The Blade Itself tfl-1

by Joe Abercrombie

  Jezal was almost sure that had been some kind of insult, but he was too busy trying to think of something witty to pay it too much mind. He knew he would have to speak now or spend the entire day in embarrassed silence, so he opened his mouth and trusted to luck. “I’m sorry if I seem dumbfounded, but Major West is such an unattractive man. How could I have expected so beautiful a sister?”

  West snorted with laughter. His sister raised an eyebrow, and counted the points off on her fingers. “Mildly offensive to my brother, which is good. Somewhat amusing, which is also good. Honest, which is refreshing, and wildly complimentary to me, which, of course, is excellent. A little late, but on the whole worth waiting for.” She looked Jezal in the eye. “The afternoon might not be a total loss.”

  Jezal wasn’t sure he liked that last comment, and he wasn’t sure he liked the way she looked at him, but he was enjoying looking at her, so he was prepared to forgive a lot. The women of his acquaintance rarely said anything clever, especially the fine-looking ones. He supposed they were trained to smile and nod and listen while the men did the talking. On the whole he agreed with that way of doing things, but the cleverness sat well on West’s sister, and she had more than caught his curiosity. Fat and peevish were off the menu, of that there could be no doubt. As for coarse, well, handsome people are never coarse, are they? Just… unconventional. He was beginning to think that the afternoon, as she had said, might not be a total loss.

  West made for the door. “It seems I must leave you two to make fools of one another. Lord Marshal Burr is expecting me. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, eh?” The comment seemed to be aimed at Jezal, but West was looking at his sister.

  “That would seem to allow virtually everything,” she said, catching Jezal’s eye. He was amazed to feel himself blushing like a little girl, and he coughed and looked down at his shoes.

  West rolled his eyes. “Mercy,” he said, as the door clicked shut.

  “Would you care for a drink?” Ardee asked, already pouring wine into a glass. Alone with a beautiful young woman. Hardly a new experience, Jezal told himself, and yet he seemed to be lacking his usual confidence.

  “Yes, thank you, most kind.” Yes, a drink, a drink, just the thing to steady the nerves. She held the glass out to him and poured another for herself. He wondered if a young lady should be drinking at this time of day, but it seemed pointless to say anything. She wasn’t his sister, after all.

  “Tell me, Captain, how do you know my brother?”

  “Well, he’s my commanding officer, and we fence together.” His brain was beginning to function again. “But then… you know that already.”

  She grinned at him. “Of course, but my governess always maintained that young men should be allowed their share of the conversation.”

  Jezal gave an ungainly cough as he was swallowing and spilled some wine down his jacket. “Oh dear,” he said.

  “Here, take this a moment.” She gave him her glass and he took it without thinking, but then found himself without a free hand. When she started dabbing at his chest with a white handkerchief he could hardly object, though it did seem rather forward. Being honest, he might have objected if she wasn’t so damn fine-looking. He wondered if she realised what an excellent view she was giving him down the front of her dress, but of course not, how could she? She was simply new here, unused to courtly manners, the artless ways of a country girl and so forth… nice view though, there was no denying that.

  “There, that’s better,” she said, though the dabbing had made no apparent difference. Not to his uniform anyway. She took the glasses from him, drained her own quickly with a practised flick of her head and shoved them on the table. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes… of course. Oh,” and he offered her his arm.

  She led him out into the corridor and down the stairs, chatting freely. It was a flurry of conversational blows and, as Marshal Varuz had pointed out earlier, his defence was weak. He parried desperately as they made their way across the wide Square of Marshals, but he could barely get a word in. It seemed as though it was Ardee who had been living there for years and Jezal who was the bumpkin from the provinces.

  “The Halls Martial are behind there?” She nodded over at the looming wall that separated the headquarters of the Union’s armies from the rest of the Agriont.

  “Indeed they are. That is where the Lord Marshals have their offices, and so forth. And there are barracks there, and armouries, and, er…” He trailed off. He could not think of much else to say, but Ardee came to his rescue.

