The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie Read Free Book Online

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 able. “I’ve had nothing but shit today!” he rumbled. He sat back in his chair and hunched his brawny shoulders with a frown that aid, “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 allied 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 out on something fashionable just because he didn’t like it. Besides, his father had bought him a beautiful ivory