It could only be Bayaz. His jailer. His chief tormentor. His ever-present shadow. The man who had destroyed half the Agriont, and made a ruin of beautiful Adua, and now smiled and revelled in the applause as though he were the saviour of the nation. It was enough to make a man sick to the pit of his guts. Jezal ground his teeth, staring out of the window towards the ruins, refusing to turn round.
More demands. More compromises. More talk of what had to be done. Being the head of state, at least with the First of the Magi at his shoulder, was an endlessly frustrating and disempowering experience. Getting his own way on even the tiniest of issues, an almost impossible struggle. Wherever he looked he found himself staring directly into the Magus’ disapproving frown. He felt like nothing more than a figurehead. A fine-looking, a gilded, a magnificent yet utterly useless chunk of wood. Except a figurehead at least gets to go at the front of the ship.
“Your Majesty,” came the old man’s voice, the usual thin veneer of respect scarcely concealing the hard body of disdain beneath.
“What now?” Jezal finally turned to face him. He was surprised to see that the Magus had shed his robes of state in favour of his old travel-stained coat, the heavy boots he had worn on their ill-fated journey into the ruined west. “Going somewhere?” asked Jezal, hardly daring even to hope.
“I am leaving Adua. Today.”
“Today?” It was the most Jezal could do to stop himself leaping in the air and screaming for joy. He felt like a prisoner stepping from his stinking dungeon and into the bright sunlight of freedom. Now he could rebuild the Agriont as he saw fit. He could reorganise the Closed Council, pick his own advisers. Perhaps even rid himself of that witch of a wife Bayaz had saddled him with. He would be free to do the right thing, whatever that was. He would be free to try and find out what the right thing might be, at least. Was he not the High King of the Union, after all? Who would refuse him? “We will be sorry to lose you, of course.”
“I can imagine. There are some arrangements that we must make first, however.”
“By all means.” Anything if it meant he was rid of the old bastard.
“I have spoken with your new Arch Lector, Glokta.”
The name alone produced a shiver of revulsion. “Have you indeed?”
“A sharp man. He has greatly impressed me. I have asked him to speak in my stead while I am absent from the Closed Council.”
“Truly?” asked Jezal, wondering whether to toss the cripple from his post directly after the Magus left the gates or to leave it a day.
“I would recommend,” said in very much the tone of an order, “that you listen closely to his opinions.”
“Oh I will, of course. The best of luck on your journey back to…”
“I would like you, in fact, to do as he says.”
A cold knot of anger pressed at Jezal’s throat. “You would have me, in effect… obey him?”
Bayaz’ eyes did not deviate from his own. “In effect… yes.”
Jezal was left momentarily speechless. For the Magus to suppose that he could come and go as he pleased, leaving his maimed lackey in charge? Above a king, in his own kingdom? The overwhelming arrogance of the man! “You have taken a high hand of late in my affairs!” he snapped. “I am in no mind to trade one overbearing adviser for another.”
“That man will be very useful to you. To us. Decisions will have to be made that you would find difficult. Actions will have to be taken which you would rather not take yourself. People who would live in sparkling palaces need others willing to carry away their ordure, lest it pile up in the polished corridors and one day bury them. All this is simple, and obvious. You have not attended to me.”
“No! You are the one who has failed to attend! Sand dan Glokta? That crippled bastard…” he realised his unfortunate choice of words, but had to forge on regardless, growing angrier than ever, “sitting beside me at the Closed Council? Leering over my shoulder every day of my life? And now you would have him dictate to me? Unacceptable. Insufferable. Impossible! We are no longer in the time of Harod the Great! I have no notion of what causes you to suppose that you could speak to me in such a manner. I am king here, and I refuse to be steered!”
Bayaz closed his eyes, and drew a slow breath threw his nose. Quite as though he were trying to find the patience for the education of a moron. “You cannot understand what it is to live as long as I have. To know all that I know. You people are dead in the blink of an eye, and have to be taught the same old lessons all over again. The same lessons that Juvens taught Stolicus a thousand years ago. It becomes extremely tiresome.”
Jezal’s fury was steadily building. “I apologise if I bore you!”
“I accept your apology.”
“I was joking!”
“Ah. Your wit is so very sharp I hardly noticed I was cut.”
“You mock me!”
“It is easily done. Every man seems a child to me. When you reach my age you see that history moves in circles. So many times I have guided this nation back from the brink of destruction, and on to ever greater glory. And what do I ask in return? A few little sacrifices? If you only understood the sacrifices that I have made on behalf of you cattle!”
Jezal stabbed one finger furiously towards the window. “And what of all those dead? What of all those who have lost everything? Those cattle, as you put it! Are they happy with their sacrifices, do you suppose? What of all those who have suffered from this illness? That still suffer? My own close friend among them! I cannot but notice it seems similar to that illness you described to us in ruined Aulcus. I cannot help thinking that your magic might be the cause!”
The Magus made no effort to deny it. “I deal in the momentous. I cannot concern myself with the fate of every peasant. Neither can you. I have tried to teach you this, but it seems you have failed to learn the lesson.”
“You are mistaken! I refuse to learn it!” Now was his chance. Now, while he was angry enough, for Jezal to step forever from the shadow of the First of the Magi and stand a free man. Bayaz was poison, and he had to be cut out. “You helped me to my throne, and for that I thank you. But I do not care for your brand of government, it smacks of tyranny!”
Bayaz narrowed his eyes. “Government is tyranny. At its best it is dressed in pretty colours.”
“Your callous disregard for the lives of my subjects! I will not stand for it! I have moved beyond you. You are no longer wanted here. No longer needed. I will find my own way from now on.” He waved Bayaz away with what he hoped was a regal gesture of dismissal. “You may leave.”
“May… I… indeed?” The First of the Magi stood in silence for a long time, his frown growing darker and darker. Long enough for Jezal’s rage to begin to wilt, for his mouth to go dry, for his knees to feel weak. “I perceive that I have been far too soft with you,” said Bayaz, each word sharp as a razor-cut. “I have coddled you, like a favourite grandchild, and you have grown wilful. A mistake that I shall not make again. A responsible guardian should never be shy with the whip.”
“I am a son of kings!” snarled Jezal, “I will not—”
He was doubled over by a spear of pain through his guts, stunningly sudden. He tottered a step or two, scalding vomit spraying from his mouth. He crashed onto his face, scarcely able even to breathe, his crown bouncing off and rolling away into the corner of the room. He had never known agony like it. Not a fraction of it.
“I have no notion… of what causes you to suppose… that you could speak to me in such a manner. To me, the First of the Magi!” Jezal heard Bayaz’ footsteps thumping slowly towards him, voice picking at his ears as he squirmed helplessly in his own sick.
“Son of kings? I am disappointed, after all that we have been through together, that you would so readily believe the lies I have spread on your behalf. That nonsense was meant for the idiots in the streets, but it seems that idiots in palaces are lulled by sweet slop just as easily. I bought you from a whore. You cost me six marks. She wanted twenty, but I drive a hard bargain.”