Joe Abercrombie - Last Argument of Kings

“A shred of cloth taken from the Emissary’s bed-chamber,” murmured Glokta. “Blood daubed on his robe.” And so an innocent man went to the gallows, and the war between Gurkhul and the Union blossomed. Two obstacles swept neatly away with one sharp flick of the broom.

“Peace with the Gurkish did not suit my purposes. It was sloppy of Sulfur to leave such blatant clues. But then he never expected you to care about the truth when there was a convenient explanation to hand.”

Glokta nodded, slowly, as the shape of things unfolded in his mind. “He heard of my investigations from Severard, and I received a charming visit from your walking corpse, Mauthis, telling me to halt or die.”

“Exactly so. On other occasions Yoru took another face, and called himself the Tanner, and incited a few peasants to some rather unbecoming behaviour.” Bayaz examined his fingernails. “All in a good cause, though, Superior.”

“To lend glamour to your latest puppet. To make him a favourite with the people. To make him familiar to the nobles, to the Closed Council. You were the source of the rumours.”

“Heroic acts in the ruined west? Jezal dan Luthar?” Bayaz snorted. “He did little more than whine about the rain.”

“Amazing the rubbish idiots will believe if you shout it loudly enough. And you rigged the Contest too.”

“You noticed that?” Bayaz’ smile grew wider. “I am impressed, Superior, I am most impressed. You have fumbled so very close to the truth this whole time.” And yet so very far away. “I wouldn’t feel badly about it. I have many advantages. Sult groped towards the answers, in the end, but far too late. I suspected from the first what his plans might be.”

“Which is why you asked me to investigate?”

“The fact that you did not oblige me until the very last moment was the source of some annoyance.”

“Asking nicely might have helped.” It would have been refreshing, at least. “I regret that I found myself in a difficult position. A case of too many masters.”

“No longer, though, eh? I was almost disappointed when I found out how limited Sult’s studies were. Salt, and candles, and incantations? How pathetically adolescent. Enough to put a timely end to that would-be democrat Marovia, perhaps, but nothing to pose the slightest threat to me.”

Glokta frowned down at the squares board. Sult and Marovia. For all their cleverness, for all their power, their ugly little struggle was an irrelevance. They were small pieces in this game. So small they never even guessed how vast the board truly was. Which makes me what? A speck of dust between the squares, at best.

“What of the mysterious visitor to your chambers the day I first met you?” A visitor to my chambers too, perhaps? A woman, and cold…

Angry lines cut across Bayaz’ forehead. “A mistake made in my youth. You will speak no more of it.”

“Oh, as you command. And the Great Prophet Khalul?”

“The war will continue. On different battlefields, with different soldiers. But this will be the last battle fought with the weapons of the past. The magic leaks from the world. The lessons of the Old Time fade into the darkness of history. A new age dawns.”

The Magus made a careless movement with one hand and something flickered into the air, clattered to the centre of the board and spun round and round until it lay flat, with the unmistakable sound of falling money. A golden fifty-mark piece, glinting warm and welcoming in the lamplight. Glokta almost laughed. Ah, even now, even here, it always comes down to this. Everything has a price.

“It was money that bought victory in King Guslav’s half-baked Gurkish war,” said Bayaz. “It was money that united the Open Council behind their bastard king. It was money that brought Duke Orso rushing to the defence of his daughter and tipped the balance in our favour. All my money.”

“It was money that enabled me to hold Dagoska as long as I did.”

“And you know whose.” Who would have thought? More first of the moneylenders than First of the Magi. Open Council and Closed, commoners and kings, merchants and torturers, all caught up in a golden web. A web of debts, and lies, and secrets, each strand plucked in its proper place, played like a harp by a master. And what of poor Superior Glokta, fumbling buffoon? Is there a place for his sour note in this sweet music? Or is the loan of my life about to be called in?

“I suppose I should congratulate you on a hand well played,” muttered Glokta bitterly.

“Bah.” Bayaz dismissed it with a wave. “Forcing a clutch of primitives together under that cretin Harod and making them act like civilised men. Keeping the Union in one piece through the civil war and bringing that fool Arnault to the throne. Guiding that coward Casamir to the conquest of Angland. Those were hands well played. This was nothing. I hold all the cards and always will do. I have—”

I tire of this. “And blah, blah, fucking blah. The stench of self-satisfaction is becoming quite suffocating. If you mean to kill me, blast me to a cinder now and let’s be done, but, for pity’s sake, subject me to no more of your boasting.”

They sat still for a long moment, gazing at each other in silence across the darkened table. Long enough for Glokta’s leg to start trembling, for his eye to start blinking, for his toothless mouth to turn dry as the desert. Sweet anticipation. Will it be now? Will it be now? Will it be— “Kill you?” asked Bayaz mildly. “And rob myself of your winning sense of humour?”

Not now. “Then… why reveal your game to me?”

“Because I will soon be leaving Adua.” The Magus leaned forwards, his hard face sliding into the light. “Because it is necessary that you understand where the power lies, and always will lie. It is necessary that you, unlike Sult, unlike Marovia, have a proper perspective. It is necessary… if you are to serve me.”

“To serve you?” I would sooner spend two years in the stinking darkness. I would sooner have my leg chopped to mincemeat. I would sooner have my teeth pulled from my head. But since I have done all those things already…

“You will take the task that Feekt once had. The task that a score of great men bore before him. You will be my representative, here in the Union. You will manage the Closed Council, the Open Council, and our mutual friend the king. You will ensure him heirs. You will maintain stability. In short, you will watch the board, while I am gone.”

“But the rest of the Closed Council will never—”

“Those that survive have been spoken to. They all will bow to your authority. Under mine, of course.”

“How will I—”

“I will be in touch. Frequently. Through my people at the bank. Through my apprentice, Sulfur. Through other means. You will know them.”

“I don’t suppose I have any choice in the matter?”

“Not unless you can repay the million marks I leant you. Plus interest.”

Glokta patted at the front of his shirt. “Damn it. I left my purse at work.”

“Then I fear you have no choice. But why would you refuse me? I offer you the chance to help me forge a new age.” To bury my hands to the elbow in your dirty work. “To be a great man. The very greatest of men.” To bestride the Closed Council like a crippled colossus. “To leave your likeness set in stone on the Kingsway.” Where its hideousness can make the children cry. Once they clear away the rubble and the corpses, of course. “To shape the course of a nation.”

“Under your direction.”

“Naturally. Nothing is free, you know that.” Again the Magus flicked his hand and something clattered spinning across the squares board. It came to rest in front of Glokta, gold glinting. The Arch Lector’s ring. So many times I bent to kiss this very jewel. Who could have dreamed that I might one day wear it? He picked it up, turned it thoughtfully round and round. And so I finally shake off a dark master, only to find my leash in the fist of another, darker and more powerful by far. But what choice do I have? What choices do any of us truly have? He slid the ring onto his finger. The great stone shone in the lamplight, full of purple sparks. From a dead man to the greatest in the realm, and all in one evening.