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

‘Ah,’ he grunted. He tried, ever so gently, to turn his ankle round, to work his knee. The pain instantly grew far worse. ‘Barnam!’ He dragged the sheet to one side and the familiar stink of ordure rose up to his nostrils. Nothing like the stench of your own dung to usher in a productive morning.

‘Ah! Barnam!’ He whimpered, and slobbered, and clutched at his withered thigh, but nothing helped. The pain grew worse, and worse. The fibres started from his wasted flesh like metal cables, toeless foot flopping grotesquely on the end, entirely beyond his control.

‘Barnam!’ he screamed. ‘Barnam, you fucker! The door!’ Spit dribbled from his toothless mouth, tears ran down his twitching face, his hands clawed, clutching up Fistfuls of brown-stained sheet.

He heard hurried footsteps in the corridor, the lock scraping. ‘Locked you fool!’ he squealed through his gums, thrashing with pain and anger. The knob turned and the door opened, much to his surprise. What the . . .

Ardee hurried over to the bed. ‘Get out!’ he hissed, holding one arm pointlessly over his face, clutching at his bedclothes with the other. ‘Get out!’

‘No.’ She tore the sheet away and Glokta grimaced, waiting for her face to go pale, waiting for her to stagger back, one hand across her mouth, eyes wide with shock and disgust. I am married . . . to this shit-daubed monstrosity? She only frowned down, for a moment, then took hold of his ruined thigh and pressed her thumbs into it.

He gasped and flailed and tried to twist away but her grip was merciless, two points of agony stabbing right into the midst of his cramping sinews. ‘Ah! You fucking . . . you . . .’ The wasted muscle went suddenly soft, and he went soft with it, dropping back against the mattress. And now being splattered with my own shit begins to seem just the slightest bit embarrassing.

He lay there for a moment, helpless. ‘I didn’t want you to see me . . . like this.’

‘Too late. You married me, remember. We’re one body, now.’

‘I think I got the better part of that deal.’

‘I got my life, didn’t I?’

‘Hardly the kind of life that most young women hanker for.’ He watched her, the strip of sunlight wandering back and forth across her darkened face as she moved. ‘I know that I’m not what you wanted . . . in a husband.’

‘I always dreamed of a man I could dance with.’ She looked up and held his eye. ‘But I think, perhaps, that you suit me better. Dreams are for children. We both are grownups.’

‘Still. You see now that not dancing is the least of it. You should not have to do . . . this.’

‘I want to do it.’ She took a firm grip on his face and twisted it, somewhat painfully, so he was looking straight into hers. ‘I want to do something. I want to be useful. I want someone to need me. Can you understand that?’

Glokta swallowed. ‘Yes.’ Few better. ‘Where’s Barnam?’

‘I told him he could have the mornings off. I told him I’d be doing this from now on. I’ve told him to move my bed in here, as well.’

‘But—’

‘Are you telling me I can’t sleep in the same room as my husband?’ Her hands slid slowly over his withered flesh, gentle, but firm, rubbing at the scarred skin, pressing at the ruined muscles. How long ago? Since a woman looked at me with anything but horror? Since a woman touched me with anything but violence? He lay back, his eyes closed and his mouth open, tears running from his eye and trickling down the sides of his head into the pillow. Almost comfortable. Almost . . .

‘I don’t deserve this,’ he breathed.

‘No one gets what they deserve.’

‘My name is Glokta. I am the new Arch Lector of his Majesty’s Inquisition.’

‘Ah, the cripple,’ she sneered. With refreshing directness. ‘And why do you disrupt my afternoon? You will find no criminals here.’ Only Styrian witches.

Glokta’s eyes flickered to the other woman, standing bolt upright near one of the windows. ‘It is a matter we had better discuss alone.’

‘The Countess Shalere has been my friend since birth. There is nothing you can say to me that she cannot hear.’ The Countess glared at Glokta with a disdain little less piercing than the queen’s.

‘Very well.’ No delicate way to say it. I doubt that delicacy will serve us here in any case. ‘It has come to my attention, your Majesty, that you have not been performing your duties as a wife.’

