The Collected Joe Abercrombie (17 page)

‘Humph,’ said the Lord Chamberlain, unmoved. ‘And you seek an audience with his August Majesty, the High King of the Union?’

‘We do indeed, my Lord Chamberlain,’ said the old warrior. ‘Our master, Bethod, greatly regrets the hostility between our two nations. He wishes only to be on the best of terms with his southern neighbours. We bring an offer of peace from my King to yours, and a gift to show our good faith. Nothing more.’

‘Well, well,’ said Hoff, sitting back in his high chair with a broad smile. ‘A gracious request, graciously made. You may see the King in Open Council tomorrow, and present your offer, and your gift, before the foremost peers of the realm.’

White-Eye bowed respectfully. ‘You are most kind, my Lord Chamberlain.’ He turned for the door, followed by the two dour warriors. The cloaked figure lingered for a moment, then he too slowly turned and stooped through the doorway. It wasn’t until the doors were shut that West could breathe easily again. He shook his head and shrugged his sweaty shoulders. Songs about giants indeed. A great big man in a cloak was all. But looking again, that doorway really was very high . . .

‘There, you see, Master Morrow?’ Hoff looked intensely pleased with himself. ‘Hardly the savages you led me to expect! I feel we are close to a resolution of our northern problems, don’t you?’

The Under-Secretary did not look in the least convinced. ‘Er . . . yes, my Lord, of course.’

‘Yes indeed. A lot of fuss over nothing. A lot of pessimistic, defeatist nonsense from our jumpy citizens up north, eh? War? Bah!’ Hoff whacked his hand on the table again, making wine slop out of his goblet and spatter on the wood. ‘These Northmen wouldn’t dare! Why, next thing you know they’ll be petitioning us for membership of the Union! You see if I’m not right, eh, Major West?’

‘Er ...’

‘Good! Excellent! We’ve got something done today at least! One more and we can get out of this damn furnace! Who do we have, Morrow?’

The Under-Secretary frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Er . . . we have one Yoru Sulfur,’ he wrestled with the unfamiliar name.

‘We have a who?’

‘Er . . . Sulfir, or Sulfor, or something.’

‘Never heard of him,’ grunted the Lord Chamberlain, ‘what manner of a man is he? Some kind of a southerner? Not another peasant, please!’

The Under-Secretary examined his notes, and swallowed. ‘An emissary?’

‘Yes, yes, but from whom?’

Morrow was positively cringing, like a child expecting a slap. ‘From the Great Order of Magi!’ he blurted out.

There was a moment of stunned silence. West’s eyebrows went up and his jaw came open, and he guessed that the same was happening, unseen, behind the visors of the soldiers. He winced instinctively as he anticipated the response of the Lord Chamberlain, but Hoff surprised them all by bursting into peals of laughter. ‘Excellent! At last some entertainment. It’s been years since we had a Magus here! Show in the wizard! We mustn’t keep him waiting!’

Yoru Sulfur was something of a disappointment. He had simple, travel-stained clothes, was scarcely better dressed than Goodman Heath had been, in fact. His staff was not shod with gold, had no lump of shining crystal on the end. His eye did not flash with a mysterious fire. He looked a fairly ordinary sort of a man in his middle thirties, slightly tired, as though after a long journey, but otherwise well at his ease before the Lord Chamberlain.

‘A good day to you, gentlemen,’ he said, leaning on his staff. West was having some difficulty working out where he was from. Not the Union, because his skin was too dark, and not Gurkhul or the far south, because his skin was too light. Not from the North or from Styria. Further then, but where? Now that West looked at him more closely he noticed that his eyes were different colours: one blue, one green.

‘And a good day to you, sir,’ said Hoff, smiling as though he really meant it. ‘My door is forever open to the Great Order of Magi. Tell me, do I have the pleasure of addressing great Bayaz himself?’

Sulfur looked puzzled. ‘No, was I wrongly announced? I am Yoru Sulfur. Master Bayaz is a bald gentleman.’ He pushed a hand through his own head of curly brown hair. ‘There is a statue of him outside in the avenue. But I did have the honour to study under him for several years. He is a most powerful and knowledgeable master.’

‘Of course! Of course he is! And how may we be of service?’

Yoru Sulfur cleared his throat, as though to tell a story. ‘On the death of King Harod the Great, Bayaz, the First of the Magi, left the Union. But he swore an oath to return.’

