He held out his black-gauntleted hand. I am Grand Duke Orso, of Talins.
The idea, perhaps, was that West should kneel and kiss it. Instead he seized it with his own and gave it a firm shake. Your Excellency, an honour. He had no idea if that was even the proper form of address. He had scarcely been expecting to encounter one of the most powerful men in the world in the midst of a bloody battle on the docks of Adua. I am Lord Marshal West, commander of his Majestys Army. Not to appear ungrateful, but you are far from home
My daughter is your Queen. On her behalf, the people of Talins are prepared to make any sacrifice. As soon as I heard of the He arched one black eyebrow at the burning harbour. Troubles, here, I prepared an expedition. The ships of my fleet, as well as ten thousand of my best troops, stand at your disposal.
West hardly knew how to respond. They do?
I have taken the liberty of disembarking them. They are engaged in clearing the Gurkish from the south-western quarter of the city. The Three Farms, is it called?
Er yes.
Duke Orso gave the thinnest of smiles. A picturesque name for an urban area. You need no longer trouble yourself with your western flank. I wish you the best of luck with your endeavours, Lord Marshal. If fate is willing, we will meet each other afterward. Victorious. He bowed his magnificent head and swept away.
West stared after him. He knew that he really should have been grateful for the sudden appearance of ten thousand helpful Styrian troops, but he could not escape the nagging feeling that he would have been happier if Grand Duke Orso had never arrived. For the time being, however, he had more pressing worries.
Lord Marshal! It was Brint, hurrying down the quay at the front of a group of officers. One side of his face was covered in a long smear of ash. Lord Marshal, General Poulder
At long bloody last! snapped West. Now perhaps well have some answers. Where the hell is that bastard? He shouldered Brint aside, and froze. Poulder lay on a stretcher held by four muddy and miserable-looking members of his staff. He had the expression of a man in peaceful sleep, to the degree that West kept expecting to hear him snore. A huge, ragged wound in his chest rather spoiled the effect, however.
General Poulder led the charge from the front, said one of the officers, swallowing his tears. A noble sacrifice
West stared down. How often had he wished that man dead? He jerked one hand over his face at a sudden wave of nausea. Damn it, he whispered.
Damn it! hissed Glokta as he twisted his trembling ankle on the topmost step and nearly pitched onto his face. A bony Inquisitor coming the other way gave him a long look. Is there a problem? he snarled back. The man lowered his head and hurried past without speaking.
Click, tap, pain. The dim hallway slid by with agonising slowness. Every step was an ordeal, now, but he forced himself on, legs burning, foot throbbing, neck aching, sweat running down his twisted back under his clothes, a rictus of toothless nonchalance clamped onto his face. At every gasp and grunt through the building he had expected a challenge. With each twinge and spasm he had been waiting for the Practicals to flood from the doorways and butcher him and his thinly disguised hirelings like hogs.
But those few nervous people they had passed had scarcely looked up. Fear has made them sloppy. The world teeters at a precipice. All scared to take a step in case they put a foot into empty air. The instinct of self-preservation. It can destroy a mans efficiency.
He lurched through the open doors and into the ante-room outside the Arch Lectors office. The secretarys head jerked angrily up. Superior Glokta! You cannot simply He stumbled on the words as the mercenaries began to tramp into the narrow room behind him. I mean to say you cannot
Silence! I am acting on the express orders of the king himself. Well, everyone lies. The difference between a hero and a villain is whether anyone believes him. Step aside! he hissed at the two Practicals flanking the door, or be prepared to answer for it. They glanced at each other, then, as more of Coscas men appeared, raised their hands together and allowed themselves to be disarmed. The instinct of self-preservation. A decided disadvantage.
Glokta paused before the doorway. Where I have cringed so often at the pleasure of his Eminence. His fingers tingled against the wood. Can it possibly be this easy? To simply walk up in broad daylight and arrest the most powerful man in the Union? He had to suppress a smirk. If only I had thought of it sooner. He wrenched the doorknob round and lurched over the threshold.
Sults office was much as it had always been. The great windows, with their view of the University, the huge round table with its jewelled map of the Union, the ornate chairs and the brooding portraits. It was not Sult sitting in the tall chair, however. It was none other than his favourite lapdog, Superior Goyle. Trying the big seat out for size, are we? Far too big for you, Im afraid.
Goyles first reaction was outrage. How dare anyone barge in here like this? His second was confusion. Who would dare to barge in here like this? His third was shock. The cripple? But how? His fourth, as he saw Cosca and four of his men follow Glokta through the door, was horror. Now were getting so mew here.
You! he hissed. But youre
Slaughtered? Change of plans, Im afraid. Wheres Sult?
Goyles eyes flickered around the room, over the dwarfish mercenary, the one with a hook for a hand, the one with the hideous boils, and came to rest on Cosca, swaggering round the edge of the chamber with one fist on his sword-hilt.
Ill pay you! Whatever hes paying you, Ill double it!
Cosca held out his open palm. I prefer cash in hand.
Now? I dont have I dont have it with me!
A shame, but I work on the same principle as a whore. Youll buy no fun with promises, my friend. No fun at all.
Wait! Goyle stumbled up and took a step back, his trembling hands held up in front of him. But theres nowhere to go but out the window. Thats the trouble with ambition. Its easy to forget, when youre always looking upwards, that the only way down from the dizzy heights is a long drop.
Sit down, Goyle, growled Glokta.
Cosca grabbed his wrist, twisted his right arm savagely behind him and made him squeal, forced him back into the chair, clamped one hand round the back of his head and smashed his face into the beautiful map of the Union. There was a sharp crunch as his nose broke, spattering blood across the western part of Midderland.
Hardly subtle, but then the time for subtlety is behind us. The Arch Lectors confession, or someone close to him Sult would have been better, but if we cannot have the brains, I suppose we must make do with the arsehole. Where is that girl with my instruments? Ardee crept cautiously into the room, came slowly across to the table and put the case down.
Glokta snapped his fingers, pointed. The fat mercenary ambled up and took a firm grip on Goyles free arm, dragged it sharply out across the table. I expect you think you know an awful lot about torture, eh, Goyle? Believe me, though, you dont really understand a thing until youve spent some time on both sides of the table.