“So, I can come?”
“You can come. Though I warn you, March—you may be Abask, but I am too. I am not your master and I don’t expect you to pour me my wine, but I tell you now, working with me will be hard; it will not be civilized. I will expect you to risk everything to help me, and I will do the same for you. As I said, we’re brothers. And you may get hurt or you may get killed, but if you fuck up I’ll kill you myself.”
TASH
NORTHERN PLATEAU, PITORIA
“WE’LL BE at Dornan while the fair’s still on at this rate.”
Gravell was striding ahead, using two of his harpoons as walking sticks, the other three strapped to his back along with his huge pack of rope and skins. Tash followed behind.
They’d set off early the morning after the demon kill. Tash’s ankle was strong, and she was feeling good, very good. She kept thinking of the demon, though. He was beautiful, as an animal can be beautiful. He was fast too, but she’d outrun him. She, Tash, had outrun him, not just on a short dash but a long run through the forest. That was the fastest and farthest she’d ever run with a demon on her tail. She was an experienced demon hunter now, and she felt faster and stronger than ever before. Perhaps she was growing at last. She was thirteen, at least that’s what she thought she was, which was pretty much an adult, but everyone looked on her as a child. Some people in towns even treated her like a child. Just because she was small. One man in Dornan last time had even patted her head! She’d kicked him in the shins, punched him between the legs, and now as she thought of it she muttered, “He won’t do that again.”
“What’s that?” Gravell asked.
“Nothing . . . just thinking.”
“I’ve warned you about that before,” Gravell deadpanned, then added, “Not about bloody boots, I hope.”
Tash hesitated to ask but had to. “Do you think I’ve grown?”
“Grown?”
“Yes. Grown.”
“Taller, you mean?”
“Yes, taller. How else could I grow?”
Gravell’s pack moved up and down in a shrug.
“I think I’ve grown,” Tash said.
Gravell turned to face her, walking backward. “Funnily enough, you know what struck me this morning when I looked at you? Your height. It really did. I noticed a change and”—he held his hand out as if surveying her like a building—“yes, I’m certain of it. It’s remarkable. Astounding. I’d say you’ve shrunk by a whole hand’s width.”
“That’s not even funny.”
“Your sense of humor is shrinking too,” Gravell replied, turning to face ahead.
“Piss off.”
“Your language ain’t improving much neither.”
“Stop being in such a good mood. It doesn’t suit you.”
“We tall people are known for our good moods.”
“Hmm, more like you’re getting excited about drink and women.”
“Us tall men do attract the ladies, it has to be said.”
“Pah! I’ve never seen you with a lady.”
“Small person, small mind.”
“You’re so annoying; probably because you’re so tall. I’ve noticed that about tall people. Think they’re above the rest of us.”
“That’s ’cause I am above you.”
“And don’t care about anyone but themselves.”
Gravell stopped and turned to Tash again.
“Fine then, my little friend. Stand against this. Let me measure you.”
He planted the harpoon on the ground. Tash stood by it. Gravell put his hand on the top of her head, which was still well below his armpit. “You come up to here. So, yes, you’ve grown.” Tash smiled. “You were here when I bought you.” Gravell pointed to the middle of the harpoon.
“Well, I know I’ve grown since then! I mean, have I grown in the last few weeks?”
Gravell pulled her to him. She was definitely still well below his armpit. “The honest truth? No. And don’t take this the wrong way, but your parents weren’t exactly giants. I think you might have reached as high as you’re ever going to get.”
Tash slumped inside. “But I feel taller.”
“How can you feel taller? You seeing things from a great height now?”
Tash thought about it. “Maybe I’m just feeling stronger. But much stronger. I feel so good today.”
Gravell smiled. “Stronger is good. It’s the food I give you. That stew last night was excellent, if I do say so myself. You need to be strong and fast. Don’t want another demon grabbing you.”
“But I’d like to grow just a little bit.”
“Nah, I want those spiked shoes I bought you to last a few years.”
“That’s a good point. The boots in Dornan were small. I need them to fit me.”
Gravell shook his head and set off again. “Them boots is all you think about.”
“And what’s wrong with that? They are the most beautiful boots in the whole world. And they’re going to be mine. They were probably designed with a petite person in mind.”
“Petite? What’s that?”
“Petite. It means delicate, small.”
“Short-arse, you mean.”
“I wish I hadn’t brought this up.”
“So stop talking and get walking. You need to keep up, so we get to Dornan before your boots are sold. The fair will bring in plenty of customers. Short people will be flocking there. Dornan is known for being a magnet for short-arses.”
CATHERINE
BRIGANE, BRIGANT
It is commonly known that women cannot be trusted and are sly, secretive, and vexatious. Whereas men form strong, honest relations with each other, women form weak, short-lived relations with men. Men who have strong relations with women are weaker for it. If your wife is disobedient in any way, immediate disciplinary procedures are required. Three to five strokes of a short cane to the palm of the hand will usually suffice. Dunking the head in a small barrel of cold water may also be helpful. For persistent disobedience, seclusion in small spaces is advised. Some women benefit from bricking up for a day, and the purchase of a coffin-sized box can have such strong deterrent effects that it may not have to be used at all. (If it is, ensure that there are vents for breathing.)
Marriage: A Guide for the Brigantine Gentleman,
James Daly
CATHERINE WAS sitting in the castle library staring out of the window and thinking about Ambrose. It was three days since he’d fled, and she’d heard nothing. She told herself it was a good sign, a sign that he hadn’t been caught, as she was sure Boris would have told her if he had. Boris would delight in telling her. Catherine shuddered.
“Are you well, Catherine? Don’t catch a chill at the window.”
Catherine glanced over at her mother. “I’m not cold. I was thinking about . . . Prince Tzsayn.”
Catherine had never met Tzsayn, never even seen him, never mind spoken to him, but in two weeks she would be married to him.
“Can you tell me more about him?”
Her mother smiled. “He’s the only son of King Arell of Pitoria. The queen died during the birth of his younger brother, who died shortly afterward.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“Pitoria is wealthy and peaceful. A large country to manage, though the lords there, from what I can glean, are loyal. And through your marriage the difficult relations between our countries will be improved. During the war, Pitorian ships took provisions to Thelonius in Calia. It’s taken your father many years and your forthcoming marriage to forgive that.”