“South is that way,” said the Dogman, jerking his thumb into the woods. “Good luck.”
Scant Mercy
To Arch Lector Sult,
head of his Majesty’s Inquisition.
Your Eminence,
The siege of Dagoska continues. Three days in a row the Gurkish have made assaults against our walls, each one greater in size and determination. They strive to fill in our channel with boulders, to cross it with bridges, to scale our walls and bring rams against our gates. Three times they have attacked and three times we have thrown them back. Their losses have been heavy, but losses they can well afford. The Emperor’s soldiers crawl like ants across the peninsula. Still, our men are bold, our defences are strong, our resolve is unshakeable, and Union vessels still ply the bay, keeping us well supplied. Be assured, Dagoska will not fall.
On a subject of lesser importance, you will, no doubt, be pleased to learn that the issue of Magister Eider has been put to rest. I had suspended her sentence while I considered the possibility of using her connection with the Gurkish against them. Unfortunately for her, the chances of such subtle measures bearing fruit have dropped away, leaving us with no further use for her. The sight of a woman’s head decorating the battlements might have been detrimental to the morale of our troops. We, after all, are the civilised faction. The one-time Magister of the Guild of Spicers has therefore been dealt with quietly, but, I can assure you, quite finally. Neither one of us need spare her, or her failed conspiracy, any further thought.
As always, your Eminence, I serve and obey.
Sand dan Glokta
Superior of Dagoska.
It was quiet down by the water. Quiet, and dark, and still. The gentle waves slapped at the supports of the wharf, the timbers of the boats creaked softly, a cool breeze washed in off the bay, the dark sea glittered in the moonlight under a sky dusted with stars.
You could never guess that a few short hours ago men were dying in their hundreds less than half a mile away. That the air was split with screams of pain and fury. That even now the ruins of two great siege towers are still smouldering beyond the land walls, corpses scattered round them like leaves fallen in autumn…
“Thhhhh.” Glokta felt his neck click as he turned and squinted into the darkness. Practical Frost emerged from the shadows between two dark buildings, peering suspiciously around, herding a prisoner in front of him; someone much smaller, hunched over and wrapped in a cloak with the hood up, arms secured behind them. The two figures crossed the dusty quay and came down the wharf, their footfalls clapping hollow on the wooden planks.
“Alright, Frost,” said Glokta as the albino pulled his prisoner up. “I don’t think we need that any more.” The white fist pulled back the cowl.
In the pale moonlight, Carlot dan Eider’s face looked gaunt and wasted, full of sharp edges, with a set of black grazes across her hollow cheek. Her head had been shaved, after the fashion of confessed traitors, and without that weight of hair her skull seemed strangely small, almost child-like, her neck absurdly long and fragile. Especially with a ring of angry bruises round it, the dark after-images left by the links of Vitari’s chain. There was hardly any remnant of the sleek and masterful woman who had taken him by the hand in the Lord Governor’s audience chamber, it seemed an age ago. A few weeks in the darkness, sleeping on the rotten floor of a sweltering cell, not knowing if you’ll live another hour—that can ruin the looks. I should know.
She lifted her chin at him, nostrils wide, eyes gleaming in black shadows. That mixture of fear and defiance that comes on some people when they know they are about to die. “Superior Glokta, I hardly dared hope I would see you again.” Her words might have been jaunty, but there was no disguising the edge of fear in her voice. “What now? A rock tied round the legs and into the bay? Isn’t that all a touch dramatic?”
“It would be, but that isn’t what I have in mind.” He looked up at Frost and gave the barest of nods. Eider flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and biting on her lip, hunching her shoulders as she felt the hulking Practical loom up behind her. Waiting for the crushing blow on the back of the skull? The stabbing point between the shoulder blades? The choking wire across the throat? The terrible anticipation. Which shall it be? Frost raised his hand. There was a flash of metal in the darkness. Then a gentle clicking as the key slid smoothly into Eider’s manacles and unlocked them.
She slowly prised open her eyes, slowly brought her hands round in front of her, blinked down as though she had never seen them before. “What’s this?”
“This is exactly what it appears to be.” He nodded his head down the wharf. “This is a ship leaving for Westport on the next tide. You have contacts in Westport?”
The tendons in her thin neck fluttered as she swallowed. “I have contacts everywhere.”
“Good. Then this is me setting you free.”
There was a long silence. “Free?” She lifted one hand to her head and rubbed absently at her stubbly scalp, staring at Glokta for a drawn-out moment. Not sure whether to believe it, and who can blame her? I’m not sure that I believe it. “His Eminence must have mellowed beyond recognition.”
Glokta snorted. “Not likely. Sult knows nothing about this. If he did, I rather think we both might be swimming with rocks round our ankles.”
Her eyes narrowed. The merchant Queen judges the bargain. “Then what’s the price?”
“The price is you’re dead. You’re forgotten. Put Dagoska from your mind, it’s finished. Find some other people to save. The price is you leave the Union and never come back. Not. Ever.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Why?”
Ah, my favourite question. Why do I do this? He shrugged. “What does it matter? A woman lost in the desert—”
“Should take such water as she is offered, no matter who it comes from. Don’t worry. I won’t be saying no.” She reached out suddenly and Glokta half-jerked away, but her fingertips only touched him gently on his cheek. They rested there for a moment, while his skin tingled, and his eye twitched, and his neck ached. “Perhaps,” she whispered, “if things had been different…”
“If I weren’t a cripple and you weren’t a traitor? Things are as they are.”
She let her hand drop, half smiling. “Of course they are. I would say I’ll see you again—”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
She nodded slowly. “Then goodbye.” She pulled the hood over her head, throwing her face back into shadow, then brushed past Glokta and walked quickly towards the end of the wharf. He stood, weight on his cane, and watched her go, scratching his cheek slowly where her fingers had rested. So. To get women to touch you, you need only spare their lives. I should try it more often.
He turned away, limped a few painful steps onto the dusty quay, peering up into the dark buildings. I wonder if Practical Vitari is in there somewhere, watching? I wonder if this little episode will find its way into her next report to the Arch Lector? He felt a sweaty shiver up his aching back. I won’t be putting it in mine, that’s sure, but what does it really matter? He could smell it, as the wind shifted, the smell that seemed to find its way into every corner of the city now. The sharp smell of burning. Of smoke. Of ash. Of death. Without a miracle, none of us will leave this place alive. He looked back. Carlot dan Eider was already crossing the gangway. Well. Perhaps just one of us will.