Terez’ long, thin neck seemed to stretch with indignation. ‘How dare you? That is none of your concern!’

‘I am afraid that it is. Heirs for the king, you see. The future of the state, and so forth.’

‘This is insufferable!’ The queen’s face was white with fury. The Jewel of Talins flashes fire indeed. ‘I must eat your repulsive food, I must tolerate your dreadful weather, I must smile at the rambling mutterings of your idiot king! Now I must answer to his grotesque underlings? I am kept prisoner here!’

Glokta looked round at the beautiful room. The opulent hangings, the gilt furnishings, the fine paintings. The two beautiful women in their beautiful clothes. He dug one tooth sourly into the underside of his tongue. ‘Believe me. This is not what a prison looks like.’

‘There are many kinds of prison!’

‘I have learned to live with worse, and so have others.’ You should see what my wife has to put up with.

‘To share my bed with some disgusting bastard, some scarred son of who knows what, to have some stinking, hairy man pawing at me in the night!’ The queen gave a shiver of revulsion. ‘It is not to be borne!’

Tears shone in her eyes. Her lady-in-waiting rushed forward, dress rustling, and knelt beside her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. Terez reached up, pressed her own hand on top of it. The queen’s companion stared at Glokta with naked hatred. ‘Get out! Out, cripple, and never come back! You have upset her Majesty!’

‘I have a gift for it,’ muttered Glokta. ‘One reason why I am so widely hated . . .’ He trailed off, frowning. He stared at their two hands on Terez’ shoulder. There was something in that touch. Comforting, soothing, protective. The touch of the committed friend, the trusted confidante, the sisterly companion. But there is more than that. Too familiar. Too warm. Almost like the touch of . . . Ah.

‘You don’t have much use for men, do you?’

The two women looked up at him together, then Shalere snatched her hand away from the queen’s shoulder. ‘I will have your meaning!’ barked Terez, but her voice was shrill, almost panicked.

‘I think you know my meaning well enough.’ And my task is made a great deal easier. ‘Some help here!’ Two hulking Practicals barged through the doors. And as quickly as that, everything is changed. Amazing, the spice that two big men can add to a conversation. Some kinds of power are only tricks of the mind. I learned that well, in the Emperor’s prisons, and my new master has only reinforced the lesson.

‘You would not dare!’ shrieked Terez, staring at the masked arrivals with wide eyes. ‘You would not dare to touch me!’

‘As luck would have it, I doubt it will be necessary, but we will see.’ He pointed at the Countess. ‘Seize that woman.’

The two black-masked men tramped across the thick carpet. One moved a chair out of his way with exaggerated care.

‘No!’ The queen sprang up, grabbing Shalere’s hand in hers. ‘No!’

‘Yes,’ said Glokta.

The two women backed away, clinging to each other, Terez in front, shielding the Countess with her body, teeth bared in a warning snarl as the two great shadows approached. One might almost be touched by their evident care for one another, if one was capable of being touched at all. ‘Take her. But no marks on the queen, if you please.’

‘No!’ screamed Terez. ‘I’ll have your heads for this! My father . . . my father is—’

‘On his way back to Talins, and I doubt he’ll be starting a war over your friend since birth, in any case. You are bought and paid for, and Duke Orso does not strike me as the type to renege on a deal.’

The two men and the two women lurched around the far end of the room in an ungainly dance. One of the Practicals seized the Countess by one wrist, dragged her away from the queen’s clutching hand and forced her down onto her knees, twisting her arms behind her, snapping heavy irons shut on her wrists. Terez shrieked, punched, kicked, clawed at the other, but she might as well have vented her fury on a tree. The huge man barely moved, his eyes every bit as emotionless as the mask below them.

Glokta found that he was almost smiling as he watched the ugly scene. I may be crippled, and hideous, and in constant pain, but the humiliation of beautiful women is one pleasure I can still enjoy. I do it now with threats and violence, instead of with soft words and entreaties, but still. Almost as much fun as it ever was.

One of the Practicals forced a canvas bag over Shalere’s head, turning her cries to muffled sobs, then marched her helplessly across the room. The other stayed where he was for a moment, keeping the queen herded into the corner. Then he backed off towards the door. On his way he picked up the chair he had moved and carefully put it back exactly as he had found it.

