Joe Abercrombie - The Blade Itself

He was evidently not. His face had turned very grim. “Who saw the confession?”

“Me, and my two Practicals, of course.”

“You have absolute confidence in them?”

“Absolute.” There was a pause. The boat was drifting, rudderless, as the soldiers scrambled about, oars sticking up in the air, the man in the water splashing and laughing, spraying water over his friends.

“The confession was in my office for some time,” murmured the Arch Lector. “Some members of my staff could have seen it. Could have.”

“You have absolute confidence in them, your Eminence?”

Sult stared at Glokta for a long, icy moment. “They wouldn’t dare. They know me better than that.”

“That leaves Superior Kalyne,” said Glokta quietly.

The Arch Lector’s lips hardly moved as he spoke. “You must tread carefully, Inquisitor, very carefully. The ground is not at all safe where you are walking. Fools do not become Superiors of the Inquisition, despite appearances. Kalyne has many friends, both within the House of Questions and outside it. Powerful friends. Any accusation against him must be backed up by the very strongest of proof.” Sult stopped suddenly, waiting for a small group of ladies to pass out of earshot. “The very strongest of proof,” he hissed, once they had moved away. “You must find me this assassin.”

Easier said than done. “Of course, your Eminence, but my investigation has reached something of a dead end.”

“Not quite. We still have one card left to play. Rews himself.”

Rews? “But, Arch Lector, he will be in Angland by now.” Sweating down a mine or some such. If he has even lasted this long.

“No. He is here in the Agriont, under lock and key. I thought it best to hold on to him.” Glokta did his utmost to contain his surprise. Clever. Very clever. Fools do not become Arch Lectors either, it seems. “Rews will be your bait. I will have my secretary carry a message to Kalyne, letting him know that I have relented. That I am prepared to let the Mercers continue to operate, but under tighter control. That as a gesture of goodwill I have let Rews go. If Kalyne is the source of our leak, I daresay he will let the Mercers know that Rews is free. I daresay they will send this assassin to punish him for his loose tongue. I daresay you could take him while he is trying. If the killer doesn’t come, well, we might have to look for our traitor elsewhere, and we have lost nothing.”

“An excellent plan, your Eminence.”

Sult stared at him coldly. “Of course. You will need somewhere to operate, somewhere far from the House of Questions. I will make the funds available, have Rews delivered to your Practicals, and let you know when Kalyne has the information. Find me this assassin, Glokta, and squeeze him. Squeeze him until the pips squeak.” The boat lurched wildly as the soldiers tried to haul their wet companion in, then it suddenly turned right over, dumping them all into the water.

“I want names,” hissed Sult, glowering at the splashing soldiers, “I want names, and evidence, and documents, and people who will stand up in Open Council and point fingers.” He stood up smoothly from the bench. “Keep me informed.” He strode off towards the House of Questions, feet crunching on the gravel of the path, and Glokta watched him go. An excellent plan. I’m glad you’re on my side, Arch Lector. You are on my side, aren’t you?

The soldiers had succeeded in hauling the upended boat onto the bank and were standing, dripping wet, shouting at one another, no longer so good-humoured. One of the oars was still floating, abandoned in the water, drifting gradually towards the point where the stream flowed from the lake. Soon it would pass under the bridge and be carried out, beneath the great walls of the Agriont and into the moat. Glokta watched it turning slowly round in the water. A mistake. One should attend to the details. It is easy to forget the little things, but without the oar, the boat is useless.

He let his gaze wander across some of the other faces in the park. His eye alighted on a handsome pair sitting on a bench by the lake. The young man was speaking quietly to the girl, a sad and earnest expression on his face. She got up quickly, moving away from him with her hands over her face. Ah, the pain of the jilted lover. The loss, the anger, the shame. It seems as though you’ll never recover. What poet was it who wrote there’s no pain worse than the pain of a broken heart? Sentimental shit. He should have spent more time in the Emperor’s prisons. He smiled, opening his mouth and licking the empty gums where his front teeth used to be. Broken hearts heal with time, but broken teeth never do.

Glokta looked at the young man. He had an expression of slight amusement on his face as he watched the weeping girl walk away. The young bastard. I wonder if he’s broken as many hearts as I did, in my youth? It hardly seems possible now. It takes me half an hour just to pluck up the courage to stand. The only women I’ve made cry lately have been the wives of those I’ve had exiled to Angland—

“Sand.”

Glokta turned around. “Lord Marshal Varuz, what an honour.”

“Oh no, no,” said the old soldier, sitting down on the bench with the swift, precise movements of the fencing master. “You look well,” he said, but without really looking. I look crippled, you mean. “How are you, my old friend?” I’m crippled, you pompous old ass. And friend, is it? All those years since I came back, and you have never sought me out, not once. Is that a friendship?

“Well enough, thank you, Lord Marshal.”

Varuz shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “My latest student, Captain Luthar… perhaps you know him?”

“We are acquainted.”

“You should see his forms.” Varuz shook his head sadly. “He has the talent, alright, though he will never be in your class, Sand.” I don’t know. I hope some day he’ll be just as crippled as I am. “But he has plenty of talent, enough to win. Only he’s wasting it. Throwing it away.” Oh, the tragedy of it. I am so upset I could be sick. Had I eaten anything this morning.

“He is lazy, Sand, and stubborn. He lacks courage. He lacks dedication. His heart is just not in it, and time is running out. I was wondering, if you have the time of course,” Varuz looked Glokta in the eye for just an instant, “whether you might be able to speak to him for me.”

I can hardly wait! Lecturing that whining ass would be the realisation of all my dreams. You arrogant old dolt, how dare you? You built your reputation on my successes, then when I needed your help you cut me off. And now you come to me, and seek my help, and call me friend?

“Of course, Marshal Varuz, I would be glad to speak to him. Anything for an old friend.”

“Excellent, excellent! I’m sure you’ll make all the difference! I train him every morning, in that courtyard near the House of the Maker, where I used to train you…” The old Marshal trailed off awkwardly.

“I will come as soon as my duties permit.”

“Of course, your duties…” Varuz was already getting up, evidently keen to be on his way. Glokta held out his hand, making the old soldier pause for a moment. You needn’t worry, Lord Marshal, I am not contagious. Varuz gave it a limp shake, as though worried it might snap off, then he mumbled his excuses and strode away, head held high. The dripping soldiers bowed and saluted as he walked past, somewhat embarrassed.

Glokta stretched out his leg, wondering whether to get up. And go where? The world will not end if I sit here a moment longer. There is no rush. No rush.