  “So my brother must be somewhere in there. He’s quite the famous soldier, I suppose. First through the breach at Ulrioch, and so on.”

  “Well, yes, Major West is very well respected here…”

  “He can be such a bore, though, can’t he? He does so love to be mysterious and troubled.” She put on a faint, faraway smile and rubbed her chin thoughtfully, just as her brother might have done. She had captured the man perfectly, and Jezal had to laugh, but he was starting to wonder if she should be walking quite so close beside him, holding his arm in quite so intimate a way. Not that he objected of course. Quite the reverse, but people were looking.

  “Ardee—” he said.

  “So this must be the Kingsway.”

  “Er, yes, Ardee—”

  She was gazing up at the magnificent statue of Harod the Great, his stern eyes fixed on the middle distance. “Harod the Great?” she asked.

  “Er, yes. In the dark ages, before there was a Union, he fought to bring the Three Kingdoms together. He was the first High King.” You idiot, thought Jezal, she knows that already, everyone does. “Ardee, I think your brother would not—”

  “And this is Bayaz, the First of the Magi?”

  “Yes, he was Harod’s most trusted adviser. Ardee—”

  “Is it true they still keep a vacant seat for him in the Closed Council?”

  Jezal was taken aback. “I’d heard that there’s an empty chair there, but I didn’t know that—”

  “They all look so serious, don’t they?”

  “Er… I suppose those were serious times,” he said, grinning lamely.

  A Knight Herald thundered down the avenue on a huge, well-lathered horse, the sun glinting on the golden wings of his helmet. Secretaries scattered to let him pass, and Jezal tried to guide Ardee gently out of the way. To his great dismay she refused to be moved. The horse flashed past within a few inches of her, close enough for the wind to flick her hair in Jezal’s face. She turned to him with a flush of excitement on her cheek, otherwise utterly undaunted by her brush with severe injury.

  “A Knight Herald?” she asked, taking Jezal’s arm once again and leading him off down the Kingsway.

  “Yes,” squeaked Jezal, desperately trying to bring his voice under control, “the Knights Herald are entrusted with a grave responsibility. They carry messages from the King to every part of the Union.” His heart had stopped hammering. “Even across the Circle Sea to Angland, Dagoska, and Westport. They are entrusted to speak with the King’s voice, and so forbidden from speaking except on the King’s business.”

  “Fedor dan Haden was on the boat on our way over, he’s a Knight Herald. We talked for hours.” Jezal attempted unsuccessfully to contain his surprise. “We talked about Adua, about the Union, about his family. Your name was mentioned, actually.” Jezal failed to look nonchalant once again. “In connection with the coming Contest.” Ardee leaned even closer to him. “Fedor was of the opinion that Bremer dan Gorst will cut you to pieces.”

  Jezal gave a strangled cough, but he rallied well. “Unfortunately, that opinion seems widely held.”

  “But not by you, I trust?”

  “Er…”

  She stopped and took him by the hand, staring earnestly into his eyes. “I’m sure that you’ll get the better of him, no matter what they say. My brother speaks very highly of you, and he’s stingy with his praise.”

  “Er…” mumbled Jezal. His fingers were tingl
ing pleasantly. Her eyes were big and dark, and he found himself greatly at a loss for words. She had this way of biting on her lower lip that made his thoughts stray. A fine, full lip. He wouldn’t have minded having a little chew on it himself. “Well, thank you.” He gave a gormless grin.

  “So this is the park,” said Ardee, turning away from him to admire the greenery. “It’s even more beautiful than I’d imagined.”

  “Erm… yes.”

  “How wonderful, to be at the heart of things. I’ve spent so much of my life on the edge. There must be many important decisions made here, many important people.” Ardee allowed her hand to trail through the fronds of a willow tree by the road. “Collem’s worried there might be war in the North. He was worried for my safety. I think that’s why he wanted me to come here. I think he worries too much. What do you think, Captain Luthar?”

  He had been in blissful ignorance of the political situation until a couple of hours before, but that would never do as a reply. “Well,” he said, straining to remember the name, and then with relief, “this Bethod could do with a rap on the knuckles.”

