The Blade Itself

The Arch Lector was sitting in an ancient high chair at this table, deep in conversation with another man: a gaunt, balding, sour-faced old fellow in dark robes. Sult beamed up as Glokta shuffled towards them, the other man’s expression hardly changed.

“Why, Inquisitor Glokta, delighted you could join us. Do you know Surveyor General Halleck?”

“I have not had the pleasure,” said Glokta. Not that it looks like much of a pleasure, though. The old bureaucrat stood and shook Glokta’s hand without enthusiasm.

“And this is one of my Inquisitors, Sand dan Glokta.”

“Yes indeed,” murmured Halleck. “You used to be in the army, I believe. I saw you fence once.”

Glokta tapped his leg with his cane. “That can’t have been any time recently.”

“No.” There was a silence.

“The Surveyor General is likely soon to receive a most significant promotion,” said Sult. “To a chair on the Closed Council itself.” The Closed Council? Indeed? A most significant promotion.

Halleck seemed less than delighted, however. “I will consider it done when it is his Majesty’s pleasure to invite me,” he snapped, “and not before.”

Sult floated smoothly over this rocky ground. “I am sure the Council feels that you are the only candidate worth recommending, now that Sepp dan Teufel is no longer being considered.” Our old friend Teufel? No longer considered for what?

Halleck frowned and shook his head. “Teufel. I worked with the man for ten years. I never liked him,” or anyone else, by the look of you, “but I would never have thought him a traitor.”

Sult shook his head sadly. “We all feel it keenly, but here is his confession in black and white.” He held up the folded paper with a doleful frown. “I fear the roots of corruption can run very deep. Who would know that better than I, whose sorry task it is to weed the garden?”

“Indeed, indeed,” muttered Halleck, nodding grimly. “You deserve all of our thanks for that. You also, Inquisitor.”

“Oh no, not I,” said Glokta humbly. The three men looked at each other in a sham of mutual respect.

Halleck pushed back his chair. “Well, taxes do not collect themselves. I must return to my work.”

“Enjoy your last few days in the job,” said Sult. “I give you my word that the King will send for you soon!”

Halleck allowed himself the thinnest of smiles, then nodded stiffly to them and stalked away. The secretary ushered him out and pulled the heavy door shut. There was silence. But I’m damned if I’ll be the one to break it.

“I expect you’re wondering what this was all about, eh, Glokta?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, your Eminence.”

“I bet it had.” Sult swept from his chair and strode across to the window, his white-gloved hands clasped behind his back. “The world changes, Glokta, the world changes. The old order crumbles. Loyalty, duty, pride, honour. Notions that have fallen far from fashion. What has replaced them?” He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, and his lip curled. “Greed. Merchants have become the new power in the land. Bankers, shopkeepers, salesmen. Little men, with little minds and little ambitions. Men whose only loyalty is to themselves, whose only duty is to their own purses, whose only pride is in swindling their betters, whose only honour is weighed out in silver coin.” No need to ask where you stand on the merchant class.

Sult scowled out at the view, then turned back into the room. “Now it seems anyone’s son can get an education, and a business, and become rich. The merchant guilds: the Mercers, the Spicers and their like, grow steadily in wealth and influence. Jumped-up, posturing commoners dictating to their natural betters. Their fat and greedy fingers, fumbling at the strings of power. It is almost too much to stand.” He gave a shudder as he paced across the floor.

“I will speak honestly with you, Inquisitor.” The Arch Lector waved his graceful hand as though his honesty were a priceless gift. “The Union has never seemed more powerful, has never controlled more land, but beneath the façade we are weak. It is hardly a secret that the King has become entirely unable to make his own decisions. Crown Prince Ladisla is a fop, surrounded by flatterers and fools, caring for nothing but gambling and clothes. Prince Raynault is far better fitted to rule, but he is the younger brother. The Closed Council, whose task it should be to steer this leaking vessel, is packed with frauds and schemers. Some may be loyal, some are definitely not, each intent on pulling the King his own way.” How frustrating, when I suppose they should all be pulling him in yours?