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

The designers of the White Chamber’s furniture had ventured beyond austerity and into the realm of profound discomfort. One would have thought that they could have stretched to some upholstery for the most powerful men in the realm. Perhaps the intention was to remind the occupants that one should never become too comfortable at the pinnacle of power. He glanced sideways, and saw Bayaz watching him. Well, uncomfortable is about as good as I ever get. Have I not often said so? He winced as he tried to worm his way forwards, the legs of his chair squealing noisily against the floor.

Long ago, when I was handsome, young, and promising, I dreamed of one day sitting at this table as a noble Lord Marshal, or a respected High Justice, or even an honourable Lord Chamberlain. Who could ever have suspected, even in their darkest moments, that beautiful Sand dan Glokta would one day sit on the Closed Council as the feared, the abhorred, the all-powerful Arch Lector of the Inquisition? He could scarcely keep the smile from his toothless mouth as he slumped back against the unyielding wood.

Not everyone appeared amused by his sudden elevation, however. King Jezal in particular glowered at Glokta with the most profound dislike. ‘Remarkable that you are confirmed already in your position,’ he snapped.

Bayaz interposed. ‘Such things can happen quickly when there is the will, your Majesty.’

‘After all,’ observed Hoff, stealing a rare moment away from his goblet to sweep the table with a melancholy glance, ‘our numbers are most sadly reduced.’

All too true. Several chairs loomed significantly empty. Marshal Varuz was missing, presumed dead. Certainly dead, given that he was conducting the defence from the Tower of Chains, a structure now scattered widely over the streets of the city. Farewell, my old fencing master, farewell. High Justice Marovia had also left a vacant seat. No doubt they are still trying to scrape the frozen meat from the walls of his office. Adieu to my third suitor, I fear. Lord Valdis, Commander of the Knights Herald, was not in attendance. Keeping watch on the southern gate, I understand, when the Gurkish detonated their explosive powder. Body never found, nor ever will be, one suspects. Lord Admiral Reutzer too, was absent. Wounded at sea by a cutlass to the guts. Not expected to survive, alas.

‘Marshal West could not be with us?’ asked Lord Chancellor Halleck.

‘He regrets that he cannot.’ General Kroy seemed to pinch off each word with his teeth. ‘He has asked me to take his place, and speak for the army.’

‘And how is the Marshal?’

‘Wounded.’

‘And further afflicted by the wasting illness that has recently swept the Agriont,’ added the king, frowning grimly down the table at the First of the Magi.

‘Regrettable.’ Bayaz’ face showed not the slightest sign of regret or anything else.

‘A terrible business,’ lamented Hoff. ‘The physicians are utterly baffled.’

‘Few survive.’ Luthar’s glare had become positively deadly.

‘Let us ardently hope,’ gushed Torlichorm, ‘that Marshal West is one of the lucky ones.’ Let us hope so indeed. Although hope changes nothing.

‘To business, then?’ Wine gurgled from the pitcher as Hoff filled his goblet for the second time since entering the room. ‘How fares the campaign, General Kroy?’

‘The Gurkish army is utterly routed. We have pursued them towards Keln, where some few managed to flee on the remnant of their fleet. Duke Orso’s ships soon put an end to that, however. The Gurkish invasion is over. Victory is ours.’ And yet he frowns as though he is admitting defeat.

‘Excellent.’

‘The nation owes a debt of thanks to its brave soldiers.’

‘Our congratulations, General.’

Kroy stared down at the table-top. ‘The congratulations belong to Marshal West, who gave the orders, and to General Poulder and the others who gave their lives carrying them out. I was no more than an observer.’

‘But you played your part, and admirably.’ Hoff raised his goblet. ‘Given the unfortunate absence of Marshal Varuz, I feel confident his Majesty will soon wish to confer a promotion upon you.’ He glanced towards the king, and Luthar grunted his unenthusiastic assent.

‘I am honoured to serve in whatever capacity his Majesty should decide, of course. The prisoners are a more urgent matter, however. We have many thousands of them, and no food with which to—’

‘We have not enough food for our own soldiers, our own citizens, our own wounded,’ said Hoff, dabbing at his wet lips.

‘Ransom any men of quality back to the Emperor?’ suggested Torlichorm.

‘There were precious few men of quality among their entire damn army.’

Bayaz frowned down the table. ‘If they are of no value to the Emperor they are certainly of no value to us. Let them starve.’

A few men shifted uncomfortably. ‘We are talking of thousands of lives, here—’ began Kroy.