  “They say he has twenty thousand Northmen under his banner.” She leaned towards him. “Barbarians,” she murmured. “Savages,” she whispered. “I heard he skins his captives alive.”

  Jezal thought this was hardly suitable conversation for a young lady. “Ardee…” he began.

  “But I’m sure with men like you and my brother to protect us, we womenfolk have nothing to worry about.” And she turned and made off up the path. Jezal had to hurry once again to catch up.

  “And is that the House of the Maker?” Ardee nodded towards the grim outline of the huge tower.

  “Why, yes it is.”

  “Does no one go inside?”

  “No one. Not in my lifetime anyway. The bridge is kept behind lock and key.” He frowned up at the tower. Seemed strange now, that he never thought about it. Living in the Agriont, it was always there. You just got used to it somehow. “The place is sealed, I believe.”

  “Sealed?” Ardee moved very close to him. Jezal glanced around nervously but nobody was looking. “Isn’t it strange that nobody goes in there? Isn’t it a mystery?” He could almost feel her breath on his neck, “I mean to say, why not just break the door down?”

  Jezal was finding it horribly difficult to concentrate with her so close. He wondered for a moment, both frightening and exciting, whether she might be flirting with him? No, no, of course not! Just not used to the city was all. The artless ways of a country girl… but then she was very close. If only she were a little less attractive or a little less confident. If only she were a little less… West’s sister.

  He coughed and looked off down the path, hoping vainly for a distraction. There were a few people moving along it, but no one that he recognised, unless… Ardee’s spell was suddenly broken, and Jezal felt his skin go cold. A hunched figure, overdressed on this sunny day, was limping toward them, leaning heavily on a cane. He was bent over and wincing with every step, the faster-moving travellers giving him a wide berth. Jezal tried to steer Ardee away before he saw them, but she resisted gracefully and made a direct line for the shambling Inquisitor.

  His head snapped up as they approached and his eyes glinted with recognition. Jezal’s heart sank. There was no avoiding him now.

  “Why, Captain Luthar,” said Glokta warmly, shuffling a little too close and shaking his hand, “what a pleasure! I’m surprised that Varuz has let you go so early in the day. He must be mellowing in his old age.”

  “The Lord Marshal is still most demanding,” snapped Jezal.

  “I hope my Practicals didn’t inconvenience you the other night.” The Inquisitor shook his head sadly. “They have no manners. No manners at all. But they are the very best at what they do! I swear, the King doesn’t have two more valuable servants.”

  “I suppose we all serve the King in our own way.” There was a little more hostility in Jezal’s voice than he had intended.

  If Glokta was offended he didn’t show it. “Quite so. I don’t believe I know your friend.”

  “No. This is—”

  “Actually, we’ve met,” said Ardee, much to Jezal’s surprise, giving her hand to the Inquisitor. “Ardee West.”

  Glokta’s eyebrows rose. “No!” He bent down stiffly to kiss the back of her hand. Jezal saw his mouth twist as he straightened up, but the toothless grin soon returned. “Collem West’s sister! But you are so much changed.”

  “For the better, I hope,” she laughed. Jezal felt horribly uncomfortable.

  “Why—yes indeed,” said Glokta.

  “And you are changed also, Sand.” Ardee looked suddenly very sad. “We were all so worried in my family. We hoped and hoped for your safe return.” Jezal saw a spasm run over Glokta’s face. “Then when we heard you were hurt… how are you?”

  The Inquisitor glanced at Jezal, his eyes cold as a slow death. Jezal stared down at his boots, a lump of fear in his throat. He had no need to be scared of this cripple, did he? But somehow he wished he was still at fencing practice. Glokta stared at Ardee, his left eye twitching slightly, and she looked back at him undaunted, her eyes full of quiet concern.

  “I am well. As well as can be expected.” His expression had turned very strange. Jezal felt more uncomfortable than ever. “Thank you for asking. Truly. Nobody ever does.”

