‘. . . great adventures in the west, as I understand it, bringing honour to the Union on foreign fields. I was particularly impressed by the story of your charge across the bridge at Darmium. Did that really happen the way I have been told?’
‘Across the bridge, sir, well, truthfully, er . . .’ He should probably have asked the old fool what the hell he was talking about, but he was far too busy thinking of Ardee, stretched out naked. Shit on his country. Duty be damned. He could resign his commission now and be back in her bed before the hour was out. ‘The thing is—’
‘That was your favourite, was it?’ asked Hoff, lowering his goblet. ‘It was the one about the Emperor’s daughter that most caught my fancy.’ And he looked at Jezal with a twinkle in his eye that implied a story of a saucy tone.
‘Honestly, your Grace, I’ve not the slightest idea how that rumour began. Nothing of the kind occurred, I assure you. The whole business appears somehow to have become greatly exaggerated—’
‘Well, one glorious rumour is worth ten disappointing truths, would you not agree?’
Jezal blinked. ‘Well, er, I suppose—’
‘In any case,’ cut in Varuz, ‘the Closed Council have received excellent reports of your conduct while abroad.’
‘They have?’
‘Many and various reports, and all glowing.’
Jezal could not help grinning, though he had to wonder from whom such reports might have come. He could scarcely imagine Ferro Maljinn gushing about his fine qualities. ‘Well, your lordships are very kind, but I must—’
‘As a result of your dedication and courage in this difficult and vital task, I am delighted to announce that you have been elevated to the rank of Colonel, with immediate effect.’
Jezal’s eyes opened up very wide. ‘I have?’
‘You have indeed, my boy, and no one could deserve it more.’
To rise two ranks in one afternoon was an unprecedented honour, especially when he had fought in no battle, carried out no recent deeds of valour, and made no ultimate sacrifices. Unless you counted leaving off the most recent bedding of his best friend’s sister halfway. A sacrifice, no doubt, but scarcely the kind that usually earned the King’s favour.
‘I, er, I . . .’ He could not escape a glow of satisfaction. A new uniform, and more braid, and so forth, and more people to tell what to do. Glory and fame were meagre rewards, perhaps, but he had taken the risks already, and now had only to say yes. Had he not suffered? Had he not earned it?
He did not have to think about it for so very long. He scarcely had to think about it at all. The idea of leaving the army and settling down receded rapidly into the far distance. ‘I would be entirely honoured to accept this exceptional . . . er . . . honour.’
‘Then we are all equally delighted,’ said Hoff sourly. ‘Now to business. You are aware, Colonel Luthar, that there has been some trouble with the peasants of late?’
Surprisingly, no news had reached Ardee’s bedroom. ‘Nothing serious, surely, your Grace?’
‘Not unless you call a full-blown revolt serious.’
‘Revolt?’ Jezal swallowed.
‘This man, the Tanner,’ spat the Lord Chamberlain. ‘He has been touring the countryside for months, whipping up dissatisfaction, sowing the seeds of disobedience, inciting the peasantry to crimes against their masters, against their lords, against their king!’
‘No one ever suspected it would reach the point of open rebellion.’ Varuz worked his mouth angrily. ‘But following a demonstration near Keln a group of peasants encouraged by this Tanner armed themselves and refused to disband. They won a victory over the local landowner, and the insurrection spread. Now we hear they crushed a significant force under Lord Finster yesterday, burned his manor house and hung three tax collectors. They are in the process of ravaging the countryside in the direction of Adua.’
‘Ravaging?’ murmured Jezal, glancing at the door. Ravaging really was a very ugly word.
‘It is a most regrettable business,’ bemoaned Marovia. ‘Half of them are honest men, faithful to their king, pushed to this through the greed of their landlords.’
Varuz sneered his disgust. ‘There can be no excuse for treason! The other half are thieves, and blackguards, and malcontents. They should be whipped to the gallows!’
