Joe Abercrombie - The Blade Itself

Which, indeed, it probably would be.

Plainly, she had been involved in a most violent melee, hand to hand. Above her black collar, her neck was a mass of mottled bruises. There were more around her black mask, a lot more, and a long cut across her forehead. One of her drooping hands was heavily bandaged, the knuckles of the other were scratched and scabbed over. She’s taken more than a couple of knocks. Fighting hard, against someone who meant business.

The tiny bell jumped and tinkled. “Inquisitor Glokta,” said the secretary, as he hurried out from behind his desk to open the door, “his Eminence will see you now.”

Glokta sighed, grunted and heaved on his cane as he got to his feet. “Good luck,” said the woman as he limped past.

“What?”

She gave a barely perceptible nod towards the Arch Lector’s office. “He’s in a hell of a mood today.”

As the door opened, Sult’s voice washed out into the ante-room, changing from a muffled murmuring into an all-out scream. The secretary jerked back from the gap as if slapped in the face.

“Twenty Practicals!” shrieked the Arch Lector, from beyond the archway. “Twenty! We should have been questioning that bitch now, instead of sitting here, licking our wounds! How many Practicals?”

“Twenty, Arch Lec—”

“Twenty! Damn it!” Glokta took a deep breath and insinuated himself through the door. “And how many dead?” The Arch Lector was striding briskly up and down the tiled floor of his huge circular office, waving his long arms in the air. He was dressed all in white, as spotless as ever. Though I fancy a hair is out of place, maybe even two. He must truly be in a fury. “How many?”

“Seven,” mumbled Superior Goyle, hunched into his chair.

“A third of them! A third! How many injured?”

“Eight.”

“Most of the rest! Against how many?”

“In all, there were six—”

“Really?” The Arch Lector thumped his fists on the table, leaning down over the shrinking Superior. “I heard two. Two!” he screamed, pacing once more round and round the table, “and both of them savages! Two I heard! A white one and a black one, and the black one a woman! A woman!” He kicked savagely at the chair next to Goyle and it wobbled back and forth on its feet. “And what’s worse, there were countless witnesses to this disgrace! Did I not say discreet? What part of the word discreet is beyond your comprehension, Goyle?”

“But Arch Lector, circumstances cannot—”

“Cannot?” Sult’s screech rose an entire octave higher. “Cannot? How dare you give me cannot , Goyle? Discreet I asked for, and you gave me bloody slaughter across half the Agriont, and failed into the bargain! We look like fools! Far worse, we look like weak fools! My enemies on the Closed Council will waste no time in turning this farce to their advantage. Marovia’s already stirring trouble, the old windbag, whining about liberty and tighter reins and all the rest of it! Damn lawyers! They had their way, we’d get nothing done! And you’re making it happen, Goyle! I’m stalling, and I’m saying sorry, and I’m trying to put things in the best light, but a turd’s a turd, whatever light it’s in! Do you have any notion of the damage you’ve inflicted? Of the months of hard work you’ve undone?”

“But, Arch Lector, have they not now left the—”

“They’ll be back, you cretin! He did not go to all this trouble simply to leave, dolt! Yes they’ve gone, idiot, and they’ve taken the answers with them! Who they are, what they want, who is behind them! Left? Left? Damn you, Goyle!”

“I am wretched, your Eminence.”

“You are less than wretched!”

“I cannot but apologise.”

“You’re lucky you’re not apologising over a slow fire!” Sult sneered his disgust. “Now get out of my sight!”

Goyle flashed a look of the most profound hatred at Glokta as he cringed his way out of the room. Goodbye, Superior Goyle, goodbye. The Arch Lector’s fury could not fall upon a more deserving candidate. Glokta could not suppress the tiniest of smiles as he watched him go.

“Something amusing you?” Sult’s voice was ice as he held out his white gloved hand, purple stone flashing on his finger.

Glokta bent to kiss it. “Of course not, your Eminence.”

“Good, because you’ve nothing to be amused about, I can tell you! Keys?” he sneered. “Stories? Scrolls? What could have possessed me to listen to your drivel?”

“I know, Arch Lector, I apologise.” Glokta edged humbly into the chair that Goyle had so recently vacated.

“You apologise, do you? Everyone apologises! Some good that does me! Fewer apologies and more successes is what I need! And to think, I had such high hopes for you! Still, I suppose we must work with the tools we have.”

Meaning? But Glokta said nothing.

“We have problems. Very serious problems, in the South.”

“The South, Arch Lector?”

“Dagoska. The situation there is grave. Gurkish troops are flocking to the peninsula. They already outnumber our garrison by ten to one, and all our strength is committed in the North. Three regiments of the King’s Own remain in Adua, but with the peasants getting out of hand across half of Midderland, they cannot be spared. Superior Davoust was keeping me informed in weekly letters. He was my eyes, Glokta, do you understand? He suspected that there was a conspiracy afoot within the city. A conspiracy intending to deliver Dagoska into the hands of the Gurkish. Three weeks ago the letters stopped, and yesterday I learned that Davoust has disappeared. Disappeared! A Superior of the Inquisition! Vanished into thin air! I am blind, Glokta. I am fumbling in the dark at a most crucial time! I need someone there that I can trust, do you understand?”

Glokta’s heart was thumping. “Me?”

“Oh you’re learning,” sneered Sult. “You are the new Superior of Dagoska.”

“Me?”

“Many congratulations, but forgive me if we leave the feast until a quieter moment! You, Glokta, you!” The Arch Lector leaned down over him. “Go to Dagoska and dig. Find out what happened to Davoust. Weed the garden down there. Root out everything disloyal. Everything and anyone. Light a fire under them! I need to know what’s going on, if you have to toast the Lord Governor until he drips gravy!”

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.”