“Tomorrow night,” said Sarlby, holding a vicious-looking flatbow bolt up to the light.
“We’re going to free those good people.”
“And you want me to help?”
“You want you to help. Admit it. You can’t wait to get your hands bloody.”
Broad swallowed. He should’ve known words weren’t going to get this done. “They’ll be guarded.”
“Heavily,” said Judge, the axe whistling faintly as she swung it back and forth.
“And the guards’ll be expecting trouble.”
Judge nodded towards the cannon. “Not this much.”
“Men’ll die.”
“Ain’t much worth doing don’t involve a few dead men.” She tossed the axe over to him and he caught it by its metal shaft. “That a point against the plan, in your mind, or in favour?”
Broad frowned as he weighed the axe in his hand. Truth was he wasn’t sure.
Changes at the Top
“It seems our letter-writer may have been a friend after all,” said Orso. “Or at least an honest enemy. King Jappo confirmed it all.”
Glokta stared bright-eyed across his desk. “Do you trust him?”
“Not a bit. But I believe him. He told me he had been invited to join a conspiracy aimed at bringing down the Union’s government and offered Sipani in return. Numerous lords of the Open Council are involved, and at least one member of the Closed.”
“Any names?”
“Only two.” Orso pronounced them carefully, dropped into the silence like great stones dropped down a well. “Stour Nightfall… and Leo dan Brock.”
The Arch Lector closed his eyes. Crushing news, especially for him, but Orso could have sworn he saw a wry smile at the corner of the old Inquisitor’s mouth. “Body found floating by the docks,” he murmured.
“Sorry?”
Glokta took a sharp breath and snapped his eyes open. “I must resign at once.”
“Your Eminence, I need your advice more than ever—”
“But we both know you cannot have it.” Glokta looked down at his white-gloved fist, clenched on the desktop. “When you have clung to power as tightly as I have, it can be difficult to let go.” He spread his fingers out flat, the purple stone on his ring of office glittering. “But the time has come. My son-in-law may very well be a traitor.” He curled his lips back from his ruined teeth. “Even… my daughter.”
“But—”
“Superior Pike!” shrieked Glokta, so piercingly Orso was obliged to narrow his eyes as Pike walked in, black coat flapping.
“For twenty-five years, Superior Pike has been my right hand,” said Glokta. “No one has more experience or better judgement. No one understands so well what must be done. I suggest he serves as head of the Inquisition until you appoint a new Arch Lector.”
Orso glanced up at Pike’s melted mask of a face. He would have liked to choose someone else. Someone softer, gentler, more just. He remembered the hanging of the prisoners at Valbeck. Remembered Pike gazing up unfeelingly at Malmer’s gibbet. He had proved himself ruthless and remorseless. A man feared and hated by all the Crown’s enemies, and most of its friends.
The very qualities a king needs in an Arch Lector.
“I see no reason not to make the appointment permanent,” said Orso. Perhaps Bayaz would have other ideas when he next visited, but for now the little people would have to make their own mistakes.
Pike solemnly inclined his head. “I serve and obey, Your Majesty.”
Orso had never liked Glokta. He was not really a man it was possible to like. But he had come to respect him. To rely upon him, even. And now, when Orso most needed support, he would be gone. “What will you do?”
Glokta’s brows went up, as though the question had never occurred before. “Move to the country? Pin butterflies to a board? Argue with my wife? I always wanted to write a book about fencing.”
“I… will look forward to reading it.” Though, in honesty, Orso had never been much of a reader. “I, and the Union, thank you for your distinguished service.”
Glokta gave a little snort of laughter. “Only promise me one thing. Should you think me worthy of a statue on the Kingsway… have it stand up.” He waved a finger towards the Practical lurking behind him, and the man turned his wheeled chair towards the door.
Pike lowered his head. “Your Eminence.”
Glokta twisted the ring from his finger, weighed it in his hand a moment, then offered it to Pike. “Your Eminence.” He glanced around his office one last time. The bare walls. The stark furniture. The heaps of unfinished paperwork. “I wish you both the very best of luck.”
And as simply as that, it was done. No ceremony, no medals, no grand speech and no cheering crowds. From the pinnacle of power to a toothless old cripple in one brief conversation. The chair squeaked from the room and the doors were shut upon Sand dan Glokta. The era of Old Sticks was at an end.
Arch Lector Pike stepped behind the desk. There was no chair now, of course, and so he stood, spreading his burned hands out on the leather top and frowning down at the ring on his finger. It seemed Glokta had found the one man even more monstrous than he as his replacement. But these were desperate times. And in desperate times, one must sometimes call upon the services of monsters.
“How shall we proceed, Your Majesty?” asked Pike. “Softly, or… otherwise?”
Orso took a breath through his nose. “Could you send for Inquisitor Teufel? I have some ideas.”
Colonel Forest and Corporal Tunny were waiting outside the House of Questions. Forest, typically, standing to attention in a modest uniform. Tunny, typically, sprawling on a bench with a newsbill over his face.
“Gentlemen,” said Orso. “Would you walk with me?” He felt an irrepressible need to stay busy, and the two old soldiers fell in on either side as he strode towards the palace, his retinue of Knights of the Body clattering after.
For twenty years, he could have done anything he wanted, and he had done nothing. With his future blindingly bright, surrounded by comfort and buoyed up by every privilege, getting out of bed had sometimes felt impossible. Now, beset by enemies and with the gloomiest of outlooks, he fizzed with energy.
“How many men do we have now?”
Forest kept his voice low. “Over four thousand, Your Majesty. Lot of ’em served with the Crown Prince’s Division, keen to follow you again.”
“Really?” Orso found that hard to believe.
“You never pretended to be a general yourself, but you gave ’em pride.”
“That’s… rather moving. Thank you.”
“Their gear was gathering dust in the Agriont’s cellars in any case. It only needed passing out again.”
There was an irony. Savine had paid for the weapons they would fight her husband with. “Where are you keeping them?”
“Some in disused barracks outside the city. Some camped in woods and valleys. Some still at their old jobs, waiting for the call. But they can be gathered quickly.”
Orso smiled. Finally, a sunny spot in the darkness. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, General Forest.”