Liddy was still smiling as she tipped her face up, lips soft against his. She’d put weight on. They all had, since the lean times in Valbeck. She had that curve to her figure and that glow to her cheek she’d had when they first courted. That same smell she’d had when they first kissed. All that time passed, and he loved her just the same.
“Worked out all right,” she said, fingertips light on his cheek. “Didn’t it?”
“No thanks to me.” He had to talk around a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. For all the trouble I brought—”
“That’s behind us,” said Liddy, firm. “We work for a fine lady now. No trouble here.”
“No,” said Broad. “No trouble.” And he trudged towards the door.
“Don’t work too hard, Da!” called May. When he looked back, she was smiling at him, and that smile caught at something. Like there was a hook in his chest and whatever she did tugged at it. He smiled back. Raised an awkward hand in farewell. Then he saw the tattoo on the back and jerked it down. Worked it into the cuff of his fine new jacket.
He made sure he shut the door firmly behind him.
Broad strode through a forest of flaking iron columns, across the darkened warehouse floor towards an island of lamplight, footfalls echoing in all that inky emptiness.
Halder stood with his arms folded and his face in shadow. He was one of those men who liked his silence. Bannerman leaned against a pillar near him, that cocky tilt to his hips. He was one of those men who always had too much to say.
Their guest sat in one of three battered old chairs, hands tied to the back, ankles to the legs. Broad stopped in front of him, frowning down. “You’re Gaunt?”
“I’m Gaunt.” Didn’t try to deny it, at least. Sometimes they did. Broad didn’t blame them.
“Funny name for him,” said Bannerman, looking at Gaunt like he was naught but a lump of clay. “’Cause he’s quite sturdy, really. Wouldn’t call him fat. But I wouldn’t call him gaunt.”
“Have some respect, eh?” said Broad as he took his jacket off. “We can do this without being disrespectful.”
“What difference does it make?”
Broad draped the jacket over the back of a chair and stroked the fine cloth flat with the side of his hand. “Makes some to me.”
“We’re not here to make friends.”
“I know why we’re here.” Broad met Bannerman’s eye, and held it till he licked his lips and looked away. Then he shifted the chair around so it faced Gaunt and sat. He pushed his lenses up his nose, then clasped his hands. He found it helped to have a routine. Like when he swept the brewery in Valbeck. Just a job to get done, like any other.
Gaunt watched him all the while. Scared eyes, of course. Sweat on his forehead. Determined, though. Tough man to break, most likely. But anything breaks if you squeeze it hard enough.
“My name’s Broad.” He saw Gaunt looking at the tattoo on the back of his hand. He let it hang there. “Used to be in the army.”
“We all did,” said Bannerman.
“You know who we work for now?”
Gaunt swallowed. “For Kort?”
“No.”
Gaunt swallowed again, harder. “For Savine dan Glokta.”
“That’s right. We hear you’ve been organising, Master Gaunt. We hear you’ve persuaded the workers to down tools.”
Bannerman made a disapproving tut, tut, tut noise with his tongue.
“Way things are in the diggings,” said Gaunt, “the hours they work and the pay they get, they didn’t need much persuading.”
Broad nudged his lenses down to rub at the sore bridge of his nose, then nudged them back up. “Look. You seem a decent man so I’m giving you every chance I can. But Lady Savine wants her canal finished. She’s paid for it. And I can tell you for a fact… it’s a bad idea to get between her and what she’s paid for. A bad idea.”
Gaunt leaned forward. Far as he could tied to the chair. “A lad died the other day. Crushed by a beam. Fourteen years old.” He strained around to glance up at Bannerman. “You know that?”
“I heard,” said Bannerman, and from the way he was looking at his nails, hadn’t cared a shit.
“It’s a damn shame.” Broad snapped his aching fingers to bring Gaunt’s eyes back to him. “The question is, how’s you getting crushed going to help him?”
Gaunt stuck his chin up, still defiant. Broad liked him. They could’ve been on the same side. He supposed they had been, not that long ago. “I can help the others. The likes of you wouldn’t understand.”
“I might surprise you. I was in Valbeck, brother, with the Breakers. Fought the good fight there. Thought I did, anyway. Before that, I was in Styria. Thought I fought the good fight there, too. Been fighting good fights all my life. You know what it’s got me?”
“Nothing?” said Bannerman.
Broad frowned up at him. “You love to spoil the punchline, don’t you?”
“You need some new material.”
“Daresay you’re right. Trouble with the good fight, I find… once the fight starts, the good stops.” Broad began rolling up his sleeves while he thought about what to say. Slowly. Carefully. Helped to have a routine. He told himself this was for May, and for Liddy. Wondered what they’d say if they knew about it and didn’t like the answer. That’s why they couldn’t know. Not ever.
“I’ve killed… I think… maybe fifty men. Maybe more. Prisoners, some of ’em. Just following orders, but… I did it, still. Kept a count at first, then I tried to lose count, but, well…” Broad looked down at the little patch of ground between Gaunt’s boots. “I’ll be honest, I was drunk for a lot of it. Drunk as I could get. Bit of a blur. I remember this one fellow, in the wars. Styrian, I guess, kept gabbling at me, and I hadn’t a clue what he was saying. I threw him off the wall. Wall of Musselia this was so, what, thirty strides high?” He glanced up at Halder. “You were at Musselia, weren’t you?”
Halder nodded. “Closer to twenty.”
“High enough, anyway. He hit this cart.” Broad stuck his hand into his ribs, trying to show where. “And it folded him right in half, sideways. Left him in a shape no living man should ever be. I mean, his feet were pointing backwards. He started making this noise.” Broad slowly shook his head. “I swear, it was the noise hell makes. And he wouldn’t stop. You see some shit out there. Changes the way you look at things.”
“It does,” said Halder.
Gaunt was staring at him. “You think that’s something to boast of?”
“Boast of?” Broad stared back, over the rims of his lenses, so Gaunt was just a sparkly blur in the lamplight. “Fuck, no. I wake up with the sweats. I cry, sometimes. In the quiet times. Don’t mind admitting it.”
“Me, too,” said Halder.
“I’m just… trying to get you to see.” And Broad nudged his lenses back up his nose, back into that little groove. “To see where this is going before we get there and find out… we really didn’t want to get there.” He winced. That’d come out all wrong. Wished he was better with words, but, being honest, words alone rarely got this kind of job done. Malmer had been a good talker. Look where he’d ended up. “What I’m trying to say—”