The Blade Itself

“This is a sham!” bellowed Lord Brock, leaping to his feet. “This is an insult!” Few voices joined him in support however, and those that did were half-hearted. Lord Heugen was notable for his careful silence, keenly studying the fine leather of his shoes. Barezin had shrunk back into his seat, looking half the size he had been a minute before. Lord Isher was staring off at the wall, fingering his heavy, golden chain, looking bored, as though the fate of the Guild of Mercers was of interest to him no longer.

Brock appealed to the High Justice himself, motionless in his tall chair at the high table. “Lord Marovia, I beg of you! You are a reasonable man! Do not allow this… travesty!”

The hall fell silent, waiting for the old man’s reply. He frowned and stroked his long beard. He glanced across at the grinning Arch Lector. He cleared his throat. “I feel your pain, Lord Brock, indeed I do, but it seems that this is not a day for reasonable men. The Closed Council has examined the case and is well satisfied. My hands are tied.”

Brock worked his mouth, tasting defeat. “This is not justice!” he shouted, turning round to address his peers. “These men have plainly been tortured!”

Arch Lector Sult’s mouth twisted with scorn. “How would you have us deal with traitors and criminals?” he cried in a piercing voice. “Would you raise a shield, Lord Brock, for the disloyal to hide behind?” He thumped the table, as if it too might be guilty of high treason. “I for one will not see our great nation handed over to its enemies! Neither enemies without, nor enemies within!”

“Down with the Mercers!” came a cry from the public balcony.

“Hard justice for traitors!”

“The King’s Justice!” bellowed a fat man near the back. There was a surge of anger and agreement from the floor, and calls for harsh measures and stiff penalties.

Brock looked round for his allies on the front row, but found none. He bunched his fists. “This is no justice!” he shouted, pointing at the three prisoners. “This is no proof!”

“His Majesty disagrees!” bellowed Hoff, “and does not require your permission!” He held up a large document. “The Guild of Mercers is hereby dissolved! Their licence revoked by Royal decree! His Majesty’s Commission for Trade and Commerce will, over the coming months, review applications for trade rights with the city of Westport. Until such time as suitable candidates are found, the routes will be managed by capable, loyal, hands. The hands of His Majesty’s Inquisition.”

Arch Lector Sult humbly inclined his head, oblivious to the furious cries from representatives and public gallery alike.

“Inquisitor Glokta!” continued the Lord Chamberlain, “the Open Council thanks you for your diligence, and asks that you perform one more service in this matter.” Hoff held out a smaller paper. “This is a warrant for the arrest of Magister Kault, bearing the King’s own signature. We would ask that you serve it forthwith.” Glokta bowed stiffly and took the paper from the Lord Chamberlain’s outstretched hand. “You,” said Hoff, turning his eye on Jalenhorm.

“Lieutenant Jalenhorm, my Lord!” shouted the big man, stepping smartly forward.

“Whatever,” snapped Hoff impatiently, “take twenty of the King’s Own and escort Inquisitor Glokta to the Mercers’ Guildhall. Ensure that nothing and no one leaves the building without his orders!”

“At once, my Lord!” Jalenhorm crossed the floor and ran up the aisle toward the exit, holding the hilt of his sword in one hand to stop it knocking against his leg. Glokta limped after him, cane tapping on the steps, the warrant for the arrest of Magister Kault crumpled in his tightly clenched fist. The monstrous albino had pulled the prisoners to their feet meanwhile, and was leading them, rattling and lolling, off towards the door by which they had entered.

“Lord Chamberlain!” shouted Brock, with one last effort. Jezal wondered how much money he must have made from the Mercers. How much he had hoped still to make. A very great deal, evidently.

But Hoff was unmoved. “That concludes our business for today, my Lords!” Marovia was on his feet before the Lord Chamberlain had finished speaking, evidently keen to be away. The great ledgers were thumped shut. The fate of the honourable Guild of Mercers was sealed. Excited babbling filled the air once more, gradually rising in volume and soon joined by clattering and stamping as the representatives began to rise and leave the room. Arch Lector Sult remained seated, watching his beaten adversaries file reluctantly off the front row. Jezal met the desperate eyes of Salem Rews one last time as he was led towards the small door, then Practical Frost jerked at the chain and he was lost in the darkness beyond.