Joe Abercrombie - Last Argument of Kings

“Your Majesty, I have spoken to our mutual friend of this.”

Jezal stopped dead, a cold feeling creeping up his spine. “You have?”

“I fear that I am obliged to.” The cripple’s tone was that of a servant, but his sunken eyes did not stray from Jezal’s for a moment. “Our friend is… not enthusiastic.”

“Does he rule the Union, or do I?” But they both knew the answer to that question well enough.

“You are king, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But our mutual friend… we would not wish to disappoint him.” Glokta came a limping step closer, his left eye giving a repulsive flutter. “Neither one of us, I am sure, would want to encourage a visit to Adua… on his part.”

Jezal’s knees felt suddenly very weak. The faint memory of that awful, unbearable pain nagged at his stomach. “No,” he croaked, “no, of course not.”

The cripple’s voice was only just above a whisper. “Perhaps, in time, funds could be found for some small project. Our friend cannot see everything, after all, and what he does not see will do no harm. I am sure between the two of us, quietly… we could do some little good. But not yet.”

“No. You are right, Glokta. You have a fine sense for these things. Do nothing that would cause the least offence. Please inform our friend that his opinions will always be valued above all others. Please tell our good friend that he can rely on me. Will you tell him that, please?”

“I will, your Majesty. He will be delighted to hear it.”

“Good,” murmured Jezal. “Good.” A chilly breeze had blown up, and he turned back towards the palace, pulling his cloak around him. It was not, in the end, quite so pleasant a day as he had hoped it might be.

A grubby white box with two doors facing each other. The ceiling was too low for comfort, the room too brightly lit by blazing lamps. Damp was creeping out of one corner and the plaster had erupted with flaking blisters, speckled with black mould. Someone had tried to scrub a long bloodstain from the wall, but hadn’t tried nearly hard enough.

Two huge Practicals stood against the wall, their arms folded. One of the chairs at the bolted-down table was empty. Carlot dan Eider sat in the other. History moves in circles, so they say. How things have changed. And yet, how they have stayed the same. Her face was pale with worry, there were dark rings of sleeplessness around her eyes, but she still seemed beautiful. More than ever, in a way. The beauty of the candle-flame that has almost burned out. Again.

Glokta could hear her scared breathing as he settled himself in the remaining chair, leaned his cane against the scarred table-top, and frowned into her face. “I am still wondering whether, in the next few days, I will receive that letter you spoke of. You know the one. The one you meant for Sult to read. The one that lays out the history of my self-indulgent little mercy to you. The one that you made sure will be sent to the Arch Lector… in the event of your death. “Will it find its way onto my desk, now, do you suppose? A final irony.”

There was a pause. “I realise that I made a grave mistake, when I came back.” And an even worse one when you didn’t leave fast enough. “I hope you will accept my apology. I only wanted to warn you about the Gurkish. If you can find it in your heart to be merciful—”

“Did you expect me to be merciful once?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Then what, do you suppose, are the chances of my making the same mistake twice? Never come back, I said. Not ever.” He waved with his hand and one of the monstrous Practicals stepped forward and lifted the lid of his case.

“No… no.” Her eyes darted over his instruments, and back. “You won. You won, of course. I should have been grateful, the first time. Please.” She leaned forward, looking him in the eyes. Her voice dropped, grew husky, “Please. Surely there must be… something that I can do… to make up for my foolishness…”

A peculiar mixture of feigned desire and genuine disgust. Fake longing and genuine loathing. And rendered still more distasteful by the edge of mounting terror. It makes me wonder why I was merciful in the first place.

Glokta snorted. “Must this be embarrassing as well as painful?”

The effort at seduction leaked quickly away. But I note that the fear is going nowhere. It was joined now by a rising note of desperation. “I know that I made a mistake… I was trying to help… please, I meant you no real harm… I caused you no harm, you know it!” He reached out slowly towards the case, watched her horrified eyes follow his white-gloved hand, her voice rising to a squeal of panic. “Only tell me what I can do! Please! I can help you! I can be useful! Tell me what I can do!”

Glokta’s hand paused on its remorseless journey across the table. He tapped one finger against the wood. The finger on which the Arch Lector’s ring glittered in the lamplight. “Perhaps there is a way.”

“Anything,” she gurgled, teary eyes gleaming. “Anything, only name it!”

“You have contacts in Talins?”

She swallowed. “In Talins? Of… of course.”

“Good. I, and some colleagues of mine on the Closed Council, are concerned about the role that Grand Duke Orso means to play in Union politics. Our feeling—our very strong feeling—is that he should stick to bullying Styrians, and keep his nose out of our business.” He gave a significant pause.

“How do I—”

“You will go to Talins. You will be my eyes in the city. A traitor, fleeing for her life, friendless and alone, seeking only a place for a new beginning. A beautiful yet wretched traitor, in desperate need of a strong arm to protect her. You get the idea.”

“I suppose… I suppose that I could do that.”

Glokta snorted. “You had better.”

“I will need money—”

“Your assets have been seized by the Inquisition.”

“Everything?”

“You may have noticed that there is a great deal of rebuilding to do. The king needs every mark he can lay his hands on, and confessed traitors can hardly expect to keep their chattels in such times as these. I have arranged passage for you. When you arrive, make contact with the banking house of Valint and Balk. They will arrange a loan to get you started.”

“Valint and Balk?” Eider looked even more scared than before, if that was possible. “I would rather be in debt to anyone but them.”

“I know the feeling. But it’s that or nothing.”

“How will I—”

“A woman of your resourcefulness? I am sure that you will find a way.” He winced as he pushed himself up from his chair. “I want to be snowed in by your letters. What happens in the city. What Orso is about. Who he makes war with, who he makes peace with. Who are his allies and his enemies. You leave on the next tide.” He turned back, briefly, at the door. “I’ll be watching.”

She nodded dumbly, wiping away the tears of relief with the back of one trembling hand. First it is done to us, then we do it to others, then we order it done. Such is the way of things.

“Are you always drunk by this time in the morning?”

“Your Eminence, you wound me.” Nicomo Cosca grinned. “Usually I have been drunk for hours by now.”

Huh. We each find our ways of getting through the day. “I should thank you for all your help.”

The Styrian gave a flamboyant wave of one hand. A hand, Glokta noticed, flashing with a fistful of heavy rings. “To hell with your thanks, I have your money.”

“And I think every penny well spent. I hope that you will remain in the city, and enjoy Union hospitality for a while longer.”