Frost had already tightened a tourniquet round Severards wrist and manacled the bloody remains of his left hand back to the chair. He unfastened his right arm and guided it carefully to the table. Glokta watched him do it. All neat, and business-like, and ruthlessly efficient. Does his conscience nag at him, I wonder, when the sun goes down? I doubt it. I give the orders after all. And I act on orders from Sult, on advice from Marovia, on the demands of Valint and Balk. What choice do any of us have, in the end? Why, the excuses almost make themselves.
Frosts white face was dusted with bloody red specks as he spread Severards right hand out on the table, just where the left one had been. He did not even struggle this time. You lose the will, after a while. I remember. Please he whispered.
It would be so very nice to stop. Most likely the Gurkish will burn the whole city and kill us all, and then who will care who told who what? If by some miracle they fail, no doubt Sult will finish me, or Valint and Balk will collect their debt in my blood. What will it matter when I am floating face-down in the docks whether certain questions were ever answered? Then why do I do this? Why?
The blood reached the edge of the wood and started dripping to the floor with a steady tap, tap, tap. No other answer. Glokta felt a flurry of twitches run up the side of his face. He took hold of the cleaver again.
Look at this. He gestured at the pieces of bloody flesh scattered across the table. Look what youve lost here, already. All because you wont tell me what I need to know. Do you not value your own fingers? Theyre no use to you now, are they? Theyre no use to me, I can tell you that. Theyre no use to anyone, besides a hungry dog or two, maybe. Glokta bared the yawning hole in his front teeth, and ground the point of the cleaver into the wood between Severards outspread fingers. One more time. He pronounced the words with icy precision. What did you tell his Eminence?
I told him nothing! The tears ran down Severards hollow cheeks, his chest shuddered with sobs. I told him nothing! Valint and Balk, I had no choice! Ive never spoken to Sult in my fucking life! Not a word! Never!
Glokta looked into his Practicals eyes, his prisoners eyes, for a long moment, trying to see the truth. All was silent except for Severards gurgling, agonised breath. Then Glokta wrinkled his lip and tossed the cleaver down rattling on the table. Why give up your other hand, when you have confessed already? He gave a long sigh, reached out and gently wiped the tears from Severards pale face. Alright. I believe you.
But what then? We are left with more questions than before, and nowhere to look for the answers. He arched his back, wincing at the aches in his twisted spine, down his twisted leg, through his toeless foot. Sult must have gained his information elsewhere. Who else survived Dagoska, who else saw enough? Eider? She would never dare reveal herself. Vitari? If she wanted to spill her guts she could have done it at the time. Cosca? His Eminence would never work with a man that unpredictable. I only use him myself because I have no other choice. Then who?
Gloktas eyes met Frosts. Pink eyes, unblinking. They stared at him, bright and hard as pink gemstones. And the wheels clicked into place.
I see.
Neither one of them spoke. Frost reached out, without much haste, his eyes never leaving Gloktas, and wrapped both his thick arms around Severards neck. The ex-Practical could only stare, helpless.
Whatre Frost frowned slightly. There was a sharp crunching sound as he wrenched Severards head sideways. As simple and careless as killing a chicken. Severards skull flopped backwards as Frost let him go, and far past backwards, unnatural knobbly shapes sticking from the pale skin of his twisted neck.
The albino stood up, between Glokta and the door, hanging ajar. No way out. Glokta winced as he stumbled backwards, the tip of his cane scraping against the floor. Why? Frost came on, slowly and surely, his white fists clenched tight, his white face expressionless behind his mask. Glokta held up one hand. Just tell me why, damn it!
The albino shrugged. I suppose some questions have no answers, after all. Gloktas twisted back hit the curved wall. And my time is up. Ah well. He took a long breath. The odds were always stacked against me. I do not mind dying, so very much.
Frost raised his white fist, then grunted. The cleaver sank deep into his heavy shoulder with a dull smack. Blood began to leak out from it into his shirt. Frost turned. Ardee stood behind him. The three of them stared at each other for a moment. Then Frost punched her in the face. She reeled away and crashed into the side of the table, slid limp to the floor, dragging it over on its side, Gloktas case clattering down beside her, instruments tumbling, blood and bits of flesh scattering. Frost started to turn back, the cleaver still wedged in his flesh, his left arm hanging limp.
Gloktas lips curled away from his empty gums. I do not mind dying. But I refuse to be beaten.
He set his feet as best he could, ignoring the pain that stabbed through his toeless foot and up his front leg. He brought up his cane and jammed his thumb into its hidden catch. It had been made to his precise instructions by the same man who had made the case for his instruments. And is an even finer piece of craftsmanship.
There was a gentle click as the wood sprang open on secret hinges and dropped away revealing a two-foot needle of mirror-bright metal. He let go a piercing shriek.
Jab, jab, Glokta. Jab, jab.
The steel was a blur. The first thrust ran Frost neatly through the left side of his chest. The second darted silently through the right side of his neck. The third punctured his mask and scraped against his jaw bone, the glinting point showing itself just under his white ear for an instant before it whipped back out.
Frost stood, motionless, his white eyebrows going up with mild surprise. Then blood welled from the tiny wound on his throat and ran down into his shirt in a black line. He reached out with one big white hand. He wobbled, blood bubbling from under his mask.
Futh, he breathed.
He crumpled to the ground as though his legs had been snatched suddenly from under him. He put out an arm to push himself up, but there was no strength in it. His breaths gurgled noisily, then quietly, and he was still. And that is all.
Ardee was sitting up near the table, blood running out of her nose and down her top lip. Hes dead.
I used to fence, murmured Glokta. It seems the trick never entirely leaves you. He stared from one corpse to the other. Frost lay in a slowly widening dark pool, one pink eye staring ahead, still unblinking, even in death. Severards head was hanging back over the chair, mouth yawning wide open in a silent scream, his mutilated hand still manacled, the other hanging limp. My boys. My eyes. My hands. All finished. He frowned at the bloody length of metal in his fist. Well. We must fumble onwards as best we can without them.
He winced as he reached down and picked up the fallen piece of his cane between two fingers, snapped it shut around the bloody steel. If you wouldnt mind closing that case for me. Ardee stared wide-eyed at the instruments, at Severards yawning corpse, at the blood-stained table on its side and the fragments of flesh scattered across the floor. She coughed, and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. One forgets that some people are not used to dealing with these matters. But we need such help as we can get, and it is a little late for easing anyone into this gently. If she can chop into a man with a cleaver, she can carry a blade or two for me without swooning. The case, he snapped. I will still need my instruments.