'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.
Glokta hobbled painfully up to the ordinary house in the unexceptional street, something resembling a smile on his face. A moment free of the suffocating company of the great and the good. A moment in which I do not have to lie, or cheat, or watch for a knife in my back. Perhaps I'll even find a room that doesn't still stink of Harlen Morrow. That would be a refreshing—
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.'
* * *
So Much in Common
« ^ »
Ferro stalked round the room, and scowled. She poured her scorn out into the sweet-smelling air, onto the rustling hangings, over the great windows and the high balcony beyond them. She sneered at the dark pictures of fat pale kings, at the shining furniture scattered about the wide floor. She hated this place, with its soft beds and its soft people. She infinitely preferred the dust and thirst of the Badlands of Kanta. Life there was hard, and hot, and brief.
But at least it was honest.
This Union, and this city of Adua in particular, and this fortress of the Agriont especially, were all packed to bursting with lies. She felt them on her skin, like an oily stain she could not rub off. And Bayaz was sunk in the very midst of it. He had tricked her into following him across the world for nothing. They had found no ancient weapon to use against the Gurkish. Now he smiled, and laughed, and whispered secrets with old men. Men who came in sweating from the heat outside, and left s
weating even more.
She would never have admitted it to anyone else. She despised having to admit it to herself. She missed Ninefingers. Though she had never been able to show it, it had been a reassurance, having someone she could halfway trust.
Now she had to look over her own shoulder.
All she had for company was the apprentice, and he was worse than nothing. He sat and watched her in silence, his book ignored on the table beside him. Watching and smiling without joy, as though he knew something she should have guessed. As though he thought her a fool for not seeing it. That only made her angrier than ever. So she prowled round the room, frowning at everything, her fists clenched and her jaw locked light.
'You should go back to the South, Ferro.'
She stopped in her tracks, and scowled at Quai. He was right, of course. Nothing would have pleased her more than to leave these Godless pinks behind forever and fight the Gurkish with weapons she understood. Tear vengeance from them with her teeth, if she had to. He was right, but that changed nothing. Ferro had never been much for taking advice. 'What do you know about what I should do, scrawny pink fool?'
'More than you think.' He did not take his slow eyes away from her for a moment. 'We are much alike, you and I. You may not see it, and yet we are. So much in common.' Ferro frowned. She did not know what the sickly idiot meant by that, but she did not like the sound of it. 'Bayaz will bring you nothing you need. He cannot be trusted. I found out too late, but you still have time. You should find another master.'
'I have no master,' she snapped at him. 'I am free.'
One corner of Quai's pale lips twitched up. 'Neither of us will ever be free. Go. There is nothing for you here.'
'Why do you stay, then?'
'For vengeance.'
Ferro frowned deeper. 'Vengeance for what?'
The apprentice leaned forward, his bright eyes fixed on hers. The door creaked open and he snapped his mouth shut, sat back and looked out of the window. Just as if he had never meant to speak.
Damn apprentice with his damn riddles. Ferro turned her scowl towards the door.
Bayaz came slowly through into the room, a teacup held carefully level in one hand. He did not so much as look in Ferro's direction as he swept past and out the open door onto the balcony. Damn Magus. She stalked after, narrowing her eyes at the glare. They were high up, and the Agriont was spread out before them, as it had been when she and Ninefingers climbed over the rooftops, long ago. Groups of idle pinks lazed on the shining grass below, just as they had done before Ferro left for the Old Empire. And yet not everything was the same.
Everywhere in the city, now, there was a kind of fear. She could see it in each soft, pale face. In their every word and gesture. A breathless expectation, like the air before the storm breaks. Like a field of dry grass, ready to burst into flame at the slightest spark. She did not know what they were waiting for, and she did not care.
But she had heard a lot of talk about votes.
The First of the Magi watched her as she stepped through the door, the bright sun shining on the side of his bald head. 'Tea, Ferro?'
Ferro hated tea, and Bayaz knew it. Tea was what the Gurkish drank when they had treachery in mind. She remembered the soldiers drinking it while she struggled in the dust. She remembered the slavers drinking it while they talked prices. She remembered Uthman drinking it while he chuckled at her rage and her helplessness. Now Bayaz drank it, little cup held daintily between his thick thumb and forefinger, and he smiled.
Ferro ground her teeth. 'I am done here, pink. You promised me vengeance and have given me nothing. I am going back to the South.'
'Indeed? We would be sorry to lose you. But Gurkhul and the Union are at war. There are no ships sailing to Kanta at present. There may not be for some time to come.'
'Then how will I get there?'
'You have made it abundantly clear that you are not my responsibility. I have put a roof over your head and you show scant gratitude. If you wish to leave, you can make your own arrangements. My brother Yulwei should return to us shortly. Perhaps he will be prepared to take you under his wing.'
'Not good enough.' Bayaz glared at her. A fearsome look, perhaps, but Ferro was not Longfoot, or Luthar, or Quai. She had no master, and would never have another. 'Not good enough, I said!'
'Why is it that you insist on testing the limits of my patience? It is not without an end, you know.'
'Neither is mine.'