‘Curse you!’ Terez screeched, her clenched fists trembling as the door clicked shut and left the two of them alone. ‘Curse you, you twisted bastard! If you harm her—’

‘It will not come to that. Because you have the means of her deliverance well within your grasp.’

The queen swallowed, chest heaving. ‘What must I do?’

‘Fuck.’ The word somehow sounded twice as ugly in the beautiful surroundings. ‘And bear children. I will give the Countess seven days in the darkness, unmolested. If, at the end of that time, I do not hear that you have set the king’s cock on fire every night, I will introduce her to my Practicals. Poor fellows. They get so little exercise. Ten minutes each should do the trick, but there are plenty of them, in the House of Questions. I daresay we can keep your childhood friend quite busy night and day.’

A spasm of horror passed over Terez’ face. And why not? This is a low chapter even for me. ‘If I do as you ask?’

‘Then the Countess will be kept quite safe and sound. Once you are verifiably with child, I will return her to you. Things can be as they are now, during the period of your confinement. Two boys, as heirs, two girls, to marry off, and we can be done with one another. The king can find his entertainment elsewhere.’

‘But, that will take years!’

‘You could get it done in three or four, if you really ride him hard. And you might find it makes everyone’s lives easier if you at least pretend to enjoy it.’

‘Pretend?’ she breathed.

‘The more you seem to like it, the quicker it will be over. The cheapest whore on the docks can squeal for her coppers when the sailors stick her. Are you telling me you cannot squeal for the king of the Union? You offend my patriotic sensibilities! Uh!’ he gasped, rolling his eyes in a parody of ecstasy. ‘Ah! Yes! Just there! Don’t stop!’ He curled his lip at her. ‘You see? Even I can do it! A liar of your experience should have no difficulty.’

Her teary eyes darted round the room, as though she were looking for some way out. But there is none. The noble Arch Lector Glokta, protector of the Union, great heart of the Closed Council, paragon of the gentlemanly virtues, displays his flair for politics and diplomacy. He felt some tiny stirring within him as he watched her wretched desperation, some negligible flutter in his guts. Guilt, perhaps? Or indigestion? It hardly matters which, I have learned my lesson. Pity never works for me.

He took one more slow step forward. ‘Your Majesty, I hope you fully understand the alternative.’

She nodded, and wiped her eyes. Then she proudly raised up her chin. ‘I will do as you ask. Please, I beg of you, do not hurt her . . . please . . .’

Please, please, please. Many congratulations, your Eminence. ‘You have my word. I will see the Countess has only the best of treatment.’ He licked gently at the sour gaps in his teeth. ‘And you will do the same with your husband.’

He heard hinges creaking. The small door that connected to the queen’s bedchamber crept slowly open. He had never bothered to lock it, from his side. He had not foreseen any circumstance under which she would ever want to use it. Some error of etiquette that he had made, no doubt, for which she could not wait even until morning to admonish him.

He stood up, quickly, stupidly nervous.

Terez stepped through the shadowy doorway. She looked so different that at first he hardly recognised her. Her hair was loose, she wore only her shift. She looked humbly towards the ground, her face in darkness. Her bare feet padded across the boards, across the thick carpet towards the fire. She seemed very young, suddenly. Young and small, weak and alone. He watched her, mostly confused, somewhat scared, but also, as she came closer and the firelight caught the shape of her body, ever so slightly aroused.

‘Terez, my . . .’ he fumbled for the word. Darling scarcely seemed to cover it. Nor did love. Worst enemy might have, but it hardly would have helped matters. ‘Can I—’

She cut him off, as ever, but not with the tirade he was expecting. ‘I’m sorry for the way that I have treated you. For the things that I have said . . . you must think me . . .’

There were tears in her eyes. Actual tears. He would hardly have believed until that moment that she could cry. He took a hurried step or two towards her, one hand out, no idea of what to do. He had never dared to hope for an apology, and certainly not one so earnestly and honestly delivered.