The gaze of the First of the Magi fell upon him like a great stone and squashed his objections flat. ‘I know what we are talking of, General. Enemies. Invaders.’

‘Surely we can find a way?’ threw in the king. ‘Could we not ship them back to Kantic shores? It would be a shameful epilogue to our victory if—’

‘Each prisoner fed is one citizen that must go hungry. Such is the terrible arithmetic of power. A difficult decision, your Majesty, but those are the only kind we have in this room. What would your opinion be, Arch Lector?’

The eyes of the king, and the old men in the high chairs, all turned towards Glokta. Ah, we know what must be done, and we do not flinch, and so forth. Let the monster pronounce the sentence, so the rest can feel like decent men. ‘I have never been a great admirer of the Gurkish.’ Glokta shrugged his aching shoulders. ‘Let them starve.’

King Jezal settled further into his throne with an even grimmer frown. Could it be that our monarch is a touch less house-broken than the First of the Magi would like to believe? Lord Chancellor Halleck cleared his throat. ‘Now that victory is ours, our first concern, without question, is the clearing of the ruins, and the rebuilding of the damage caused by . . .’ his eyes shifted nervously sideways to Bayaz, and back. ‘Gurkish aggression.’

‘Hear, hear.’

‘Rebuilding. We are all agreed.’

‘The costs,’ and Halleck winced as if the word caused him pain, ‘even of clearing the wreckage in the Agriont alone, may run to many tens of thousands of marks. The price of rebuilding, many millions. When we consider the extensive damage to the city of Adua besides . . . the costs . . .’ Halleck scowled again and rubbed at his ill-shaved jaw with one hand. ‘Difficult even to guess at.’

‘We can only do our best.’ Hoff sadly shook his head. ‘And find one mark at a time.’

‘I, for one, suggest we look to the nobles,’ said Glokta. There were several grumbles of agreement.

‘His Eminence makes a fine point.’

‘A sharp curtailment of the powers of the Open Council,’ said Halleck.

‘Harsh taxes on those who did not provide material support in the recent war.’

‘Excellent! Trim the nobles’ sails. Damn parasites.’

‘Sweeping reforms. Lands returned to the crown. Levies on inheritance.’

‘On inheritance! An inspired notion!’

‘The Lord Governors too must be brought into the fold.’

‘Skald and Meed. Yes. They have long enjoyed too much independence.’

‘Meed can hardly be blamed, his province is a wreck—’

‘This is not a question of blame,’ said Bayaz. No indeed, we all know where that lies. ‘This is a question of control. Victory has given us the opportunity for reform.’

‘We need to centralise!’

‘Westport as well. Too long they have played us off against the Gurkish.’

‘They need us now.’

‘Perhaps we should extend the Inquisition to their city?’ suggested Glokta.

‘A foothold in Styria!’

‘We must rebuild!’ The First of the Magi thumped at the table with one meaty fist. ‘Better and more glorious even than before. The statues in the Kingsway may have fallen, but they have left space for new ones.’

‘A new era of prosperity,’ said Halleck, eyes shining.

‘A new era of power,’ said Hoff, raising his goblet.

‘A golden age?’ Bayaz looked up the table at Glokta.

‘An age of unity and opportunity for all!’ said the king.

His offering fell somewhat flat. Eyes swivelled uncomfortably toward the king’s end of the table. Quite as if he noisily farted, rather than spoke. ‘Er . . . yes, your Majesty,’ said Hoff. ‘Opportunities.’ For anyone lucky enough to sit on the Closed Council, that is.

‘Perhaps heavier taxes on the merchant guilds?’ proffered Halleck. ‘As our last Arch Lector had in mind. The banks also. Such a move could produce vast incomes—’

‘No,’ said Bayaz, offhand. ‘Not the guilds, not the banks. The free operation of those noble institutions provides wealth and security to all. The future of the nation lies in commerce.’

Halleck humbly inclined his head. With more than a hint of fear, do I detect? ‘Of course, Lord Bayaz, you are right. I freely admit my mistake.’

The Magus moved smoothly on. ‘Perhaps the banks would be willing to extend a loan to the crown, however.’

‘An excellent idea,’ said Glokta without hesitation. ‘The banking house of Valint and Balk are a trustworthy and long-founded institution. They were of profound value during my attempts to defend Dagoska. I am sure we could count on their help again.’ Bayaz’ smile was almost imperceptible. ‘In the meantime the lands, assets, and titles of the traitor Lord Brock have been requisitioned by the crown. Their sale will raise a considerable sum.’

