There was space for her, down by the fire, but she did not want it. She preferred to sit above them, cross-legged in the grass on the lip of the hollow. It was cold up here in the wind, and she pulled the blanket tighter round her shivering shoulders. A strange and frightening thing, cold. She hated it.
But she preferred cold to company.
And so she sat apart, sullen and silent, and watched the light drain out of the brooding sky, watched the darkness creep into the land. There was just the faintest glow of the sun now, on the distant horizon. A last feeble brightness round the edges of the looming clouds.
The big pink stood up, and looked at her. ‘Getting dark,’ he said.
‘Uh.’
‘Guess that’s what happens when the sun goes down, eh?’
‘Uh.’
He scratched at the side of his thick neck. ‘We need to set watches. Could be dangerous out here at night. We’ll take it in shifts. I’ll go first, then Luthar—’
‘I’ll watch,’ she grunted.
‘Don’t worry. You can sleep. I’ll wake you later.’
‘I do not sleep.’
He stared at her. ‘What, never?’
‘Not often.’
‘Maybe that explains her mood,’ murmured Longfoot.
Meant to be under his breath, no doubt, but Ferro heard him. ‘My mood is my business, fool.’
The Navigator said nothing as he wrapped himself in his blanket and stretched out beside the fire.
‘You want to go first?’ said Ninefingers, ‘then do it, but wake me a couple of hours in. We each should take our turn.’
Slowly, quietly, wincing with the need not to make noise, Ferro stole from the cart. Dry meat. Dry bread. Water flask. Enough to keep her going for days. She shoved it into a canvas bag.
One of the horses snorted and shied as she slipped past and she scowled at it. She could ride. She could ride well, but she wanted nothing to do with horses. Damn fool, big beasts. Smelled bad. They might move quick, but they needed too much food and water. You could see and hear them from miles away. They left great big tracks to follow. Riding a horse made you weak. Rely on a horse and when you need to run, you find you can’t any more.
Ferro had learned never to rely on anything except herself.
She slipped the bag over one shoulder, her quiver and her bow over the other. She took one last look at the sleeping shapes of the others, dark mounds clustered round the fire. Luthar had the blanket drawn up under his chin, smooth-skinned, full-lipped face turned towards the glowing embers. Bayaz had his back to her, but she could see the dim light shining off his bald pate, the back of one dark ear, hear the slow rhythm of his breathing. Longfoot had his blanket pulled up over his head, but his bare feet stuck from the other end, thin and bony, tendons standing out like tree roots from the mud. Quai’s eyes were open the tiniest chink, firelight shining wet on a slit of eyeball. Made it look like he was watching her, but his chest was moving slowly up and down, mouth hanging slack, sound asleep and dreaming, no doubt.
Ferro frowned. Just four? Where was the big pink? She saw his blanket lying empty on the far side of the fire, dark folds and light folds, but no man inside. Then she heard his voice.
‘Going already?’
Behind her. That was a surprise, that he could have crept around her like that, while she was stealing food. He seemed too big, too slow, too noisy to creep up on anyone. She cursed under her breath. She should have known better than to go by the way things seemed.
She turned slowly round to face him and took one step towards the horses. He followed, keeping the distance between them the same. Ferro could see the glowing fire reflected in one corner of each of his eyes, a curve of cratered, stubbly cheek, the vague outline of his bent nose, a few strands of greasy hair floating over his head in the breeze, slightly blacker than the black land behind.
‘I don’t want to fight you, pink. I’ve seen you fight.’ She had seen him kill five men in a few moments, and even she had been surprised. The memory of the laughter echoing from the walls, his twisted hungry face, half snarl, half smile, covered in blood, and spit, and madness, the ruined corpses strewn on the stones like rags, all this was sharp in her mind. Not that she was frightened, of course, for Ferro Maljinn felt no fear.
But she knew when to be careful.
‘I’ve no wish to fight you either,’ he said, ‘but if Bayaz finds you gone in the morning, he’ll have me chasing you. I’ve seen you run, and I’d rather fight you than chase you. At least I’d have some chance.’
