The Blade Itself

“I have made some significant progress with acids recently!” cried the Adeptus, voice cracking. “You really should see those as well!” He took a shuddering breath. “Tell the Arch Lector… significant progress!” He dissolved into another fit of coughing, and Glokta shut the door tightly behind him.

A waste of my time. Our Bayaz could not have smuggled barrels of powder into that room. Even then, how much smoke, how great a smell would it have made? A waste of my time.

Silber was lurking in the hallway outside. “Is there anything else that we can show you, Inquisitor?”

Glokta paused for a moment. “Does anyone here know anything about magic?”

The Administrator’s jaw muscles clenched. “A joke of course. Perhaps—”

“Magic, I said. “

Silber narrowed his eyes. “You must understand that we are a scientific institution. The practice of magic, so called, would be most… inappropriate.”

Glokta frowned at the man. I’m not asking you to get your wand out, fool. “From a historical standpoint,” he snapped, “the Magi, and so on. Bayaz!”

“Ah, from a historical standpoint, I see.” Silber’s taut face relaxed slightly. “Our library contains a wide range of ancient texts, some of them dating back to the period when magic was considered… less remarkable.”

“Who can assist me?”

The Administrator raised his brows. “I am afraid that the Adeptus Historical is, ah, something of a relic.”

“I need to speak with him, not fence with him.”

“Of course, Inquisitor, this way.”

Glokta grabbed the handle of an ancient-looking door, studded with black rivets, began to turn it. He felt Silber seize his arm.

“No!” he snapped, guiding Glokta away down a corridor beside. “The stacks are down here.”

The Adeptus Historical seemed indeed to be a part of ancient history himself. His face was a mask of lined and sagging half-transparent skin. Sparse hairs, snowy white, stuck unkempt from his head. There were only a quarter as many as there should have been, but each was four times longer than you would expect, hence his eyebrows were thin, yet sprouted out to impressive length in all directions, like the whiskers of a cat. His mouth hung slack, weak, and toothless, hands were withered gloves, several sizes too big. Only his eyes showed any trace of life, peering up at Glokta and the administrator as they approached.

“Visitors, is it?” croaked the old man, apparently talking to a large black crow perched on his desk.

“This is Inquisitor Glokta!” bellowed the Administrator, leaning down towards the old man’s ear.

“Glokta?”

“From the Arch Lector!”

“Is it?” The Adeptus Historical squinted up with his ancient eyes.

“He’s somewhat deaf,” Silber murmured, “but no one knows these books like he does.” He thought about it for a moment, peering round at the endless stacks, disappearing into the gloom. “No one else knows these books at all.”

“Thank you,” said Glokta. The Administrator nodded and strode off towards the stairs. Glokta took a step towards the old man and the crow leaped from the table and scrambled into the air, shedding feathers, flapping madly around the ceiling. Glokta hobbled painfully back. I was sure the damn thing was stuffed. He watched it suspiciously until it clattered to a halt on top of one of the shelves and perched there motionless, staring at him with its beady yellow eyes.

Glokta pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “I need to know about Bayaz.”

“Bayaz,” muttered the ancient Adeptus. “The first letter in the alphabet of the old tongue, of course.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“The world’s brimming full of what you don’t know, young man.” The bird gave a sudden harsh caw, horribly loud in the dusty silence of the stacks. “Brimming full.”

“Then let’s begin my education. It’s the man Bayaz, I need to know about. The First of the Magi.”

“Bayaz. The name great Juvens gave to his first apprentice. One letter, one name. First apprentice, first letter of the alphabet, you understand?”

“I’m just about keeping up. Did he really exist?”

The ancient Adeptus scowled. “Unquestionably. Did you not have a tutor as a young man?”

“I did, unfortunately.”

“Did he not teach you history?”

“He tried, but my mind was on fencing and girls.”

“Ah. I lost interest in such things a long time ago.”

“So did I. Let us return to Bayaz.”

The old man sighed. “Long ago, before there was a Union, Midderland was made of many petty kingdoms, often at war with one another, rising and falling with the passing years. One of these was ruled by a man called Harod, later to become Harod the Great. You’ve heard of him, I assume?”

“Of course.”

“Bayaz came to Harod’s throne room, and promised to make him King of all Midderland if he did as he was told. Harod, being young and headstrong, did not believe him, but Bayaz broke the long table with his Art.”

“Magic, eh?”