“I said, did I not, that day we visited the Maker’s House, that we should have a talk at some point? A talk about what I want, and about what you want? That point has come.”
“Oh joyous day.”
The First of the Magi watched him, the same look in his bright eyes that a man might have while watching an interesting beetle. “I must admit that you fascinate me, Superior. Your life would seem to be entirely unbearable. And yet you fight so very, very hard to stay alive. With every weapon and stratagem. You simply refuse to die.”
“I am ready to die.” Glokta returned his gaze, like for like. “But I refuse to lose.”
“Whatever the cost, eh? We are two of a kind, you and I, and we are a rare kind indeed. We understand what must be done, and we do not flinch from doing it, regardless of sentiment. You remember Lord Chancellor Feekt, of course.”
If I cast my mind a long way back… “The Golden Chancellor? They say he ran the Closed Council for forty years. They say he ran the Union.” Sult said so. Sult said his death left a hole, into which he and Marovia were both keen to step. That is where this ugly dance began, for me. With a visit from the Arch Lector, with the confession of my old friend Salem Rews, with the arrest of Sepp dan Teufel, Master of the Mints…
Bayaz let one thick fingertip trail across the pieces on the squares board, as though considering his next move. “We had an agreement, Feekt and I. I made him powerful. He served me, utterly.”
Feekt… the foundation on which the nation rested… served you? I expected delusions of grandeur, but this will take some beating. “You would have me suppose that you controlled the Union all that time?”
Bayaz snorted. “Ever since I forced the damn thing together in the time of Harod the Great, so-called. It has sometimes been necessary for me to take a hand myself, as in this most recent crisis. But mostly I have stood at a distance, behind the curtain, as it were.”
“A little stuffy back there, one imagines.”
“An uncomfortable necessity.” The lamplight gleamed on the Magus’ white grin. “People like to watch the pretty puppets, Superior. Even a glimpse of the puppeteer can be most upsetting for them. Why, they might even suddenly notice the strings around their own wrists. Sult caught a glimpse of something, behind the curtain, and only look at the trouble he caused for everyone.” Bayaz flicked one of the pieces over and it clattered onto its side, rocked gently back and forth.
“Let us suppose you are indeed the great architect, and you have given us…” Glokta waved his hand towards the window. Acres of charming devastation. “All this. Why such generosity?”
“Not entirely selfless, I must confess. Khalul had the Gurkish to fight for him. I needed soldiers of my own. Even the greatest of generals needs little men to hold the line.” He absently nudged one of the smallest pieces forward. “Even the greatest of warriors needs his armour.”
Glokta stuck out his bottom lip. “But then Feekt died, and you were left naked.”
“Naked as a babe, at my age.” Bayaz gave a long sigh. “And in poor weather too, with Khalul making ready for war. I should have arranged a suitable successor more quickly, but my thoughts were elsewhere, deep in my books. The older you get, the more swiftly the years pass. It’s easy to forget how quickly people die.”
And how easily. “The death of the Golden Chancellor left a vacuum,” muttered Glokta, thinking it through. “Sult and Marovia saw a chance to take power for themselves, and advance their own notions of what the nation should be.”
“Exceptionally cock-eyed notions, as it happens. Sult wanted to return to an imaginary past where everyone kept their place and always did as they were told, and Marovia? Hah! Marovia wanted to piss power away to the people. Votes? Elections? The voice of the common man?”
“He aired some such notion.”
“I hope you aired the suitable level of contempt. Power for the people?” sneered Bayaz. “They don’t want it. They don’t understand it. What the hell would they do with it if they had it? The people are like children. They are children. They need someone to tell them what to do.”
“Someone like you, I suppose?”
“Who better suited? Marovia thought to use me in his petty schemes, and all the while I made good use of him. While he tussled with Sult over scraps the game was already won. A move I had prepared some time before.”
Glokta slowly nodded. “Jezal dan Luthar.” Our little bastard.
“Your friend and mine.”
But a bastard is no use unless… “Crown Prince Raynault stood in the way.”
The Magus flicked a piece over and it rolled slowly from the board and rattled to the table. “We talk of great events. There is sure to be some wastage.”
“You made it seem that he was killed by an Eater.”
“Oh, he was.” Bayaz watched smugly from the shadows. “Not all who break the Second Law serve Khalul. My apprentice, Yoru Sulfur, has long been partial to a bite or two.” And he snapped his two rows of smooth and even teeth together.
“I see.”
“This is war, Superior. In war one must make use of every weapon. Restraint is folly. Worse. Restraint is cowardice. But only look who I am lecturing. You need no lessons in ruthlessness.”
“No.” They cut them into me in the Emperors prisons, and I have been practising them ever since.
Bayaz nudged one of the pieces gently forward. “A useful man, Sulfur. A man who long ago accepted the demands of necessity, and mastered the discipline of taking forms.” He was the guard, weeping outside Prince Raynault’s door. The guard who vanished into thin air the next day…
“A shred of cloth taken from the Emissary’s bed-chamber,” murmured Glokta. “Blood daubed on his robe.” And so an innocent man went to the gallows, and the war between Gurkhul and the Union blossomed. Two obstacles swept neatly away with one sharp flick of the broom.
“Peace with the Gurkish did not suit my purposes. It was sloppy of Sulfur to leave such blatant clues. But then he never expected you to care about the truth when there was a convenient explanation to hand.”
Glokta nodded, slowly, as the shape of things unfolded in his mind. “He heard of my investigations from Severard, and I received a charming visit from your walking corpse, Mauthis, telling me to halt or die.”
“Exactly so. On other occasions Yoru took another face, and called himself the Tanner, and incited a few peasants to some rather unbecoming behaviour.” Bayaz examined his fingernails. “All in a good cause, though, Superior.”
“To lend glamour to your latest puppet. To make him a favourite with the people. To make him familiar to the nobles, to the Closed Council. You were the source of the rumours.”
“Heroic acts in the ruined west? Jezal dan Luthar?” Bayaz snorted. “He did little more than whine about the rain.”
“Amazing the rubbish idiots will believe if you shout it loudly enough. And you rigged the Contest too.”
“You noticed that?” Bayaz’ smile grew wider. “I am impressed, Superior, I am most impressed. You have fumbled so very close to the truth this whole time.” And yet so very far away. “I wouldn’t feel badly about it. I have many advantages. Sult groped towards the answers, in the end, but far too late. I suspected from the first what his plans might be.”
“Which is why you asked me to investigate?”
“The fact that you did not oblige me until the very last moment was the source of some annoyance.”
“Asking nicely might have helped.” It would have been refreshing, at least. “I regret that I found myself in a difficult position. A case of too many masters.”
“No longer, though, eh? I was almost disappointed when I found out how limited Sult’s studies were. Salt, and candles, and incantations? How pathetically adolescent. Enough to put a timely end to that would-be democrat Marovia, perhaps, but nothing to pose the slightest threat to me.”