
himself giggling at the thought. He could giggle when he’d won the hand. Brint
sat back and considered carefully. He might be some time making his decision,
so Jezal took his pipe from the table.
    He lit it at the lamp provided especially for that
purpose and blew ragged smoke rings up into the branches of the cedar. He
wasn’t half as good at smoking as he was at cards, unfortunately, and most of
the rings were no more than ugly puffs of yellow-brown vapour. If he was being
completely honest, he didn’t really enjoy smoking. It made him feel a bit sick,
but it was very fashionable and very expensive, and Jezal would be damned if he
would miss