The Blade Itself

Severard’s lamp barely lit the cavernous space of the entrance lull. Two enormous, curved, slumping staircases loomed out of the gloom opposite them. A wide balcony ran around the walls at first floor level, but a great section of it had collapsed and crashed through the damp floorboards below, so that one of the stairways ended, amputated, hanging in the empty air. The damp floor was strewn with lumps of broken plaster, fallen roofing slates, shattered timbers and a spattering of grey bird droppings. The night sky peered in through several yawning holes in the roof. Glokta could hear the vague sound of pigeons cooing in amongst the shadowy rafters, and somewhere the slow dripping of water.

What a place. Glokta stifled a smile. It reminds me of myself, in a way. We both were magnificent once, and we both have our best days far behind us.

“It’s big enough, wouldn’t you say?” asked Severard, picking his way in amongst the rubble towards a yawning doorway under the broken staircase, his lamp casting strange, slanting shadows as he moved.

“Oh, I’d have thought so, unless we get more than a thousand prisoners at once.” Glokta shuffled after him, leaning heavily on his cane, worried about his footing on the slimy floor. I’ll slip and fall right on my arse, right here in all this bird shit. That would be perfect.

The arch opened into a crumbling hall, rotten plaster falling away in sheets, showing the damp bricks beneath. Gloomy doorways passed by on either side. The sort of place that would make a man nervous, if he was prone to nervousness. He might imagine unpleasant things in these chambers, just beyond the lamp light, and horrible acts taking place in the darkness. He looked up at Severard, ambling jauntily along in front, tuneless whistling vaguely audible from behind his mask, and frowned. But we are not prone to nervousness. Perhaps we are the unpleasant things. Perhaps the acts are ours.

“How big is this place?” asked Glokta as he hobbled along.

“Thirty-five rooms, not counting the servant’s quarters.”

“A palace. How the hell did you find it?”

“I used to sleep here, some nights. After my mother died. I found a way in. The roof was still mostly on back then, and it was a dry place to sleep. Dry and safe. More or less.” Ah, what a hard life it’s been. Thug and torturer is a real step up for you, isn’t it? Every man has his excuses, and the more vile the man becomes, the more touching the story has to be. What is my story now, I wonder?

“Ever resourceful, eh, Severard?”

“That’s what you pay me for, Inquisitor.”

They passed into a wide space: a drawing room, a study, a ball-room even, it was big enough. Once beautiful panels were sagging from the walls, covered in mould and flaking gilt paint. Severard moved over to one, still attached, and pushed it firmly at one side. There was a soft click as it swung open, revealing a dark archway beyond. A hidden door? How delightful. How sinister. How very appropriate.

“This place is as full of surprises as you are,” said Glokta, limping painfully towards the opening.

“And you wouldn’t believe the price I got.”

“We bought this?”

“Oh no. I did. With Rews’ money. And now I’m renting it to you.” Severard’s eyes sparkled in the lamplight. “It’s a gold mine!”

“Hah!” laughed Glokta, as he shuffled carefully down the steps. All this, and a head for business too. Perhaps I’ll be working for Arch Lector Severard one of these days. Stranger things have happened. Glokta’s shadow loomed out ahead of him into the darkness as he laboured crab-like down the steps, his right hand feeling out the gaps between the rough stone blocks to lend him some support.

“The cellars go on for miles,” muttered Severard from behind. “We have our own private access to the canals, and to the sewers too, if you’re interested in sewers.” They passed a dark opening on their left, then another on their right, always going slowly downwards. “Frost tells me you can get all the way from here to the Agriont, without once coming up for air.”

“That could be useful.”

“I’d say so, if you can stand the smell.”