‘And what of the man himself, Arch Lector?’

‘It would appear he fled the nation along with the last of the Gurkish. We assume that he is still their . . . guest.’

‘Their puppet, you mean.’ Bayaz sucked at his teeth. ‘Unfortunate. He may continue to be a focus for discontent.’

‘Two of his children are under lock and key in the House of Questions. His daughter and one of the sons. An exchange might be possible—’

‘Brock? Ha!’ barked Hoff. ‘He wouldn’t swap his own life for the whole world and everything in it.’

Glokta raised his eyebrows. ‘Then perhaps a demonstration of intent? A clear message that treason will not and will never be tolerated?’

‘Never a bad message to send,’ growled Bayaz to affirmative mutterings from the old men.

‘A public declaration of Brock’s guilt, then, and his responsibility for the ruin of the city of Adua. Accompanied by a pair of hangings.’ A shame for them, to have been born to such an ambitious father, but everyone loves a public killing. ‘Does anyone have a preference for a certain day or—’

‘There will be no hangings.’ The king was frowning levelly at Bayaz.

Hoff blinked. ‘But your Majesty, you cannot allow—’

‘There has been enough bloodshed. Far more than enough. Release Lord Brock’s children.’ There were several sharp intakes of breath around the table. ‘Allow them to join their father, or remain in the Union as private citizens, as they desire.’ Bayaz glared balefully from the far end of the room, but the king did not appear intimidated. ‘The war is over. We won.’ The war never ends, and victory is temporary. ‘I would rather try to heal wounds than deepen them.’ A wounded enemy is the best kind, they are the easiest to kill. ‘Sometimes mercy buys you more than ruthlessness.’

Glokta cleared his throat. ‘Sometimes.’ Though I myself have yet to see the circumstance.

‘Good,’ said the king in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Then it is decided. Have we other pressing business? I need to make a tour of the hospitals, and then once more to clearing the wreckage.’

‘Of course, your Majesty.’ Hoff gave a sycophantic bow. ‘Your care for your subjects does you much credit.’

Jezal stared at him for a moment, then snorted, and got up. He had already left the room before most of the old men had struggled to their feet. And I take even longer. When Glokta had finally wrestled his chair out of the way and grimaced to standing, he found Hoff was beside him, a frown on his ruddy face. ‘We have a small problem,’ he muttered.

‘Indeed? Something we cannot raise with the rest of the Council?’

‘I fear so. Something which, in particular, it would be better not to discuss before his Majesty.’ Hoff looked quickly over his shoulder, waited for the last of the old men to pull the heavy door shut behind him and leave the two of them unobserved. Secrets, then? How tremendously exciting. ‘Our absent Lord Marshal’s sister.’

Glokta frowned. Oh dear. ‘Ardee West? What of her?’

‘I have it on good authority, that she finds herself in . . . a delicate condition.’

The familiar flurry of twitches ran up the left side of Glokta’s face. ‘Is that so?’ What a shame. ‘You are remarkably well informed about that lady’s personal business.’

‘It is my duty to be so.’ Hoff leaned close and blasted Glokta with wine-stinking breath as he whispered. ‘When you consider who the father might very well be.’

‘And that is?’ Though I think we both already guess the answer.

‘Who else but the king?’ hissed Hoff under his breath, a note of panic in his voice. ‘You must be well aware that they were involved in . . . a liaison, to put it delicately, prior to his coronation. It is scarcely a secret. Now this? A bastard child! When the king’s own claim to the throne is not of the purest? When he has so many enemies still on the Open Council? Such a child could be used against us, if it became known of, and it will, of course!’ He leaned closer yet. ‘Such a thing would constitute a threat to the state.’

‘Indeed,’ said Glokta icily. All too unfortunately true. What a terrible, terrible shame.

Hoff’s fat fingers fussed nervously with each other. ‘I realise that you have some association with the lady and her family. I understand entirely if this is one responsibility that you would rather be free of. I can make the arrangements with no—’

Glokta flashed his craziest grin. ‘Are you implying that I lack sufficient ruthlessness for the murder of a pregnant mother, Lord Chamberlain?’ His voice bounced loud from the hard white walls, merciless as a knife-thrust.

Hoff winced, his eyes darting nervously towards the door. ‘I am sure you would not flinch from any patriotic duty—’

‘Good. You may rest easy, then. Our mutual friend did not select me for this role because of my soft heart.’ Anything but. ‘I will deal with the matter.’