‘The Closed Council has made its decision,’ cut in Hoff. ‘This Tanner has declared his intention to present a list of demands to the King. To the King! New freedoms. New rights. Every man the equal of his brother and other such dangerous nonsense. Soon it will become known that they are on their way and there will be panic. Riots in support of the peasants, and riots against them. Things are balanced on a knife edge already. Two wars in progress and the king in fading health, with no heir?’ Hoff bashed at the table with his fist, making Jezal jump. ‘They must not be allowed to reach the city.’
Marshal Varuz clasped his hands before him. ‘The two regiments of the King’s Own that have remained in Midderland will be sent out to counter this threat. A list of concessions,’ and he scowled as he said the word, ‘has been prepared. If the peasants will accept negotiation, and return to their homes, their lives can be spared. If this Tanner will not see reason, then his so-called army must be destroyed. Scattered. Broken up.’
‘Killed,’ said Hoff, rubbing at a stain on the table with his heavy thumb. ‘And the ringleaders delivered to his Majesty’s Inquisition.’
‘Regrettable,’ murmured Jezal, without thinking, feeling a cold shiver at the very mention of that institution.
‘Necessary,’ said Marovia, sadly shaking his head.
‘But hardly straightforward.’ Varuz frowned at Jezal across the table. ‘In each village, in each town, in every field and farm they have passed through they have picked up more recruits. The country is alive with malcontents. Ill-disciplined, of course, and ill-equipped, but at our last estimate they numbered some forty thousand.’
‘Forty . . . thousand?’ Jezal shifted his weight nervously. He had supposed they were perhaps discussing a few hundred, and those without proper footwear. There was no danger here, of course, safe behind the walls of the Agriont, the walls of the city. But forty thousand was an awful lot of very angry men. Even if they were peasants.
‘The King’s Own are making their preparations: one regiment of horse and one of foot. All that is missing now is a commander for the expedition.’
‘Huh,’ grunted Jezal. He did not begrudge that unfortunate man his position, commanding a force outnumbered five to one against a bunch of savages buoyed up by righteousness and petty victories, drunk on hatred of noblemen and monarchy, thirsty for blood and loot . . .
Jezal’s eyes went wider still. ‘Me?’
‘You.’
He fumbled for the words. ‘I do not wish to seem . . . ungrateful, you understand, but, surely, I mean to say, there must be men better suited to the task. Lord Marshal, you yourself have—’
‘This is a complicated time.’ Hoff glared sternly at Jezal from beneath his bushy brows. ‘A very complicated time. We need someone without . . . affiliations. We need someone with a clean slate. You fit the bill admirably.’
‘But . . . negotiating with peasants, your Grace, your Worship, Lord Marshal, I have no understanding of the issues! I have no understanding of law!’
‘We are not blind to your deficiencies,’ said Hoff. ‘That is why there will be a representative from the Closed Council with you. Someone who possesses unchallenged expertise in all those areas.’
A heavy hand slapped suddenly down on Jezal’s shoulder. ‘I told you it would be sooner rather than later, my boy!’ Jezal slowly turned his head, a feeling of terrible dismay boiling up from his stomach, and there was the First of the Magi, grinning into his face from a distance of no more than a foot, very much present after all. It was no surprise, really, that the bald old meddler was involved in this. Strange and painful events seemed to follow in his wake like stray dogs barking behind the butcher’s wagon.
> ‘The peasants’ army, if we can call it such, is camped within four days’ slovenly march of the city, spread out across the country, seeking for forage.’ Varuz craned forward, poking at the table with a finger. ‘You will proceed immediately to intercept them. Our hopes hang on this, Colonel Luthar. Do you understand your orders?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he whispered, trying and utterly failing to sound enthusiastic.
‘The two of us, back together?’ Bayaz chuckled. ‘They’d better run, eh, my boy?’
‘Of course,’ murmured Jezal, miserably. He had had his own chance to escape, his chance to start a new life, and he had given it up in return for an extra star or two on his jacket. Too late he realised his awful blunder. Bayaz’ grip tightened round his shoulder, drew him to a fatherly distance, and did not feel like releasing him. There really was no way out.
