Not everyone appeared amused by his sudden elevation, however. King Jezal in particular glowered at Glokta with the most profound dislike. “Remarkable that you are confirmed already in your position,” he snapped.
Bayaz interposed. “Such things can happen quickly when there is the will, your Majesty.”
“After all,” observed Hoff, stealing a rare moment away from his goblet to sweep the table with a melancholy glance, “our numbers are most sadly reduced.”
All too true. Several chairs loomed significantly empty. Marshal Varuz was missing, presumed dead. Certainly dead, given that he was conducting the defence from the Tower of Chains, a structure now scattered widely over the streets of the city. Farewell, my old fencing master, farewell. High Justice Marovia had also left a vacant seat. No doubt they are still trying to scrape the frozen meat from the walls of his office. Adieu to my third suitor, I fear. Lord Valdis, Commander of the Knights Herald, was not in attendance. Keeping watch on the southern gate, I understand, when the Gurkish detonated their explosive powder. Body never found, nor ever will be, one suspects. Lord Admiral Reutzer too, was absent. Wounded at sea by a cutlass to the guts. Not expected to survive, alas.
Truly, the pinnacle of power is less crowded than it used to be.
“Marshal West could not be with us?” asked Lord Chancellor Halleck.
“He regrets that he cannot.” General Kroy seemed to pinch off each word with his teeth. “He has asked me to take his place, and speak for the army.”
“And how is the Marshal?”
“Wounded.”
“And further afflicted by the wasting illness that has recently swept the Agriont,” added the king, frowning grimly down the table at the First of the Magi.
“Regrettable.” Bayaz’ face showed not the slightest sign of regret or anything else.
“A terrible business,” lamented Hoff. “The physicians are utterly baffled.”
“Few survive.” Luthar’s glare had become positively deadly.
“Let us ardently hope,” gushed Torlichorm, “that Marshal West is one of the lucky ones.” Let us hope so indeed. Although hope changes nothing.
“To business, then?” Wine gurgled from the pitcher as Hoff filled his goblet for the second time since entering the room. “How fares the campaign, General Kroy?”
“The Gurkish army is utterly routed. We have pursued them towards Keln, where some few managed to flee on the remnant of their fleet. Duke Orso’s ships soon put an end to that, however. The Gurkish invasion is over. Victory is ours.” And yet he frowns as though he is admitting defeat.
“Excellent.”
“The nation owes a debt of thanks to its brave soldiers.”
“Our congratulations, General.”
Kroy stared down at the table-top. “The congratulations belong to Marshal West, who gave the orders, and to General Poulder and the others who gave their lives carrying them out. I was no more than an observer.”
“But you played your part, and admirably.” Hoff raised his goblet. “Given the unfortunate absence of Marshal Varuz, I feel confident his Majesty will soon wish to confer a promotion upon you.” He glanced towards the king, and Luthar grunted his unenthusiastic assent.
“I am honoured to serve in whatever capacity his Majesty should decide, of course. The prisoners are a more urgent matter, however. We have many thousands of them, and no food with which to—”
“We have not enough food for our own soldiers, our own citizens, our own wounded,” said Hoff, dabbing at his wet lips.
“Ransom any men of quality back to the Emperor?” suggested Torlichorm.
“There were precious few men of quality among their entire damn army.”
Bayaz frowned down the table. “If they are of no value to the Emperor they are certainly of no value to us. Let them starve.”
A few men shifted uncomfortably. “We are talking of thousands of lives, here—” began Kroy.
The gaze of the First of the Magi fell upon him like a great stone and squashed his objections flat. “I know what we are talking of, General. Enemies. Invaders.”
“Surely we can find a way?” threw in the king. “Could we not ship them back to Kantic shores? It would be a shameful epilogue to our victory if—”
“Each prisoner fed is one citizen that must go hungry. Such is the terrible arithmetic of power. A difficult decision, your Majesty, but those are the only kind we have in this room. What would your opinion be, Arch Lector?”
The eyes of the king, and the old men in the high chairs, all turned towards Glokta. Ah, we know what must be done, and we do not flinch, and so forth. Let the monster pronounce the sentence, so the rest can feel like decent men. “I have never been a great admirer of the Gurkish.” Glokta shrugged his aching shoulders. “Let them starve.”
King Jezal settled further into his throne with an even grimmer frown. Could it be that our monarch is a touch less house-broken than the First of the Magi would like to believe? Lord Chancellor Halleck cleared his throat. “Now that victory is ours, our first concern, without question, is the clearing of the ruins, and the rebuilding of the damage caused by…” his eyes shifted nervously sideways to Bayaz, and back. “Gurkish aggression.”
“Hear, hear.”
“Rebuilding. We are all agreed.”
“The costs,” and Halleck winced as if the word caused him pain, “even of clearing the wreckage in the Agriont alone, may run to many tens of thousands of marks. The price of rebuilding, many millions. When we consider the extensive damage to the city of Adua besides… the costs…” Halleck scowled again and rubbed at his ill-shaved jaw with one hand. “Difficult even to guess at.”
“We can only do our best.” Hoff sadly shook his head. “And find one mark at a time.”
“I, for one, suggest we look to the nobles,” said Glokta. There were several grumbles of agreement.
“His Eminence makes a fine point.”
“A sharp curtailment of the powers of the Open Council,” said Halleck.
“Harsh taxes on those who did not provide material support in the recent war.”
“Excellent! Trim the nobles’ sails. Damn parasites.”
“Sweeping reforms. Lands returned to the crown. Levies on inheritance.”
“On inheritance! An inspired notion!”
“The Lord Governors too must be brought into the fold.”
“Skald and Meed. Yes. They have long enjoyed too much independence.”
“Meed can hardly be blamed, his province is a wreck—”
“This is not a question of blame,” said Bayaz. No indeed, we all know where that lies. “This is a question of control. Victory has given us the opportunity for reform.”
“We need to centralise!”
“Westport as well. Too long they have played us off against the Gurkish.”
“They need us now.”
“Perhaps we should extend the Inquisition to their city?” suggested Glokta.
“A foothold in Styria!”
“We must rebuild!” The First of the Magi thumped at the table with one meaty fist. “Better and more glorious even than before. The statues in the Kingsway may have fallen, but they have left space for new ones.”
“A new era of prosperity,” said Halleck, eyes shining.
“A new era of power,” said Hoff, raising his goblet.
“A golden age?” Bayaz looked up the table at Glokta.
“An age of unity and opportunity for all!” said the king.
His offering fell somewhat flat. Eyes swivelled uncomfortably toward the king’s end of the table. Quite as if he noisily farted, rather than spoke. “Er… yes, your Majesty,” said Hoff. “Opportunities.” For anyone lucky enough to sit on the Closed Council, that is.