The Blade Itself

Luthar was already halfway back across the bridge, hurrying as though he had a devil a stride behind. Ninefingers was not far away, breathing hard and muttering something in Northern over and over. “Still alive,” Glokta thought it might be. His big hands were clenched tight around that square metal box, tendons standing out as though it weighed as much as an anvil. There was more to this trip than just proving a point. What is it that they brought out from there? What weighs so heavily? He glanced back into the darkness, and shivered. He was not sure he even wanted to know.

Bayaz strolled out of the tunnel and into the open air, looking smug as ever. “So, Inquisitor,” he said breezily. “How did you find your trip into the House of the Maker?”

A twisted, strange and horrible nightmare. I might even have preferred to return to the Emperor’s prisons for a few hours. “Something to do of a morning,” he snapped.

“I’m so glad you found it diverting,” chuckled Bayaz, as he pulled the rod of dark metal out from his shirt. “And tell me, do you still believe that I’m a liar? Or have your suspicions finally been laid to rest?”

Glokta frowned at the key. He frowned at the old man. He frowned into the crushing darkness of the Maker’s House. My suspicions grow with every passing moment. They are never laid to rest. They only change shape. “Honestly? I don’t know what to believe.”

“Good. Knowing your own ignorance is the first step to enlightenment. Between you and me, though, I’d think of something else to tell the Arch Lector.” Glokta felt his eyelid flickering. “You’d better start across, eh, Inquisitor? While I lock up?”

The plunge to the cold water below no longer seemed to hold much fear. If I were to fall, at least I would die in the light. Glokta looked back only once, as he heard the doors of the Maker’s House shut with a soft click, the circles slide back into place. All as it was before we arrived. He turned his prickling back, sucked his gums against the familiar waves of nausea, and cursed and struggled his limping way across the bridge.

Luthar was hammering desperately on the old gates at the far end. “Let us in!” he was nearly sobbing as Glokta hobbled up, an edge of cracked panic to his voice. “Let us in!” The door finally wobbled open to reveal a shocked-looking Warden. Such a shame. I was sure that Captain Luthar was about to burst into tears. The proud winner of the Contest, the Union’s bravest young son, the very flower of manhood, blubbing on his knees. That sight could almost have made the trip worthwhile. Luthar darted through the open gate and Ninefingers followed grimly after, cradling the metal box in his arms. The Warden squinted at Glokta as he limped up to the gate. “Back so soon?”

You old dolt. “What the hell are you talking about, so soon?”

“I’m only halfway through my eggs. You’ve been gone less than half an hour.”

Glokta barked a joyless laugh. “Half a day, perhaps.” But he frowned as he peered past into the courtyard. The shadows were almost exactly where they had been when they left. Early morning still, but how?

“The Maker once told me that time is all in the mind.” Glokta winced as he turned his head. Bayaz had come up behind him, and was tapping the side of his bald skull with a thick finger. “It could be worse, believe me. It’s when you come out before you went in that you really start to worry.” He smiled, eyes glinting in the light through the doorway. Playing the fool? Or trying to make a fool of me? Either way, these games grow tiresome.

“Enough riddles,” sneered Glokta. “Why not just tell me what you’re after?”

The First of the Magi, if such he was, grinned still wider. “I like you, Inquisitor, I really do. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the only honest man left in this whole damn country. We should have a talk at some point, you and I. A talk about what I want, and about what you want.” His smile vanished. “But not today.”

And he stepped through the open door, leaving Glokta behind in the shadows.

Nobody’s Dog