‘I know,’ he stuttered, ‘I know . . . I’m not what you wanted in a husband. I’m sorry for that. But I’m as much a prisoner in this as you are. I only hope . . . that perhaps we can make the best of it. Perhaps we might find a way . . . to care for one another? We have no one else, either of us. Please, tell me what I have to do—’

‘Shhhh.’ She touched one finger to his lips, looking into his eyes, one half of her face glowing orange from the fire, the other half black with shadow. Her fingers worked through his hair and drew him towards her. She kissed him, gently, awkwardly, almost, their lips brushing, then pressing clumsily together. He slid one hand round behind her neck, under her ear, his thumb stroking at her smooth cheek. Their mouths worked mechanically, accompanied by the soft squeak of breath in his nose, the gentle squelch of spit moving. Hardly the most passionate kiss he had ever enjoyed, but it was a great deal more than he had ever expected to get from her. There was a pleasant tingling building in his crotch as he pushed his tongue into her mouth.

He ran his other palm down her back, feeling the bumps of her spine under his fingers. He grunted softly as he slid his hand over her arse, down the side of her thigh then up between her legs, the hem of her shift gathering round his wrist. He felt her shudder, felt her flinch, and bite her lip in shock, it seemed, or even in disgust. He jerked his hand back, and they broke apart, both looking at the floor. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, inwardly cursing his eagerness. ‘I—’

‘No. It’s my fault. I’m not . . . experienced . . . with men . . .’ Jezal blinked for a moment, then almost smiled at a surge of relief. Of course. Now everything was clear. She was so assured, so sharp, it had never even occurred to him that she might be a virgin. It was simple fear that made her tremble so. Fear of disappointing him. He felt a rush of sympathy.

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured it softly, stepping forward and taking her in his arms. He felt her stiffen, no doubt with nervousness, and he gently stroked her hair. ‘I can wait . . . we don’t have to . . . not yet.’

‘No.’ She said it with a touching determination, looking him fearlessly in the eye. ‘No. We do.’

She dragged her shift up and over her head, let it drop to the floor. She came close to him, took hold of his wrist, guided it back to her thigh, then upwards.

‘Ah,’ she whispered, urgent and throaty, her lips brushing his cheek, her breath hot in his ear. ‘Yes . . . just there . . . don’t stop.’ She led him breathless to the bed.

They rose, quickly, quietly, and in good order. Torlichorm, Halleck, Kroy and all the rest filed slowly from the room. Glokta himself struggled up, his leg still aching with the memory of the morning’s cramps, only to find that the Lord Chamberlain had, once again, remained behind. And he looks far from amused.

Hoff waited until the door shut before he spoke. ‘Imagine my surprise,’ he snapped, ‘to hear of your recent marriage.’

‘A swift and understated ceremony.’ Glokta showed the Lord Chamberlain the wreckage of his front teeth. ‘Young love, you understand, brooks no delays. I apologise if the lack of an invitation offended you.’

‘An invitation?’ growled Hoff, frowning mightily. ‘Hardly! This is not what we discussed!’

‘Discussed? I believe we have a misunderstanding. Our mutual friend,’ and Glokta let his eyes move significantly to the empty thirteenth chair at the far end of the table, ‘left me in charge. Me. No other. He deems it necessary that the Closed Council speak with one voice. From now on, that voice will sound remarkably like mine.’

Hoff’s ruddy face had paled slightly. ‘Of course, but—’

‘You are aware, I suppose, that I lived through two years of torture? Two years in hell, so I can stand before you now. Or lean before you, twisted as an old tree root. A crippled, shambling, wretched mockery of a man, eh, Lord Hoff? Let us be honest with one another. Sometimes I lose control of my own leg. My own eyes. My own face.’ He snorted. ‘If you can call it a face. My bowels too, are rebellious. I often wake up daubed in my own shit. I find myself in constant pain, and the memories of everything that I have lost nag at me, endlessly.’ He felt his left eye twitching. Let it twitch. ‘So you can see how, despite my constant efforts to be a man of sunny temper, I find that I despise the world, and everything in it, and myself most of all. A regrettable state of affairs, for which there is no remedy.’

