The Blade Itself

“Happy to.” The Northman pulled the sword from his belt and held it out. It weighed heavily in Jezal’s hands: a big, plain, brutal-looking weapon. He followed it with a long knife, then knelt and pulled another from his boot. He took a third from the small of his back, and then produced a thin blade from inside his sleeve, heaping them into Jezal’s outstretched arms. The Northman smiled broadly. It was truly a hideous sight, the ragged scars twisting and puckering, making his face more lopsided than ever.

“You can never have too many knives,” he growled in a deep, grinding voice. Nobody laughed, but he did not seem to care.

“Shall we go?” asked the old man.

“Without delay,” said Morrow, turning to leave.

“I’ll come with you.” Jezal dumped his armload of weapons into Kaspa’s hands.

“That really isn’t necessary, Captain,” whined Morrow.

“I insist.” Once he was delivered to the Lord Chamberlain, the Northman could murder whomever he pleased: it would be someone else’s problem. But until he got there Jezal might be blamed for whatever mischief he got up to, and he was damned if he was going to let that happen.

The guards stood aside, the strange procession passed through the gate. Morrow was first, whispering obsequious nothings over his shoulder to the old man in the splendid robe. The pale youth was next, followed by Sulfur. The nine-fingered Northman lumbered along at the back.

Jezal followed with his thumb in his belt, close to the hilt of his sword so he could get to it quickly, watching the savage intently for any sudden moves. After following him for a short while though, Jezal had to admit, the man gave no appearance of having murder in mind. If anything he looked curious, bemused, and somewhat embarrassed. He kept slowing, staring up at the buildings around him, shaking his head, scratching his face, muttering under his breath. He would occasionally horrify passers-by by smiling at them, but he seemed to present no greater threat and Jezal began to relax, at least until they reached the Square of Marshals.

The Northman stopped suddenly. Jezal fumbled for his sword, but the primitive’s eyes were locked ahead, gazing at a fountain nearby. He moved slowly towards it, then cautiously raised a thick finger and poked at the glittering jet. Water splashed into his face and he blundered away, almost knocking Jezal down. “A spring?” he whispered. “But how?”

Mercy. The man was like a child. A six and a half foot child with a face like a butcher’s block. “There are pipes!” Jezal stamped on the paving. “Beneath… the… ground!”

“Pipes,” echoed the primitive quietly, staring at the frothing water.

The others had moved some way ahead, close to the grand building in which Hoff had his offices. Jezal began to step away from the fountain, hoping to draw the witless savage with him. To Jezal’s relief he followed, shaking his head and muttering “pipes” to himself, over and over.

They entered the cool darkness of the Lord Chamberlain’s ante-room. There were people seated on the benches around the walls, some of them giving the impression of having been waiting a very long time. They all stared as Morrow ushered the peculiar group straight into Hoffs offices. The spectacled secretary opened the heavy double doors and stood by while first the old bald man, then his crony with the stick, then the madman Sulfur, and finally the nine-fingered primitive walked in past him.

Jezal made to follow them, but Morrow stood in the doorway and blocked his path. “Thank you so much for your help, Captain,” he said with a thin smile. “You may return to the gate.” Jezal peered over his shoulder into the room beyond. He saw the Lord Chamberlain frowning behind a long table. Arch Lector Sult was beside him, grim and suspicious. High Justice Marovia was there too, a smile on his wrinkled face. Three members of the Closed Council.

Then Morrow shut the door in his face.

Next

“I notice you have a new secretary,” said Glokta, as though just in passing.

The Arch Lector smiled. “Of course. The old one was not to my liking. He had a loose tongue, you know.” Glokta paused, his wine glass halfway to his mouth. “He had been passing our secrets on to the Mercers,” continued Sult carelessly, as if it was common knowledge. “I had been aware of it for some time. You needn’t worry though, he never learned anything I didn’t want him to know.”

Then… you knew who our traitor was. You knew all along. Glokta’s mind turned the events of the last few weeks around, pulled them apart and put them back together in this new light, trying them different ways until they fit, all the while struggling to conceal his surprise. You left Rews confession where you knew your secretary would see it. You knew the Mercers would find out who was on the list, and you guessed what they would do, knowing it would only play into your hands and give you the shovel with which to bury them. Meanwhile, you steered my suspicions towards Kalyne when you knew who the leak was all along. The whole business unfolded precisely according to your plan. The Arch Lector was looking back at him with a knowing smile. And I bet you guess what I’m thinking right now. I have been almost as much a piece in this game as that snivelling worm of a secretary. Glokta stifled a giggle. How fortunate for me that I was a piece on the right side. I never suspected a thing.

“He betrayed us for a disappointingly small sum of money,” continued Sult, his lip curling with distaste. “I daresay Kault would have given him ten times as much, if he had only had the wit to ask. The younger generation really have no ambition. They think they are a great deal cleverer than they are.” He studied Glokta with his cool blue eyes. I am part of the younger generation, more or less. I am justly humbled.

“Your secretary has been disciplined?”

The Arch Lector placed his glass carefully down on the table top, the base barely making a sound on the wood. “Oh yes. Most severely. It really isn’t necessary to spare him any further thought.” I bet it isn’t. Body found floating by the docks… “I must say, I was greatly surprised when you fixed on Superior Kalyne as the source of our leak. The man was from the old guard. A few indulgences to look the other way over trifling matters, of course, but to betray the Inquisition? To sell our secrets to the Mercers?” Sult snorted. “Never. You allowed your personal dislike for the man to cloud your judgement.”

“He seemed the only possibility,” muttered Glokta, but immediately regretted it. Foolish, foolish. The mistake is made. Better just to keep your mouth shut.

“Seemed?” The Arch Lector clicked his tongue in profound disapproval. “No, no, no, Inquisitor. Seemed is not good enough for us. In future, we’ll have just the facts, if you please. But don’t feel too badly about it—I allowed you to follow your instincts and, as things have turned out, your blunder has left our position much the stronger. Kalyne has been removed from office,” Body found floating… “and Superior Goyle is on his way from Angland to assume the role of Superior of Adua.”

Goyle? Coming here? That bastard, the new Superior of Adua? Glokta could not prevent his lip from curling.

“The two of you are not the greatest of friends, eh, Glokta?”

“He is a jailer, not an investigator. He is not interested in guilt or innocence. He is not interested in truth. He tortures for the thrill of it.”

“Oh, come now, Glokta. Are you telling me you feel no thrill when your prisoners spill their secrets? When they name the names? When they sign the confession?”

“I take no pleasure in it.” I take no pleasure in anything.

“And yet you do it so very well. In any case, Goyle is coming, and whatever you may think of him, he is one of us. A most capable and trustworthy man, dedicated to the service of crown and state. He was once a pupil of mine, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He had your job… so there is some future in it after all!” The Arch Lector giggled at his own joke. Glokta gave a thin smile of his own. “All in all, things have worked out very nicely, and you are to be congratulated on your part in it. A job well done.” Well enough done that I am still alive, at least. Sult raised his glass and they drank a joyless toast together, eyeing each other suspiciously over the rims of their glasses.