  There was an awkward silence. The Inquisitor stretched his neck sideways and there was a loud click. “Ah!” he said, “that’s got it. It’s been a pleasure to see you again, both of you, but duty calls.” He treated them to another revolting smile then hobbled off, his left foot scraping in the gravel.

  Ardee frowned at his twisted back as he limped slowly away. “It’s so sad,” she said under her breath.

  “What?” mumbled Jezal. He was thinking about that big white bastard in the street, those narrow pink eyes. The prisoner with the bag on his head. We all serve the King in our own way. Quite so. He gave an involuntary shiver.

  “He and my brother used to be quite close. He came to stay with us one summer. My family were so proud to have him it was embarrassing. He used to fence with my brother every day, and he always won. The way he moved, it was something to see. Sand dan Glokta. He was the brightest star in the sky.” She flashed her knowing half-smile again. “And now I hear you are.”

  “Er…” said Jezal, not sure whether she was praising him or poking fun. He could not escape the feeling that he had been out-fenced twice that day, once by each sibling.

  He rather fancied that the sister had given him the worse beating.

  The Morning Ritual

  It was a bright summers day, and the park was filled to capacity with colourful revellers. Colonel Glokta strode manfully toward some meeting of great importance, people bowing and scraping respectfully away to give him room. He ignored most, favoured the more important ones with his brilliant smile. The lucky few beamed back at him, delighted to be noticed.

  “I suppose we all serve the King in our own way,” whined Captain Luthar, reaching for his steel, but Glokta was far too quick for him. His blade flashed with lightning speed, catching the sneering idiot through the neck.

  Blood splattered across Ardee West’s face. She clapped her hands in delight, looking at Glokta with shining eyes.

  Luthar seemed surprised to be killed. “Hah. Quite so,” said Glokta with a smile. The Captain pitched over onto his face, blood pouring from his punctured throat. The crowd roared their appreciation and Glokta indulged them with a deep, graceful bow. The cheering was redoubled.

  “Oh, Colonel, you shouldn’t,” murmured Ardee as Glokta licked the blood from her cheek.

  “Shouldn’t what?” he growled, tipping her back in his arms and kissing her fiercely. The crowd were in a frenzy. She gasped as he broke away, looking up at him adoringly with those big dark eyes of hers, lips slightly parted.

  “The Arth Ector wanth you,” she said with a comely smile.

  “What?” The c
rowd had fallen silent, damn them, and his left side was turning numb.

  Ardee touched him tenderly on the cheek. “The Arth Ector!” she shouted.

  There was a heavy knock at the door. Glokta’s eyes flicked open. Where am I? Who am I?

  Oh no.

  Oh yes. He realised straight away he had been sleeping badly, his body was twisted round under the blankets, his face pushed into the pillow. His whole left side was dead.

  The beating on the door came heavier than before. “The Arth Ector!” came Frost’s tongueless bellow from the other side.

  Pain shot through Glokta’s neck as he tried to raise his head from the pillow. Ah, there’s nothing like the first spasm of the day to get the mind working. “Alright!” he croaked, “give me a minute, damn it!”

  The albino’s heavy footsteps thudded away down the corridor. Glokta lay still for a moment, then cautiously moved his right arm, ever so slowly, breath rasping with the effort, and tried to twist himself onto his back. He clenched his fist as the needling started in his left leg. If only the damn thing would stay numb. But the pain was coming on fast now. He was also becoming aware of an unpleasant smell. Damn it. I’ve shit myself again.

  “Barnam!” howled Glokta, then waited, panting, left side throbbing with a vengeance. Where is the old idiot? “Barnam!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  “Are you alright, sir?” came the servant’s voice from beyond the door.

  Alright? Alright, you old fool? Just when do you think I was last alright? “No, damn it! I’ve soiled the bed!”

  “I’ve boiled water for a bath, sir. Can you get up?”

  Once before Frost had had to break the door down. Maybe I should let it stand open all night, but then how could I sleep? “I think I can manage,” Glokta hissed, tongue pressed into his empty gums, arms trembling as he hauled himself out of the bed and onto the chair beside it.