The Lord Chamberlain licked his lips uncertainly. ‘You have my sympathy, but I fail to see the relevance.’

Glokta came suddenly very close, ignoring a spasm up his leg, pressing Hoff back against the table. ‘Your sympathy is less than worthless, and the relevance is this. Knowing what I am, what I have endured, what I still endure . . . can you suppose there is anything in this world I fear? Any act I will shrink from? The most unbearable pain of others is at the worst . . . an irritation to me.’ Glokta jerked even closer, letting his lips work back from his ruined teeth, letting his face tremble, and his eye weep. ‘Knowing all that . . . can you possibly think it wise . . . for a man to stand where you stand now . . . and make threats? Threats against my wife? Against my unborn child?’

‘No threat was intended, of course, I would never—’

‘That simply would not do, Lord Hoff! That simply would not do. At the very slightest breath of violence against them . . . why, I would not wish you even to imagine the inhuman horror of my response.’ Closer yet, so close that his spit made a soft mist across Hoff’s trembling jowls. ‘I cannot permit any further discussion of this issue. Ever. I cannot permit even the rumour that there might be an issue. Ever. It simply . . . would . . . not . . . do, Lord Hoff, for an eyeless, tongue-less, faceless, fingerless, cockless bag of meat to be occupying your chair on the Closed Council.’ He stepped away, grinning his most revolting grin. ‘Why, my Lord Chamberlain . . . who would drink all the wine?’

From the other side of the high walls came the faint sound of distant work. The clanking of picks and hammers, the scraping of earth and the clattering of stone. The faint calls of the carpenters and the masons. These were the most pleasant sounds of all, to Jezal’s ear. The sounds of rebuilding.

‘It will take time, of course,’ he was saying.

‘Of course.’

‘Years, perhaps. But much of the rubble is already cleared. The repair of some of the more lightly damaged buildings has already begun. The Agriont will be more glorious than ever before you know it. I have made it my highest priority.’

Glokta bowed his head even lower. ‘And therefore mine, and that of your Closed Council. Might I enquire . . .’ he murmured, ‘after the health of your wife, the queen?’

Jezal worked his mouth. He hardly liked discussing his personal business with this man, of all people, but it could not be denied that whatever the cripple had said, there had been a most dramatic improvement.

‘A material change.’ Jezal shook his head. ‘I find now that she is a woman of almost . . . insatiable appetites.’

‘I am delighted that my entreaties have had an effect.’

‘Oh, they have, they have, only there is still a certain . . .’ Jezal waved his hand in the air, searching out the right word. ‘Sadness in her. Sometimes . . . I hear her crying, in the night. She stands at the open window, and she weeps, for hours at a time.’

‘Crying, your Majesty? Perhaps she is merely homesick. I always suspected she was a much gentler spirit than she appears to be.’

‘She is! She is. A gentle spirit.’ Jezal thought about it for a moment. ‘Do you know, I think you may be right. Homesick.’ A plan began to take shape in his mind. ‘Perhaps we should have the gardens of the palace redesigned, to give a flavour of Talins? We could have the stream altered, in the likeness of canals, and so forth!’

Glokta leered his toothless grin. ‘A sublime idea. I shall speak to the Royal Gardener. Perhaps another brief word with her Majesty as well, to see if I can staunch her tears.’

‘I would appreciate whatever you can do. How is your own wife?’ he tossed over his shoulder, hoping to change the subject, then realising he had strayed onto one even more difficult.

But Glokta only showed his empty smile again. ‘She is a tremendous comfort to me, your Majesty. I really don’t know how I ever managed without her.’

They moved on in awkward silence for a moment, then Jezal cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been thinking, Glokta, about that scheme of mine. You know, about a tax on the banks? Perhaps to pay for a new hospital near the docks. For those who cannot afford a surgeon. The common folk have been good to us. They have helped us to power, and suffered in our name. A government should offer something to all its people, should it not? The more mean, the more base, the more they need our help. A king is only truly as rich as his poorest subject, do you not think? Would you have the High Justice draw something up? Small to begin with, then we can go further. Free housing, perhaps, for those who find themselves without a home. We should consider—’

‘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.