Bayaz snorted. 'Yours scarcely even has a beginning, as Master Ninefingers could no doubt testify. I do declare, Ferro, you have all the charm of a goat, and a mean-tempered goat at that.' He stuck his lips out, tipped up his cup and sucked delicately from the rim. Only with a mighty effort was Ferro able to stop herself from slapping it out of his hand, and butting the bald bastard in the face into the bargain. 'But if fighting the Gurkish is still what you have in mind—'
'Always.'
'Then I am sure that I can still find a use for your talents. Something that does not require a sense of humour. My purposes with regard to the Gurkish are unchanged. The struggle must continue, albeit with other weapons.' His eyes slid sideways, towards the great tower that loomed up over the fortress.
Ferro knew little about beauty and cared still less, but that building was a beautiful thing to her mind. There was no softness, no indulgence in that mountain of naked stone. There was a brutal honesty in its shape. A merciless precision in its sharp, black angles. Something about it fascinated her.
'What is that place?' she asked.
Bayaz narrowed his eyes at her. 'The House of the Maker.'
'What is inside?'
'None of your business.'
Ferro almost spat with annoyance. 'You lived there. You served Kanedias. You helped the Maker with his works. You told us all this, out on the plains. So tell me, what is inside?'
'You have a sharp memory, Ferro, but you forget one thing. We did not find the Seed. I do not need you. I do not need, in particular, to answer your endless questions any longer. Imagine my dismay.' He sucked primly at his tea again, raising his brows and peering out at the lazy pinks in the park.
Ferro forced a smile onto her own face. Or as close as she could get to a smile. She bared her teeth, at least. She remembered well enough what the bitter old woman Cawneil had said, and how much it had annoyed him. She would do the same. 'The Maker. You tried to steal his secrets. You tried to steal his daughter. Tolomei was her name. Her father threw her from the roof. In return for her betrayal, in opening his gates to you. Am I wrong?'
Bayaz angrily flicked the last drops from his cup over the balcony. Ferro watched them glitter in the bright sun, tumbling downwards. 'Yes, Ferro, the Maker threw his daughter from the roof. It would seem that we are both unlucky in love, eh? Bad luck for us. Worse luck for our lovers. Who would have dreamed we have so much in common?' Ferro wondered about shoving the pink bastard off the balcony after his tea. But he still owed her, and she meant to collect. So she only scowled, and ducked back through the doorway.
There was a new arrival in the room. A man with curly hair and a wide smile. He had a tall staff in his hand, a case of weathered leather over one shoulder. There was something strange about his eyes— one light, one dark. There was something about his watchful gaze that made Ferro suspicious. Even more than usual.
'Ah, the famous Ferro Maljinn. Forgive my curiosity, but it is not every day that one encounters a person of your… remarkable ancestry.'
Ferro did not like that he knew her name, or her ancestry, or anything about her. 'Who are you?'
'Where are my manners? I am Yoru Sulfur, of the order of Magi,' and he offered his hand. She did not take it but he only smiled. 'Not one of the original twelve, of course, not I. Merely an afterthought. A late addition. I was once apprentice to great Bayaz.'
Ferro snorted. That hardly qualified him for trust in her estimation. 'What happened?'
'I graduated.'
Bayaz tossed his cup down rattling on
a table by the window. 'Yoru,' he said, and the newcomer humbly bowed his head. 'My thanks for your work thus far. Precise and to the point, as always.'
Sulfur's smile grew broader. 'A small cog in a large machine, Master Bayaz, but I try to be a sturdy one.'
'You have yet to let me down. I do not forget that. How is your next little game progressing?'
'Ready to begin, at your command.'
'Let us begin now. There is nothing to be gained by delay.'
'I shall make the preparations. I have also brought this, as you asked.' He swung the bag down from his shoulder and gingerly reached inside. He slowly drew out a book. Large and black, its heavy covers hacked, and scarred, and charred by fire. 'Glustrod's book,' he murmured softly, as though afraid to say the words.
Bayaz frowned. 'Keep it, for now. There was an unexpected complication.'
'A complication?' Sulfur slid the book back into its case with some relief.
'What we sought… was not there.'
'Then—'
'As regards our other plans, nothing is changed.'
'Of course.' Sulfur bowed his head again. 'Lord Isher will already be on his way.'
'Very well.' Bayaz glanced over at Ferro, as though he had only just remembered that she was there. 'For the time being, perhaps you would be good enough to give us the room? I have a visitor that I must attend to.'
She was happy to leave, but she took her time moving, if only because Bayaz wanted her gone quickly. She unfolded her arms, stood on the spot and stretched. She strolled to the door by a roundabout route, letting her feet scuff against the boards and fill the room with their ugly scraping. She stopped on the way to gaze at a picture, to poke at a chair, to flick at a shiny pot, none of which interested her at all. All the while Quai watched, and Bayaz frowned, and Sulfur grinned his knowing little grin. She stopped in the doorway.
'Now?'
'Yes, now,' snapped Bayaz.
She looked round the room one more time. 'Fucking Magi,' she snorted, and slid through the door.
Last Argument of Kings Page 6
