Cosca stepped through the gate and wandered lazily across the broken paving, tapping a few lumps of masonry away with the toe of one shabby boot. He stopped beside a ruined fountain and scraped some muck out of it with a finger. Nice place. Nice and He waved the finger around, and the muck with it. Crumbly. His mercenaries were already spreading out slowly around the rubble-strewn courtyard. Patched coats and tattered cloaks twitched back to display weapons of every size and shape. Edges, points, spikes and flanges glinted in the shifting light from their lanterns, their steel as smooth and clean as their faces were rough and dirty.
Who the hell are these? asked Severard.
Friends.
They dont look too friendly.
Glokta showed his Practical the yawning hole in his front teeth. Well. I suppose that all depends whose side youre on.
The last traces of Severards smile had vanished. His eyes flickered nervously around the yard. The eyes of the guilty. How well we know them. We see them on our prisoners. We see them in the mirror, when we dare to look. One might have hoped for better from a man of his experience, but holding the blade is a poor preparation for being cut by it. I should know. Severard dashed towards the house, quick as a rabbit, but he only got a step before a heavy white hand chopped into the side of his neck and flung him senseless on the broken paving.
Take him downstairs, Frost. You know the way.
Downthairth. Unh. The hulking albino dragged Severards limp body over his shoulder and set off towards the front door.
I have to say, said Cosca, flicking the scum carelessly off his finger, that I like your way with your men, Superior. Discipline, Ive always admired it.
Fine advice from the least disciplined man in the Circle of the World.
I have learned all kinds of things from my many mistakes. Cosca stretched his chin up and scratched at his scabby neck. The one thing I never learn is to stop making them.
Huh, grunted Glokta as he laboured up the steps. A curse we all have to bear. Round and round in circles we go, clutching at successes that we never grasp, endlessly tripping over the same old failures. Truly, life is the misery we endure between disappointments.
They stepped through the empty doorway and into the deeper darkness of the entrance hall. Cosca held his lamp high, staring up towards the ragged roof, his boots squelching heedless in the bird droppings spattering the floor. A palace! His voice echoed back from the shattered staircases, the empty doorways, the naked rafters high above.
Please make yourselves comfortable, said Glokta. But out of sight, perhaps. We can expect visitors some time tonight.
Excellent. We love company, dont we lads?
One of Coscas men gave a wet-lunged chuckle, displaying two rows of shit-coloured teeth. A set so incredibly rotten I am almost glad to have my own. These visitors will come from his Eminence the Arch Lector. Perhaps you could take a firm hand with them, while Im downstairs?
Cosca glanced round approvingly at the crumbling hall. A nice place for a warm welcome. Ill let you know when our guests have been. I doubt theyll stay long.
Ardee had found a place near the wall, her hood up, her eyes on the floor. Trying to fade into the plaster, and who could blame her? Hardly the most pleasant company for a young woman, or the most reassuring setting. But better than a slit throat, I suppose. Glokta held his hand out to her. It would be best if you were to come with me.
She hesitated. As though not entirely sure that it would, in fact, be best to come with me. But a brief glance at some of the ugliest men in one of the worlds ugliest professions evidently persuaded her. Cosca handed her his lamp, making sure his fingers lingered on hers for an uncomfortably long moment.
Thank you, she said, jerking her hand away.
My particular pleasure.
Sheets of hanging paper, broken laths, lumps of fallen plaster cast strange shadows as they left Cosca and his thugs behind and picked their way into the guts of the dead building. Doorways passed by, squares of blackness, yawning like graves.
Your friends seem a charming crowd, murmured Ardee.
Oh indeed, the brightest stars in the social firmament. Some tasks demand desperate men, apparently.
You must have some truly desperate work in mind, then.
When dont I?
Their lamp barely lit the rotting drawing room, panelling sagging from the cheap brickwork, the best part of the floor a single festering puddle. The hidden door stood open in the far wall and Glokta shuffled round the edge of the room towards it, his hips burning with the effort.
What did your man do?
Severard? He let me down. And we will soon find out how badly.
I hope I never let you down, then.
You, I am sure, have better sense. I should go first, then if I fall at least I fall alone. He winced his way down the steps while she followed with the light.
Ugh. Whats that smell?
The sewers. Theres an entrance to them down here, somewhere. Glokta stepped past the heavy door and into the converted wine cellar, the bright steel grilles on the cells to either side glimmering as they passed, the whole place reeking of damp and fear.
Superior! came a voice from the darkness. Brother Longfoots desperate face appeared, pressed up against one set of bars.
Brother Longfoot, my apologies! I have been so very busy. The Gurkish have laid siege to the city.
Gurkish? squeaked the man, his eyes bulging. Please, if you release me
Silence! hissed Glokta in a voice that brooked no dallying. You should stay here.
Ardee glanced nervously towards the Navigators cell. Here?
He isnt dangerous. I think youll be more comfortable than you would be and he nodded his head towards the open doorway at the end of the vaulted hall, in there.
She swallowed. Alright.
Superior, please! One despairing arm stuck from Longfoots cell, please, when will you release me? Superior, please! Glokta shut the door on his begging with a gentle click. We have other business today, and it will not wait.
Frost already had Severard manacled to the chair beside the table, still unconscious, and was lighting the lamps one by one with a flaming taper. The domed chamber gradually grew bright, the colour leaking into the mural across the round walls. Kanedias frowned down, arms outstretched, the fire burning behind him. Ah, our old friend the Master Maker, always disapproving. Opposite him his brother Juvens still bled his lurid last across the wall. And not the only blood that will be spilled in here tonight, I suspect.
Urr, groaned Severard, his lank hair swaying. Glokta lowered himself slowly into his chair, the leather creaking under him. Severard grunted again, his head dropped back, eyelids flickering. Frost lumbered over, reached out and undid the buckles on Severards mask, pulled it off and tossed it away into the corner of the room. From a fearsome Practical of the Inquisition to nothing much. He stirred, wrinkled his nose, twitching like a boy asleep.
Young. Weak. Helpless. One could almost feel sorry for him, if one had a heart. But now is not the time for sentiment and soft feelings, for friendship and forgiveness. The ghost of happy and promising Colonel Sand dan Glokta has been clinging to me for far too long. Farewell, my old friend. You cannot help us today. Now is the time for the ruthless Superior Glokta to do what he does best. To do the only thing that he does well. Now is the time for hard heads, hard hearts and even harder edges.