He was stronger than her, and she knew it. Almost healed now, moving freely. She regretted helping him with that. Helping people was always a mistake. A fight was an awful risk. She might be tougher than others, but she’d no wish to have her face broken into slop like that big man, the Stone Splitter. No wish to be stuck through with a sword, to have her knees smashed, her head ripped half off.
None of that held any appeal.
But he was too close to shoot, and if she ran he’d rouse the others, and they had horses. Fighting would probably wake them anyway, but if she could land a good blow quickly she might get away in the confusion. Hardly perfect, but what choice did she have? She slowly swung the bag off her shoulder and lowered it to the ground, then her bow and her quiver. She put one hand onto the hilt of her sword, fingers brushing the grip in the darkness, and he did the same.
‘Alright then, pink. Let’s get to it.’
‘Might be there’s another way.’
She watched him, suspicious, ready for tricks. ‘What way?’
‘Stay with us. Give it a few days. If you don’t change your mind, well, I’ll help you pack. You can trust me.’ Trust was a word for fools. It was a word people used when they meant to betray you. If he moved forward a finger’s width she would sweep the sword out and take his head off. She was ready.
But he did not move forward and he did not move back. He stood there, a big, silent outline in the darkness. She frowned, fingertips still tickling the grip of the curved sword. ‘Why should I trust you?’
The big pink shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘Why not? Back in the city, I helped you and you helped me. Without each other, might be we’d both be dead.’ It was true, she supposed, he had helped her. Not as much as she had helped him, but still. ‘Time comes you got to stick at something, don’t you? That’s the thing about trust, sooner or later you just got to do it, without good reasons.’
‘Why?’
‘Otherwise you end up like us, and who wants that?’
‘Huh.’
‘I’ll do you a deal. You watch my back, I’ll watch yours.’ He tapped his chest slowly with his thumb. ‘I’ll stick.’ He pointed at her. ‘You’ll stick. What d’you say?’
Ferro thought about it. Running had given her freedom, but little else. It had taken her through years of misery to the very edge of the desert, hemmed in by enemies. She had run from Yulwei and the Eaters had nearly taken her. Where would she run to now, anyway? Would she run across the sea to Kanta? Perhaps the big pink was right. Perhaps the time had come to stop running.
At least until she could get away unnoticed.
She took her hand away from her sword, slowly folded her arms across her chest, and he did the same. They stood there for a long moment, watching one another in the darkness, in the silence. ‘Alright, pink,’ she growled. ‘I will stick, as you say, and we will see. But I make no fucking promises, you understand? ’
‘I didn’t ask for promises. My turn at the watch. You get some rest.’
‘I need no rest, I told you that.’
‘Suit yourself, but I’m sitting down.’
‘Fine.’
The big pink began to lower himself cautiously towards the earth, and she followed him. They sat cross-legged where they had stood, facing each other, the embers of the campfire glowing beside them, casting a faint brightness over the four sleepers, across one side of the pink’s lumpy face, casting a faint warmth across hers.
They watched each other.
Allies
To Arch Lector Sult,
head of his Majesty’s Inquisition.
Your Eminence,
Work is underway on the defences of the city. The famous land walls, though powerful, are in a shameful condition, and I have taken vigorous steps to strengthen them. I have also ordered extra supplies, food, armour, and weapons, essential if the city is to stand a siege of any duration.
Unfortunately, the defences are extensive, and the scale of the task vast. I have begun the work on credit, but credit will only stretch so far. I most humbly entreat that your Eminence will send me funds with which to work. Without money our efforts must cease, and the city will be lost.
The Union forces here are few, and morale is not high. There are mercenaries within the city, and I have ordered that more be recruited, but their loyalty is questionable, particularly if they cannot be paid. I therefore request that more of the King’s soldiers might be sent. Even a single company could make a difference.
You will hear from me soon. Until then, I serve and obey.
Sand dan Glokta,
Superior of Dagoska.
