The Blade Itself

Glokta swallowed. “Toast the Lord Governor?”

“Is there an echo in here?” snarled Sult, looming even lower. “Sniff out the rot, and cut it away! Hack it off! Burn it out! All of it, wherever it is! Take charge of the city’s defences yourself if you must. You were a soldier!” He reached out and slid a single sheet of parchment across the table top. “This is the King’s writ, signed by all twelve chairs on the Closed Council. All twelve. I sweated blood to get it. Within the city of Dagoska, you will have full powers.”

Glokta stared down at the document. A simple sheet of cream-coloured paper, black writing, a huge red seal at the bottom. We, the undersigned, confer upon His Majesty’s faithful servant, Superior Sand dan Glokta, our full powers and authority… Several blocks of neat writing, and below, two columns of names. Crabby blotches, flowing swirls, near illegible scrawls. Hoff, Sult, Marovia, Varuz, Halleck, Burr, Torlichorm, and all the rest. Powerful names. Glokta felt faint as he picked up the document in his two trembling hands. It seemed heavy.

“Don’t let it go to your head! You still have to tread carefully. We can stand no more embarrassments, but the Gurkish must be kept out at all costs, at least until this business in Angland is settled. At all costs, do you understand?”

I understand. A posting to a city surrounded by enemies and riddled with traitors, where one Superior has already mysteriously disappeared. Closer to a knife in the back than a promotion, but we must work with the tools we have. “I understand, Arch Lector.”

“Good. Keep me well informed. I want to be swamped by your letters.”

“Of course.”

“You have two Practicals, correct?”

“Yes, your Eminence, Frost and Severard, both very—”

“Not nearly enough! You won’t be able to trust anyone down there, not even the Inquisition.” Sult seemed to think about that for a moment. “Especially the Inquisition. I have picked out a half dozen others whose skills are proven, including Practical Vitari.”

That woman, watching over my shoulder? “But, Arch Lector—”

“Don’t ‘but’ me, Glokta!” hissed Sult. “Don’t you dare ‘but’ me, not today! You’re not half as crippled as you could be! Not half as crippled, you understand?”

Glokta bowed his head. “I apologise.”

“You’re thinking, aren’t you? I can see the cogs turning. Thinking you don’t want one of Goyle’s people getting in the way? Well, before she worked for him she worked for me. A Styrian, from Sipano. Cold as the snow, those people, and she’s the coldest of them, I can tell you. So you needn’t worry. Not about Goyle, anyway” No. Only about you, which is far worse.

“I will be honoured to have her along.” I will be damned careful.

“Be as honoured as you damn well please, just don’t let me down! Make a mess of this and you’ll need more than that piece of paper to save you. A ship is waiting at the docks. Leave. Now.”

“Of course, your Eminence.”

Sult turned away and strode over to the window. Glokta quietly got up, quietly slid his chair under the table, quietly shuffled across the room. The Arch Lector was still standing, hands clasped behind him, as Glokta ever so carefully pulled the doors to. It was not until they clicked shut that he realised he had been holding his breath.

“How’d it go?”

Glokta turned round sharply, his neck giving a painful click.

Strange, how I never learn not to do that. Practical Vitari was still flopped in her chair, looking up at him with tired eyes. She did not seem to have moved the whole time he was inside. How did it go? He ran his tongue around his mouth, over his empty gums, thinking about it. That remains to be seen. “Interesting,” he said in the end. “I am going to Dagoska.”

“So I hear.” The woman did indeed have an accent, now he thought about it. A slight whiff of the Free Cities.

“I understand you’re coming with me.”

“I understand I am.” But she did not move.

“We are in something of a hurry.”

“I know.” She held out her hand. “Could you help me up?”