He pushed back the gate, hobbled up to the front door, and gave it a smart knock. It was a moment before the cringing maid answered. Perhaps the one who alerted our court drunkard Lord Hoff to the unfortunate situation? She showed him through into the over-furnished sitting room with little more than a mumble and left him there, staring at a small fire in the small grate. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the fireplace, and frowned.

He tried to smile. Savage grooves cut through his corpse-pale skin, the hideous gap in his teeth yawned. The corner of his mouth trembled, his left eye twitched, narrower than the other, rimmed with angry red. The smile seems to promise horrors more surely even than the frown.

Has any man ever looked more of a villain? Has any man ever been more of a monster? Could any vestige of humanity possibly remain behind such a mask? How did beautiful Sand dan Glokta become . . . this? Mirrors. Even worse than stairs. His lip curled with disgust as he turned away.

Ardee stood in the doorway, watching him in silence. She looked well, to his mind, once he got over the awkward surprise of being observed. Very well, with perhaps the slightest swelling about her stomach already? Three months along now? Four perhaps? Soon there will be no disguising it.

‘Your Eminence.’ She gave him an appraising glance as she stepped into the room. ‘White suits you.’

‘Truly? You do not feel it makes the skull-like rings about my feverish eyes look all the darker?’

‘Why, not at all. It perfectly matches your ghoulish pallor.’

Glokta leered his toothless grin. ‘The very effect I was hoping for.’

‘Have you come to take me on another tour of sewers, death and torture?’

‘A repeat of that performance will probably never be possible, alas. I seem to have used up all my friends and most of my enemies in that one throw.’

‘And regrettably the Gurkish army can no longer be with us.’

‘Busy elsewhere, I understand.’ He watched her cross to the table, look out of the window towards the street, the daylight glowing through her dark hair, down the edge of her cheek.

‘I trust that you are well?’ she asked.

‘Busier even than the Gurkish. A great deal to do. How is your brother? I have been meaning to visit him, but . . .’ But I doubt even I could stand the stink of my own hypocrisy if I did. I cause pain. The easing of it is a foreign tongue to me.

Ardee looked at her feet. ‘He is always sick now. Every time I visit he is thinner. One of his teeth fell out while I was with him.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It just came out while he was trying to eat. He nearly choked on it. But what can I do? What can anyone?’

‘I am truly sorry to hear it.’ But it changes nothing. ‘I am sure that you are a great help to him.’ I am sure that there can be no help for him. ‘And how are you?’

‘Better than most, I suppose.’ She gave a long sigh, shook herself and tried to smile. ‘Will you take some wine?’

‘No, but don’t let me stop you.’ I know you never have.

But she only held the bottle for a moment, then set it down again. ‘I have been trying to drink less, lately.’

‘I have always felt that you should.’ He took a slow step towards her. ‘You feel sick, then, in the mornings?’

She looked sharply sideways, then swallowed, the thin muscles standing out from her neck. ‘You know?’

‘I am the Arch Lector,’ he said as he came closer. ‘I am supposed to know everything.’

Her shoulders sagged, her head dropped, she leaned forwards, both hands on the edge of the table. Glokta could see her eyelids fluttering, from the side. Blinking back the tears. For all of her anger, and her cleverness, she’s just as much in need of saving as anyone could be. But there is no one to come to the rescue. There is only me.

‘I suppose I made quite a mess of things, just as my brother said I would. Just as you said I would. You must be disappointed.’

Glokta felt his face twisting. Something like a smile, perhaps. But not much joy in it. ‘I’ve spent most of my life disappointed. But not in you. It’s a hard world. No one gets what they deserve.’ How long must we drag this out before we find the courage? It will not get any easier to do it. It must be now.

‘Ardee . . .’ his voice sounded rough in his own ears. He took another limping step, his palm sweaty on the handle of his cane. She looked up at him, wet eyes gleaming, one hand on her stomach. She moved as if to take a step back. A trace of fear, perhaps? And who can blame her? Can it be that she guesses at what is coming?

‘You know that I have always had a great liking and respect for your brother.’ His mouth was dry, his tongue slurped awkwardly against his empty gums. Now is the time. ‘Over the past months I have developed a great liking and respect for you.’ A flurry of twitches ran up the side of his face and made a tear leak from his flickering eye. Now, now. ‘Or . . . as close to such feelings as a man like myself can come, at least.’ Glokta slid his hand into his pocket, carefully, so she would not notice. He felt the cold metal, the hard, merciless edges brushing against his skin. It must be now. His heart was pounding, his throat so tight that he could barely speak. ‘This is difficult. I am . . . sorry.’