‘This is the place,’ said Glokta. ‘Uh,’ said Frost. It was a rough building of one storey, carelessly built from mud bricks, no bigger than a good-sized wood shed. Chinks of light spilled out into the night from around the ill-fitting door and the ill-fitting shutters in the single window. It was much the same as the other huts in the street, if you could call it a street. It hardly looked like the residence of a member of Dagoska’s ruling council. But then Kahdia is the odd man out in many ways. The leader of the natives. The priest without a temple. The one with least to lose, perhaps?
The door opened before Glokta even had the chance to knock. Kahdia stood in the doorway, tall and slender in his white robe. ‘Why don’t you come in?’ The Haddish turned, stepped over to the only chair and sat down in it.
‘Wait here,’ said Glokta.
‘Uh.’
The inside of the shed was no more auspicious than the outside. Clean, and orderly, and poor as hell. The ceiling was so low that Glokta could only just stand upright, the floor was hard-packed dirt. A straw mattress lay on empty crates at one end of the single room, a small chair beside it. A squat cupboard stood under the window, a few books stacked on top, a guttering candle burning beside them. Apart from a dented bucket for natural functions, that appeared to be the full extent of Kahdia’s worldly possessions. No sign of any hidden corpses of Superiors of the Inquisition, but you never know. A body can be packed away quite neatly, if one cuts it into small enough pieces . . .
‘You should move out of the slums.’ Glokta shut the door behind him on creaking hinges, limped to the bed and sat down heavily on the mattress.
‘Natives are not permitted within the Upper City, or had you not heard?’
‘I’m sure that an exception could be made in your case. You could have chambers in the Citadel. Then I wouldn’t have to limp all the way down here to speak to you.’
‘Chambers in the Citadel? While my fellows rot down here in the filth? The least a leader can do is to share the burdens of his people. I have little other comfort to give them.’ It was sweltering hot down here in the Lower City, but Kahdia did not seem uncomfortable. His gaze was level, his eyes were fixed on Glokta’s, dark and cool as deep water. ‘Do you disapprove?’
Glokta rubbed at his aching neck. ‘Not in the least. Martyrdom suits you, but you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t join in.’ He licked at his empty gums. ‘I’ve made my sacrifices.’
‘Perhaps not all of them. Ask your questions.’ Straight to business, then. Nothing to hide? Or nothing to lose?
‘Do you know what became of my predecessor, Superior Davoust?’
‘It is my earnest hope that he died in great pain.’ Glokta felt his eyebrows lift. The very last thing I expected – an honest answer. Perhaps the first honest answer that I have received to that question, but hardly one that frees him from suspicion.
‘In great pain, you say?’
‘Very great pain. And I will shed no tears if you join him.’
Glokta smiled. ‘I don’t know that I can think of anyone who will, but Davoust is the matter in hand. Were your people involved in his disappearance?’
‘It is possible. Davoust gave us reasons enough. There are many families missing husbands, fathers, daughters, because of his purges, his tests of loyalty, his making of examples. My people number many thousands, and I cannot watch them all. The one thing I can tell you is that I know nothing of his disappearance. When one devil falls they always send another, and here you are. My people have gained nothing.’
‘Except Davoust’s silence. Perhaps he discovered that you had made a deal with the Gurkish. Perhaps joining the Union was not all your people hoped for.’
Kahdia snorted. ‘You know nothing. No Dagoskan would ever strike a deal with the Gurkish.’
‘To an outsider, the two of you seem to have much in common.’
‘To an ignorant outsider, we do. We both have dark skin, and we both pray to God, but that is the full extent of the similarity. We Dagoskans have never been a warlike people. We remained here on our peninsula, confident in the strength of our defences, while the Gurkish Empire spread like a cancer across the Kantic continent. We thought their conquests were none of our concern. That was our folly. Emissaries came to our gates, demanding that we kneel before the Gurkish Emperor, and acknowledge that the prophet Khalul speaks with the voice of God. We would do neither, and Khalul swore to destroy us. Now, it seems, he will finally succeed. All of the South will be his dominion.’ And the Arch Lector will not be in the least amused.
‘Who knows? Perhaps God will come to your aid.’
‘God favours those who solve their own problems.’
‘Perhaps we can solve some problems between us.’