Jezal stepped out of the door to his quarters in a great hurry, cursing as he dragged his box behind him. It really was an awful imposition that he had been obliged to carry his own luggage, but time was extremely pressing if he was to save the Union from the madness of its own people. He had given only the briefest consideration to the idea of sprinting for the docks and taking passage on the first ship to distant Suljuk, before angrily dismissing it. He had taken the promotion with his eyes open, and now he supposed he had no choice but to see it through. Better to do it, than to live with the fear of it, and so forth. He twisted his key in the lock, turned around, and recoiled with a girlish gasp of shock. There was someone in the shadows opposite his door, and the feeling of horror only worsened when he realised who it was.
The cripple Glokta stood against the wall, leaning heavily on his cane and grinning his repulsive, toothless grin. ‘A word, Colonel Luthar.’
‘If you are referring to this business with the peasants, it is well in hand.’ Jezal was unable to keep the sneer of disgust entirely off his face. ‘You need not trouble yourself on that—’
‘I am not referring to that business.’
‘Then what?’
‘Ardee West.’
The corridor seemed suddenly very empty, very quiet. The soldiers, the officers, the servants, all away in Angland. There were just the two of them, for all Jezal knew, in the entire barracks. ‘I fail to see how that is any concern of—’
‘Her brother, our mutual friend Collem West, you do remember him? Worried-looking fellow, losing his hair. Bit of a temper.’ Jezal felt a guilty flush across his face. He remembered the man well enough, of course, and his temper in particular. ‘He came to me shortly before departing for the war in Angland. He asked me to look to his sister’s welfare while he was away, risking his life. I promised to do so.’ Glokta shuffled slightly closer and Jezal’s flesh crept. ‘A responsibility which, I assure you, I take as seriously as any task the Arch Lector might choose to give me.’
‘I see,’ croaked Jezal. That certainly explained the cripple’s presence at her house the other day, which had, until then, been causing him some confusion. He felt no easier in his mind, however. Considerably less, in fact.
‘I hardly think that Collem West would be best pleased with what has been transpiring these last few days, do you?’
Jezal shifted guiltily from one foot to the other. ‘I admit that I have visited her—’
‘Your visits,’ whispered the cripple, ‘are not good for that girl’s reputation. We are left with three options. Firstly, and this is my personal favourite, you walk away, and you pretend you never met her, and you never see her again.’
‘Unacceptable,’ Jezal found himself saying, his voice surprisingly brash.
‘Secondly, then, you marry the lady, and all’s forgotten.’
A course that Jezal was considering, but he was damned if he’d be bullied into it by this twisted remnant of a man. ‘And third?’ he enquired, with what he felt was fitting contempt.
‘Third?’ A particularly disgusting flurry of twitches crawled up the side of Glokta’s wasted face. ‘I don’t think you want to know too much about number three. Let us only say that it will include a long night of passion with a furnace and a set of razors, and an even longer morning involving a sack, an anvil, and the bottom of the canal. You might find that one of the other two options suits you better.’
Before he knew what he was doing Jezal had taken a step forward, forcing Glokta to rock back, wincing, against the wall. ‘I do not have to explain myself to you! My visits are between me and the lady in question, but for your information, I long ago resolved to marry her, and am merely waiting for the right moment!’ Jezal stood there in the darkness, hardly able to believe what he had heard himself say. Damn his mouth, it still landed him in all manner of trouble.
Glokta’s narrow left eye blinked. ‘Ah, lucky her.’
Jezal found himself moving forward again, almost butting the cripple in the face and crushing him helpless against the wall. ‘That’s right! So you can shove your threats up your crippled arse!’
Even squashed against the wall, Glokta’s surprise only lasted an instant. Then he leered his toothless grin, his eyelid fluttering and a long tear running down his gaunt cheek. ‘Why, Colonel Luthar, it is difficult for me to concentrate with you so very close.’ He stroked the front of Jezal’s uniform with the back of his hand. ‘Especially given your unexpected interest in my arse.’ Jezal jerked back, mouth sour with disgust. ‘It seems that Bayaz succeeded where Varuz failed, eh? He taught you where your spine is! My congratulations on your forthcoming wedding. But I think I’ll keep my razors handy, just in case you don’t follow through. I’m so glad we had this chance to talk.’ And Glokta limped off towards the stairs, his cane tapping on the boards, his left boot scraping along behind.
