wrist and turned it black.
“Looks worse even than mine did.” She shrugged. “Well. When you pay a debt, it’s only good manners to add some interest. Get the other hand.”
“No!” squealed Gobba, dribbling spit. “No! Think of my children!”
“Think of my brother!”
The hammer smashed his other hand apart. She aimed each blow carefully, taking her time, both eyes on the details. Fingertips. Fingers. Knuckles. Thumb. Palm. Wrist.
“Six and six,” grunted Friendly, over Gobba’s roars of pain.
The blood was surging in Monza’s ears. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “Eh?”
“Six times, and six times.” He let go of Orso’s bodyguard and stood, brushing his palms together. “With the hammer.”
“And?” she snapped at him, no clue how that mattered.
Gobba was bent over the anvil, legs braced, dragging on the manacles and spraying spit as he tried vainly to shift the great thing with all his strength, blackened hands flopping.
She leaned towards him. “Did I tell you to get up?” The hammer split his kneecap with a sharp bang. He crumpled onto the floor on his back, was dragging in the air to scream when the hammer crunched into his leg again and snapped it back the wrong way.
“Hard work, this.” She winced at a twinge in her shoulder as she dragged her coat off. “But then I’m not as limber as I was.” She rolled her black shirtsleeve up past the long scar on her forearm. “You always did tell me you knew how to make a woman sweat, eh, Gobba? And to think I laughed at you.” She wiped her face on the back of her arm. “Shows you what I know. Unhook him.”
“You sure?” asked Friendly.
“Worried he’ll bite your ankles? Let’s make a chase of it.” The convict shrugged, then leaned down to unlock the cuffs around Gobba’s wrists. Shivers was frowning at her from the darkness. “Something wrong?” she snapped at him.
He stayed silent.
Gobba dragged himself to nowhere through the dirty sawdust with his elbows, broken leg slithering along behind. He made a kind of mindless groan while he did it. Something like the ones she’d made when she lay broken at the foot of the mountain beneath Fontezarmo.
“Huuuurrrrhhhh…”
Monza wasn’t enjoying this half as much as she’d hoped, and it was making her angrier than ever. Something about those groans was intensely annoying. Her hand was pulsing with pain. She forced a smile onto her face and limped after him, pretended to enjoy it more.
“I’ve got to say I’m disappointed. Didn’t Orso always like to boast about what a hard man he had for a bodyguard? I suppose now we’ll find out how hard you really are. Softer than this hammer, I’d-”
Her foot slipped and she yelped as she went over on her ankle, tottered against the brick-lined side of a furnace, put her left hand down to steady herself. It took her a moment to realise the thing was still scalding hot.
“Shit!” Stumbling back the other way like a clown, kicking a bucket and sending dirty water showering up the side of her leg. “Fuck!”
She leaned down over Gobba and lashed petulantly at him with the hammer, suddenly, stupidly angry she’d embarrassed herself. “Bastard! Bastard!” He grunted and gurgled as the steel head thudded into his ribs. He tried to curl up and half-dragged her over on top of him, twisting her leg.
Pain lanced up her hip and made her screech. She dug at the side of his head with the haft of the hammer until she’d torn his ear half-off. Shivers took a step forwards but she’d already wrenched herself free. Gobba blubbered, somehow dragged himself up to sitting, back against a big water butt. His hands had swollen up to twice the size they had been. Purple, flopping mittens.
“Beg!” she hissed. “Beg, you fat fucker!”
But Gobba was too busy staring at the mincemeat on the end of his arms, and screaming. Hoarse, short, slobbery screams.
“Someone might hear.” Friendly looked like he didn’t care much either way.
“Better shut him up, then.”
The convict leaned over the barrel from behind with a wire between his fists, hooked Gobba under the neck and dragged him up hard, cutting his bellows down to slippery splutters.
Monza squatted in front of him so their faces were level, her knees burning as she watched the wire cut into his fat neck. Just the way it had cut into hers. The scars it had left on her itched. “How does it feel?” Her eyes flickered over his face, trying to squeeze some sliver of satisfaction from it. “How does it feel?” Though no one knew better than her. Gobba’s eyes bulged, his jowls trembled, turning from pink, to red, to purple. She pushed herself up to standing. “I’d say it’s a waste of good flesh. But it isn’t.”
She closed her eyes and let her head drop back, sucked a long breath in through her nose as she tightened her grip on the hammer, lifted it high.
“Betray me and leave me alive?”
It came down between Gobba’s piggy eyes with a sharp bang like a stone slab splitting. His back arched, his mouth yawned wide but no sound came out.
“Take my hand and leave me alive?”
The hammer hit him in the nose and caved his face in like a broken egg. His body crumpled, shattered leg jerking, jerking.
“Kill my brother and leave me alive?”
The last blow broke his skull wide open. Black blood bubbled down his purple skin. Friendly let go the wire and Gobba slid sideways. Gently, gracefully almost, he rolled over onto his front, and was still.
Dead. You didn’t have to be an expert to see that. Monza winced as she forced her aching fingers open and the hammer clattered down, its head gleaming red, a clump of hair stuck to one corner.
One dead. Six left.
“Six and one,” she muttered to herself. Friendly stared at her, eyes wide, and she wasn’t sure why.
“What’s it like?” Shivers, watching her from the shadows.
“What?”
“Revenge. Does it feel good?”
Monza wasn’t sure she felt much of anything beyond the pain pulsing through her burned hand and her broken hand, up her legs and through her skull. Benna was still dead, she was still broken. She stood there frowning, and didn’t answer.
“You want me to get rid of this?” Friendly waved an arm at the corpse, a heavy cleaver gleaming in his other hand.
“Make sure he won’t be found.”
Friendly grabbed Gobba’s ankle and started dragging him back towards the anvil, leaving a bloody trail through the sawdust. “Chop him up. Into the sewers. Rats can have him.”
“Better than he deserves.” But Monza felt the slightest bit sick. She needed a smoke. Getting to that time of day. A smoke would settle her nerves. She pulled out a small purse, the one with fifty scales in it, and tossed it to Shivers.
Coins snapped together inside as he caught it. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Right.” He paused, as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t think what. “Sorry about your brother.”
She looked at his face in the lamplight. Really looking, trying to guess him out. He knew next to nothing about her or Orso. Next to nothing about anything, at a first glance. But he could fight, she’d seen that. He’d walked into Sajaam’s place alone, and that took courage. A man with courage, with morals, maybe. A man with pride. That meant he might have some loyalty too, if she could get a grip on it. And loyal men were a rare commodity in Styria.
She’d never spent much time alone. Benna had always been beside her. Or behind her, at any rate. “You’re sorry.”