‘I have no interest in helping you.’
‘Even if you help yourself as well? I have it in mind to issue a decree. The gates of the Upper City will be opened, your people will be allowed to come and go in their own city as they please. The Spicers will be turned out of the Great Temple, and it shall once again be your sacred ground. The Dagoskans will be permitted to carry arms; indeed, we will provide you with weapons from our own armouries. The natives will be treated like full citizens of the Union. They deserve nothing less.’
‘So. So.’ Kahdia clasped his hands together and sat back in his creaking chair. ‘Now, with the Gurkish knocking at the gates, you come to Dagoska, flaunting your little scroll as though it was the word of God, and you choose to do the right thing. You are not like all the others. You are a good man, a fair man, a just man. You expect me to believe this?’
‘Honestly? I don’t care a shit what you believe, and I care about doing the right thing even less – that’s all a matter of who you ask. As for being a good man,’ and Glokta curled his lip, ‘that ship sailed long ago, and I wasn’t even there to wave it off. I’m interested in holding Dagoska. That and nothing else.’
‘And you know you cannot hold Dagoska without our help.’
‘Neither one of us is a fool, Kahdia. Don’t insult me by acting like one. We can bicker with each other until the Gurkish tide sweeps over the land walls, or we can cooperate. You never know, together we might even beat them. Your people will help us dig the ditch, repair the walls, hang the gates. You will provide a thousand men to serve in the defence of the city, to begin with, and more later.’
‘Will I? Will I indeed? And if, with our help, the city stands? Will our deal stand with it?’
If the city stands, I will be gone. More than likely, Vurms and the rest will be back in charge, and our deal will be dust. ‘If the city stands, you have my word that I will do everything possible.’
‘Everything possible. Meaning nothing.’ You get the idea.
‘I need your help, so I’m offering you what I can. I’d offer you more, but I don’t have more. You coul
d sulk down here in the slums with the flies for company, and wait for the Emperor to come. Perhaps the great Uthman-ul-Dosht will offer you a better deal.’ Glokta looked Kahdia in the eye for a moment. ‘But we both know he won’t.’
The priest pursed his lips, stroked his beard, then gave a deep sigh. ‘They say a man lost in the desert must take such water as he is offered, no matter who it comes from. I accept your deal. Once the temple is empty we will dig your holes, and carry your stone, and wear your swords. Something is better than nothing, and, as you say, perhaps together we can even beat the Gurkish. Miracles do happen.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ said Glokta as he shoved on his cane and grunted his way to his feet, shirt sticking to his sweaty back. ‘So I’ve heard.’ But I’ve never seen one.
Glokta stretched out on the cushions in his chambers, head back, mouth open, resting his aching body. The same chambers that were once occupied by my illustrious predecessor, Superior Davoust. They were a wide, airy, well-furnished set of rooms. Perhaps they once belonged to a Dagoskan Prince, or a scheming vizier, or a dusky concubine, before the natives were thrown out into the dust of the Lower City. Better by far than my poky shit-hole in the Agriont, except that Superiors of the Inquisition have been known to go missing from these rooms.
One set of windows faced northward, out towards the sea, on the steepest side of the rock, the other looked over the baking city. Both were equipped with heavy shutters. Outside it was a sheer drop over bare stone to jagged rocks and angry salt water. The door was six fingers thick, studded with iron, fitted with a heavy lock and four great bolts. Davoust was a cautious man, and with good reason, it would seem. So how could assassins have got in, and having got in, how could they remove the body?
He felt his mouth curving into a smile. How will they remove mine, when they come? Already my enemies mount up – the sneering Vurms, the punctilious Vissbruck, the merchants whose profits I threaten, the Practicals who served Harker and Davoust, the natives with good reason to hate anyone who wears black, my old enemies the Gurkish, of course, and all that providing his Eminence does not get anxious at the lack of progress, and decide to have me replaced himself. Will anyone come searching for my twisted corpse, I wonder?
The First Law Trilogy Boxed Set: The Blade Itself, Before They Are Hanged, Last Argument of Kings Page 68