‘As am I!’ shouted Jezal after him. But nothing could have been further from the truth.
Ghosts
Uffrith didn’t look much like it used to. Of course, the last time Logen had seen the place had been years ago, at night, after the siege. Crowds of Bethod’s Carls wandering the streets – shouting, and singing, and drinking. Looking for folk to rob and rape, setting fire to anything that would hold a flame. Logen remembered lying in that room after he’d beaten Threetrees, crying and gurgling at the pain all through him. He remembered scowling out the window and seeing the glow from the flames, listening to the screams over the town, wishing he was out there making mischief and wondering if he’d ever stand up again.
It was different now, with the Union in charge, but it wasn’t so very much more organised. The grey harbour was choked with ships too big for the wharves. Soldiers swarmed through the narrow streets, dropping gear all over. Carts and mules and horses, all loaded down and piled up, tried to shove a way through the press. Wounded limped on crutches down towards the docks, or were carried on stretchers through the spotting drizzle, bloody bandages stared at wide-eyed by the fresh-faced lads going the other way. Here and there, looking greatly puzzled at this mighty flood of strange people sweeping through their town, some Northerner was standing in a doorway. Women mostly, and children, and old men.
Logen walked fast up the sloping streets, pushing through the crowds with his head down and his hood up. He kept his fists bunched at his sides, so no one would see the stump of his missing finger. He kept the sword that Bayaz had given him wrapped up in a blanket on his back, under his pack, where it wouldn’t make anyone nervous. All the same, his shoulders prickled every step of the way. He was waiting to hear someone shout, ‘It’s the Bloody-Nine!’ He was waiting for folk to start running, screaming, pelting him with rubbish, faces all stamped with horror.
But no one did. One more figure that didn’t belong was nothing to look at in all that damp chaos, and if anyone might have known him here, they weren’t looking for him. Most likely they’d all heard he went back to the mud, far away, and were good and glad about it too. Still, there was no point staying longer than he had to. He strode up to a Union officer who looked as if he might be in charge of something, pushed his hood back and tried to p
ut a smile on his face.
He got a scornful look for his trouble. ‘We’ve no work for you, if that’s what you’re looking for.’
‘You don’t have my kind of work.’ Logen held out the letter that Bayaz had given him.
The man unfolded it and looked it over. He frowned and read it again. Then he looked doubtfully up at Logen, mouth working. ‘Well then. I see.’ He pointed towards a crowd of young men, standing nervous and uncertain a few strides away, huddled miserably together as the rain started to thicken up. ‘There’s a convoy of reinforcements leaving for the front this afternoon. You can travel with us.’
‘Fair enough.’ They didn’t look like they’d be much reinforcement, those scared-seeming lads, but that didn’t matter to him. He didn’t much care who he travelled with, as long as they were pointed at Bethod.
The trees clattered by on either side of the road – dim green and black, full of shadows. Full of surprises, maybe. It was a tough way to travel. Tough on the hands from clinging to the rail all the way, even tougher on the arse from bouncing and jolting on that hard seat. But they were getting there, gradually, and Logen reckoned that was the main thing.
There were more carts behind, spread out in a slow line along the road, loaded down with men, food, clothes, weapons, and all the stuff you need to make a war. Each one had a lamp lit, hanging up near the front, so there was a trail of bobbing lights in the dull dusk, down into the valley and up the far slope, marking out the path of the road they’d followed through the woods.
Logen turned and looked at the Union boys, gathered up in a clump near the front of the cart. Nine of them, all jolting and swaying about together with the jumping of the axles, and all keeping as well clear of him as they could.
‘You seen scars like that on a man before?’ one muttered, not guessing he could speak their tongue.
‘Who is he anyway?’
‘Dunno. A Northman, I guess.’
‘I can see he’s a Northman, idiot. I mean what’s he doing here with us?’
The First Law Trilogy Boxed Set: The Blade Itself, Before They Are Hanged, Last Argument of Kings Page 126