Last Argument Of Kings: Book Three (The First Law 3)

His Lordship reached into a paper bag, drew out a pinch of bread dust between thumb and forefinger, and tossed it at his feet. A mob of self-important ducks had already gathered, and now they fussed at each other furiously in their efforts to get at the crumbs while the old nobleman watched them, his lined face a slack and emotionless mask.

‘I am under no illusions, Superior,’ he droned, almost without moving his lips and without looking up at all. ‘I am not a big enough man to compete in this contest, even should I wish to. But I am big enough to get something from it. I intend to get what I can.’ Straight to business, then, for once. No need to talk about the weather, or how the children are, or the relative merits of different-coloured ducks.

‘There is no shame in that.’

‘I do not think so. I have a family to feed, and it grows by the year. I strongly advise against too many children.’ Hah, That shouldn’t be a problem. ‘And then I keep dogs, and they must be fed also, and have great appetites.’ Wetterlant gave a long, wheezing sigh, and tossed the birds another pinch of bread. ‘The higher you rise, Superior, the more dependents cry at you for scraps; that is a sad fact.’

‘You carry a large responsibility, my Lord.’ Glokta grimaced at a spasm in his leg, and cautiously stretched it out until he felt his knee click. ‘How large, might I ask?’

‘I have my own vote, of course, and control the votes of three other chairs on the Open Council. Families tied to my own by bonds of land, of friendship, of marriage, and of long tradition.’ Such bonds may prove insubstantial in times such as these.

‘You are certain of those three?’

Wetterlant turned his cold eyes on Glokta. ‘I am no fool, Superior. I keep my dogs well chained. I am certain of them. As certain as we can be of anything, in these uncertain times.’ He tossed more crumbs into the grass and the ducks quacked, and pecked, and beat at each other with their wings.

‘Four votes in total, then.’ No mean share of the great pie.

‘Four votes in total.’

Glokta cleared his throat, checked quickly that there was no one within earshot. A girl with a tragic face stared listlessly into the water just down the path. Two dishevelled officers of the King’s Own sat on a bench as far away on the other side, holding forth to each other loudly about who had been drunker the night before. Might the tragic girl be listening for Lord Brock? Might the two officers report to High Justice Marovia? I see agents everywhere, and it is just as well. There are agents everywhere. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘His Eminence would be willing to offer fifteen thousand marks for each vote.’

‘I see.’ Wetterlant’s hooded eyes did not so much as twitch. ‘So little meat would scarcely satisfy my dogs. It would leave nothing for my own table. I should tell you that Lord Barezin, in a highly roundabout manner, already offered me eighteen thousand a vote, as well as an excellent stretch of land that borders my own estates. Deer hunting woods. Are you a hunting man, Superior?’

‘I was.’ Glokta tapped his ruined leg. ‘But not for some time.’

‘Ah. My commiserations. I have always loved the sport. But then Lord Brock came to visit me.’ How charming for you both. ‘He was good enough to make an offer of twenty thousand, and a very suitable match of his youngest daughter for my eldest son.’

‘You accepted?’

‘I told him it was too early to accept anything.’

‘I am sure his Eminence could stretch to twenty-one, but that would have to be—’

‘High Justice Marovia’s man already offered me twenty-five.’

‘Harlen Morrow?’ hissed Glokta through his remaining teeth.

Lord Wetterlant raised an eyebrow. ‘I believe that was the name.’

‘I regret that I can only match that offer at present. I will inform his Eminence of your position.’ His delight, I am sure, will know no bounds.

‘I look forward to hearing from you, Superior.’ Wetterlant turned back to his ducks and permitted them a few more crumbs, a vague smile hovering round his lips as he watched them tussle with each other.

The door opened sharply even as he raised his fist to knock, and he was left staring into the grinning face of a man wearing the uniform of an officer in the King’s Own. It was so unexpected that Glokta did not recognise him at first. Then he felt a surge of dismay.

‘Why, Captain Luthar. What a surprise.’ And a thoroughly unpleasant one.

He was considerably changed. Where once he had been boyish and smooth, he had acquired a somewhat angular, even a weather-beaten look. Where once he had carried his chin with an arrogant lift, he now had an almost apologetic tilt to his face. He had grown a beard too, perhaps in an unsuccessful attempt to disguise a vicious-looking scar through his lip and down his jaw. Though it has far from rendered him ugly, alas.

‘Inquisitor Glokta . . . er . . .’

‘Superior.’

‘Really?’ Luthar blinked at him for a moment. ‘Well . . . in that case . . .’ The easy smile reappeared, and Glokta was surprised to find himself being shaken warmly by the hand. ‘Congratulations. I would love to chat but duty calls. I haven’t long in the city, you see. Off to the North, and so on.’

