cover from a dish with a flourish.
‘Ah, the meat, the meat!’ Bayaz watched the knife flash and flicker as wafer slices were carved with blinding skill. ‘Fish is all very well, but dinner hasn’t really started until you’re served something that bleeds.’ The servant added vegetables with the dexterity of a conjuror, then turned his smirk on Calder.
There was something oddly, irritatingly familiar about him. Like a name at the tip of Calder’s tongue. Had he seen him visit his father once, in a fine cloak? Or at Ironhead’s fire with a Carl’s helmet on? Or at the shoulder of Stranger-Come-Knocking, with paint on his face and splinters of bone through his ear? ‘Meat, sir?’
‘No,’ whispered Calder. All he could think of was all the meat in the pits just a few strides away.
‘You really should try it!’ said Bayaz. ‘Go on, give him some! And help the prince, Yoru, he has an injured right hand.’
The servant doled meat onto Calder’s plate, bloody gravy gleaming in the gloom, then began to cut it up at frightening speed, making Calder flinch with each sweep of the knife.
Across the table, the Magus was already happily chewing. ‘I must admit, I did not entirely enjoy the tenor of our last conversation. It reminded me somewhat of your father.’ Bayaz paused as if expecting a response, but Calder had none to give. ‘That is meant as a very small compliment and a very large warning. For many years your father and I had … an understanding.’
‘Some good it did him.’
The wizard’s brows went up. ‘How short your family’s memory! Indeed it did! Gifts he had of me, and all manner of help and wise counsel and oh, how he thrived! From piss-pot chieftain to King of the Northmen! Forged a nation where there were only squabbling peasants and pigshit before!’ The edge of Bayaz’ knife screeched against the plate and his voice sharpened with it. ‘But he became arrogant in his glory, and forgot the debts he owed, and sent his puffed-up sons to make demands of me.
Calder’s throat felt uncomfortably tight as Bayaz sat back. ‘Bethod turned his back on our friendship, and his allies fell away, and all his great achievements withered, and he died in blood and was buried in an unmarked grave. There is a lesson there. Had your father paid his debts, perhaps he would be King of the Northmen still. I have high hopes you will learn from his mistake, and remember what you owe.’
‘I’ve taken nothing from you.’
‘Have … you … not?’ Bayaz bit off each word with a curl of his lip. ‘You will never know, nor could you even understand, the many ways in which I have interceded on your behalf.’
The servant arched one brow. ‘The account is lengthy.’
‘Do you suppose things run your way because you think yourself charming? Or cunning? Or uncommonly lucky?’
Calder had, in fact, thought exactly that.
‘Was it charm that saved you from Reachey’s assassins at his weapon-take, or the two colourful Northmen I sent to watch over you?’
Calder had no answer.
‘Was it cunning that saved you in the battle, or my instructions to Brodd Tenways that he should keep you from harm?’
Even less to that. ‘Tenways?’ he whispered.
‘Friends and enemies can sometimes be difficult to tell apart. I asked him to act like Black Dow’s man. Perhaps he was too good an actor. I heard he died.’
‘It happens,’ croaked Calder.
‘Not to you.’ The ‘yet’ was unsaid, but still deafening. ‘Even though you faced Black Dow in a duel to the death! And was it luck that tipped the balance towards you when the Protector of the North lay dead at your feet, or was it my old friend Stranger-Come-Knocking?’
Calder felt as if he was up to his chest in quicksand, and had only just realised. ‘He’s your man?’
Bayaz did not gloat or cackle. He looked almost bored. ‘I knew him when he was still called Pip. But big men need big names, eh, Black Calder?’
‘Pip,’ he muttered, trying to square the giant with the name.
‘I wouldn’t use it to his face.’
‘I don’t reach his face.’
‘Few do. He wants to bring civilisation to the fens.’
‘I wish him luck.’
‘Keep it for yourself. I gave it to you.’
Calder was too busy trying to think his way through it. ‘But … Stranger-Come-Knocking fought for Dow. Why not have him fight for the Union? You could have won on the second morning and saved us all a…’
‘He was not content with my first offer.’ Bayaz sourly speared some greens with his fork. ‘He demonstrated his value, and so I made a better one.’
‘This was all a disagreement over prices?’
The Magus let his head tip to one side. ‘Just what do you think a war is?’ That sank slowly into the silence between them like a ship with all hands. ‘There are many others who have debts.’
‘Caul Shivers.’
‘No,’ said the servant. ‘His intervention was a happy accident.’
Calder blinked. ‘Without him … Dow would’ve torn me apart.’
‘Good planning does not prevent accidents,’ said Bayaz, ‘it allows for them. It makes sure every accident is a happy one. I am not so careless a gambler as to make only one bet. But the North has ever been short of good material, and I admit you are my preference. You are no hero, Calder. I like that. You see what men are. You have your father’s cunning, and ambition, and ruthlessness, but not his pride.’
‘Pride always struck me as a waste of effort,’ murmured Calder. ‘Everyone serves.’
‘Keep that in mind and you will prosper. Forget it, well …’ Bayaz forked a slice of meat into his mouth and noisily chewed. ‘My advice would be to keep that pit of corpses always at your feet. The feeling as you stared down into it, waiting for death. The awful helplessness. Skin tickling with the expectation of the knife. The regret for everything left undone. The fear for those you leave behind.’ He gave a bright smile. ‘Start every morning and end every day at the brink of that pit. Remember, because forgetfulness is the curse of power. And you may find yourself once again staring into your own grave, this time with less happy results. You need only defy me.’
‘I’ve spent the last ten years kneeling to one man or another.’ Calder didn’t have to lie. Black Dow had let him live, then demanded obedience, then made threats. Look how that turned out. ‘My knees bend very easily.’
The Magus smacked his lips as he swallowed the last piece of carrot and tossed his cutlery on the plate. ‘That gladdens me. You cannot imagine how many similar conversations I have had with stiff-kneed men. I no longer have the slightest patience for them. But I can be generous to those who see reason. It may be that at some point I will send someone to you requesting … favours. When that day comes, I hope you will not disappoint me.’
‘What sort of favours?’
‘The sort that will prevent you from ever again being taken down the wrong path by men with knives.’
Calder cleared his throat. ‘Those kinds of favours I will always be willing to grant.’
‘Good. In return you will have gold from me.’
‘That’s the generosity of Magi? Gold?’
‘What were you expecting, a magic codpiece? This is no children’s storybook. Gold is everything and anything. Power, love, safety. Sword and shield together. There is no greater gift. But I do, as it happens, have another.’ Bayaz paused like a jester about to deliver the joke. ‘Your brother’s life.’
Calder felt his face twitch. Hope? Or disappointment? ‘Scale’s dead.’
‘No. He lost his right hand at the Old Bridge but he lives. The Union are releasing all prisoners. A gesture of goodwill, as part of the historic peace accord that you have so gratefully agreed to. You can collect the pinhead at midday tomorrow.’
‘What should I do with him?’
‘Far be it from me to tell you what to do with your gift, but you do not get to be a king without making some sacrifices. You do want to be king, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Things had changed a great deal since the evening began, but of that Calder was more sure than