‘For what?’ she said, frowning at him.

Now.

He lurched towards her, snatching his hand from his pocket. She stumbled back against the table, eyes wide . . . and they both froze.

The ring glittered between them. A colossal, flashing diamond so large it made the thick golden band look flimsy. So large it looks a joke. A fake. An absurd impossibility. The biggest stone that Valint and Balk had to offer.

‘I have to ask you to marry me,’ he croaked. The hand that held the ring was trembling like a dry leaf. Put a cleaver in it and it’s steady as a rock, but ask me to hold a ring and I nearly wet myself. Courage, Sand, courage.

She stared down at the glittering stone, her mouth hanging stupidly open. With shock? With horror? Marry this . . . thing? I would rather die! ‘Uh . . .’ she muttered. ‘I . . .’

‘I know! I know, I’m as disgusted as you are, but . . . let me speak. Please.’ He stared down at the floor, his mouth twisting as he said the words. ‘I am not stupid enough to pretend that you might ever come to love . . . a man like me, or think of me with anything warmer than pity. This is a question of necessity. You should not flinch from it because . . . of what I am. They know you are carrying the king’s child.’

‘They?’ she muttered.

‘Yes. They. The child is a threat to them. You are a threat to them. This way I can protect you. I can give your child legitimacy. It must be our child, now and forever.’ Still she stared at the ring in silence. Like a prisoner staring horrified upon the instruments, and deciding whether to confess. Two awful choices, but which is the worse?

‘There are many things that I can give you. Safety. Security. Respect. You will have the best of everything. A high place in society, for what such things are worth. No one will dream of laying a finger upon you. No one will dare to talk down to you. People will whisper behind your back, of course. But they will whisper of your beauty, your wit, and your surpassing virtue.’ Glokta narrowed his eyes. ‘I will see to it.’

She looked up at him, and swallowed. And now comes the refusal. My thanks, but I would rather die. ‘I should be honest with you. When I was younger . . . I did some foolish things.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘This isn’t even the first bastard I’ve carried. My father threw me down the stairs and I lost it. He nearly killed me. I didn’t think that it could happen again.’

‘We have all done things we are not proud of.’ You should hear my confessions, some time. Or rather no one ever should. ‘That changes nothing. I promised that I would look to your welfare. I see no other way.’

‘Then yes.’ She took the ring from him without any ceremony and slid it onto her finger. ‘There is nothing to think about, is there?’ Scarcely the gushing acceptance, the tearful acquiescence, the joyful surrender that one reads of in the story books. A reluctant business arrangement. An occasion for sad reflection on all that might have been, but is not.

‘Who would have thought,’ she murmured, staring at the jewel on her finger, ‘when I watched you fence with my brother, all those years ago, that I would one day wear your ring? You always were the man of my dreams.’

And now of your nightmares. ‘Life takes strange turns. The circumstances are not quite what anyone would have predicted.’ And so I save two lives. How much evil can that possibly outweigh? Yet it is something on the right side of the scales, at least. Every man needs something on the right side of the scales.

Her dark eyes rolled up to his. ‘Could you not have afforded a bigger stone?’

‘Only by raiding the treasury,’ he croaked. A kiss would be traditional, but under the circumstances—

She stepped towards him, lifting one arm. He lurched back, winced at a twinge in his hip. ‘Sorry. Somewhat . . . out of practice.’

‘If I am to do this, I mean to do it properly.’

‘To make the best of it, do you mean?’

‘To make something of it, anyway.’ She drew closer still. He had to force himself to stay where he was. She looked into his eyes. She reached up, slowly, and touched his cheek, and set his eyelid flickering. Foolishness. How many women have touched me before? And yet that was another life. Another—

Her hand slid round his face, her fingertips pressing tight into his jaw. His neck clicked as she pulled him close. He felt her breath warm on his chin. Her lips brushed against his, gently, and back the other way. He heard her make a soft grunt in her throat, and it made his own breath catch. Pretence, of course. How could any woman want to touch this ruined body? Kiss this ruined face? Even I am repulsed at the thought of it. Pretence, and yet I must applaud her for the effort.

His left leg trembled and he had to cling tight to his cane. The breath hissed fast through his nose. Her face was sideways on to his, their mouths locked together, sucking wetly. The tip of her tongue licked at his empty gums. Pretence, of course, what else could it be? And yet she does it so very, very well . . .