‘Of course.’ Glokta frowned after him as he stepped jauntily off up the street, with just the one furtive glance over his shoulder as he rounded the corner. Leaving only the question of why he was here in the first place. Glokta hobbled through the open door and shut it quietly behind him. Although honestly, a young man leaving a young woman’s house in the early morning? One scarcely requires his Majesty’s Inquisition to solve that particular mystery. Did I not leave more than my share of residences in the early hours, after all? Pretending to hope that I wasn’t observed, but really rather hoping that I was? He passed through the doorway into the living room. Or was that a different man?

Ardee West stood with her back to him, and he heard the sound of wine trickling into a glass. ‘Did you forget something?’ she asked over her shoulder, voice soft and playful. Not a tone I often get to hear women use. Horror, disgust, and the slightest touch of pity are more common. There was a clinking as she put the bottle away. ‘Or did you decide you really couldn’t live without another—’ She had a crooked smile on her face as she turned, but it slid off suddenly when she saw who was standing there.

Glokta snorted. ‘Don’t worry, I get that reaction from everyone. Even myself, every morning, when I look into the mirror.’ If I can even manage to stand up in front of the damn thing.

‘It’s not like that, and you know it. I just wasn’t expecting you to wander in.’

‘We’ve all had quite the shock this morning, then. You’ll never guess who I passed in your hallway.’

She froze for just a moment, then tossed her head dismissively and slurped wine from her glass. ‘Aren’t you going to give me a clue?’

‘Alright, I will.’ Glokta winced as he lowered himself into a chair, stretching his aching leg out in front of him. ‘A young officer in the King’s Own, no doubt with a scintillating future ahead of him.’ Though we can all hope otherwise.

Ardee glared at him over the rim. ‘There are so many officers in the King’s Own I can scarcely tell one from another.’

‘Really? This one won last year’s Contest, I believe.’

‘I hardly remember who was in the final. Every year is like the last, don’t you find?’

‘True. Since I competed it’s been straight downhill. But I thought you might remember this particular fellow. Looked as if someone might have hit him in the face since we last met. Quite hard, I would say.’ Though not half as hard as I’d have liked.

‘You’re angry with me,’ she said, but without the appearance of the slightest concern.

‘I’d say disappointed. But what would you expect? I thought you were cleverer than this.’

‘Cleverness is no guarantee of sensible behaviour. My father used to say so all the time.’ She finished her wine with a practised flick of her head. ‘Don’t worry. I can look after myself.’

‘No you can’t. You’ve made that abundantly clear. You realise what will happen if people find out? You’ll be shunned.’

‘What would be the difference?’ she sneered at him. ‘Perhaps you’ll be surprised to learn I get few invitations to the palace now. I barely even qualify as an embarrassment. No one speaks to me.’ Apart from me, of course, but I’m hardly the type of company young women hope for. ‘No one cares a shit what I do. If they find out it will be no worse than they expect from a slattern like me. Damn commoners, no more self-control than animals, don’t you know. Anyway, didn’t you tell me I could fuck who I pleased?’

‘I also told you the less fucking the better.’

‘And I suppose that’s what you told all your conquests, is it?’

Glokta grimaced. Not exactly. I coaxed and I pleaded, I threatened and I bullied. Your beauty has wounded me, wounded me in the heart! I am wretched, I will die without you! Have you no pity? Do you not love me? I did everything short of display the instruments, then when I got what I wanted I tossed them aside and went merrily on to the next with never a backward glance.

‘Hah!’ snorted Ardee, as though she guessed what he was thinking. ‘Sand dan Glokta, giving lectures on the benefits of chastity? Please! How many women did you ruin before the Gurkish ruined you? You were notorious!’

A muscle began to tremble in his neck, and he worked his shoulder round until he felt it soften. She makes a fair point. Perhaps a soft word with the gentleman in question will do the trick. A soft word, or a hard night with Practical Frost. ‘Your bed, your business, I suppose, as they say in Styria. How does the great Captain Luthar come to be among the civilians in any case? Doesn’t he have Northmen to rout? Who will save Angland, while he’s here?’

‘He wasn’t in Angland.’

‘No?’ Father find him a nice, out of the way spot, did he?

‘He’s been in the Old Empire, or some such. Across the sea to the west and far away.’ She sighed as though she had heard a great deal about it and was now thoroughly bored of the subject.

‘Old Empire? What the hell was he up to out there?’

‘Why don’t you ask him? Some journey. He talked a lot about a Northman. Ninefingers, or something.’

Glokta’s head jerked up. ‘Ninefingers?’

‘Mmm. Him and some old bald man.’

A flurry of twitches ran down Glokta’s face. ‘Bayaz.’ Ardee shrugged and swigged from her glass again, already developing a slight drunken clumsiness to her movements. Bayaz. All we need, with an election coming, is that old liar sticking his hairless head in. ‘Is he here, now, in the city?’

‘How should I know?’ grumbled Ardee. ‘Nobody tells me anything.’