‘Yes, yes, that’s true,’ chuckled Hoff. ‘Very true, every school-child knows it.’

‘And he pronounced that, when he returned, his coming would be heralded by another.’

‘True, also.’

‘Well,’ said Sulfur, smiling broadly, ‘here I am.’

The Lord Chamberlain roared with laughter. ‘Here you are!’ he shouted, thumping the table. Harlen Morrow allowed himself a little chuckle, but shut up immediately as Hoff’s smile began to fade.

‘During my tenure as Lord Chamberlain, I have had three members of the Great Order of Magi apply to me for audiences with the King. Two were most clearly insane, and one was an exceptionally courageous swindler.’ He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers before him. ‘Tell me, Master Sulfur, which kind of Magus are you?’

‘I am neither of those.’

‘I see. Then you will have documents.’

‘Of course.’ Sulfur reached into his coat and brought out a small letter, closed with a white seal, a single strange symbol stamped into it. He placed it carelessly on the table before the Lord Chamberlain.

Hoff frowned. He picked up the document and turned it over in his hands. He examined the seal carefully, then he dabbed his face with his sleeve, broke the wax, unfolded the thick paper and began to read.

Yoru Sulfur showed no sign of nerves. He didn’t appear troubled by the heat. He strolled around the room, he nodded to the armoured soldiers, he didn’t seem upset by their lack of response. He turned suddenly to West. ‘It’s terribly hot in here, isn’t it? It’s a wonder these poor fellows don’t pass out, and crash to the floor with a sound like a cupboard full of saucepans.’ West blinked. He had been thinking the very same thing.

The Lord Chamberlain put the letter down carefully on the table, no longer in the least amused. ‘It occurs to me that the Open Council would be the wrong place to discuss this matter.’

‘I agree. I was hoping for a private audience with Lord Chancellor Feekt.’

‘I am afraid that will not be possible.’ Hoff licked his lips. ‘Lord Feekt is dead.’

Sulfur frowned. ‘That is most unfortunate.’

‘Indeed, indeed. We all feel his loss most keenly. Perhaps I and certain other members of the Closed Council can assist you.’

Sulfur bowed his head. ‘I am guided by you, my Lord Chamberlain.’

‘I will try to arrange something for later this evening. Until then we will find you some lodgings within the Agriont . . . suitable for your station.’ He signalled to the guards, and the doors were opened.

‘Thank you so much, Lord Hoff. Master Morrow. Major West.’ Sulfur nodded to them graciously, each in turn, and then turned and left. The doors were closed once more, leaving West wondering how the man had known his name.

Hoff turned to his Under-Secretary for Audiences. ‘Go immediately to Arch Lector Sult, and tell him we must meet at once. Then fetch High Justice Marovia, and Lord Marshal Varuz. Tell them it is a matter of the very highest importance, and not a word of this to anyone beyond those three.’ He shook his finger in Morrow’s sweaty face. ‘Not a word!’

The Under-Secretary stared back, spectacles askew. ‘Now!’ roared Hoff. Morrow leapt to his feet, stumbled on the hem of his gown, then hurried out through a side door. West swallowed, his mouth very dry.

Hoff stared long and hard at each man in the room. ‘As for the rest of you, not a word to anyone about any of this, or the consequences for all of you will be most severe! Now out, everyone out!’ The soldiers clanked from the room immediately. West needed no further encouragement and he hurried after them, leaving the brooding Lord Chamberlain alone in his high chair.

West’s thoughts were dark and confused as he pulled the door shut behind him. Fragments of old stories of the Magi, fears about war in the North, images of a hooded giant, towering up near the ceiling. There had been some strange and some sinister visitors to the Agriont that day, and he felt quite weighed down by worries. He tried to shrug them off, told himself it was all foolishness, but then all he could think of was his sister, cavorting about the Agriont like a fool.

He groaned to himself. She was probably with Luthar right now. Why the hell had he introduced the two of them? For some reason he had been expecting the same awkward, sickly, sharp-tongued girl he remembered from years ago. He had got quite a shock when this woman had turned up at his quarters. He had barely recognised her. Undoubtedly a woman, and a fine-looking one too. Meanwhile, Luthar was arrogant and rich and handsome and had all the self-restraint of a six-year old. He knew they had seen each other since, and more than once. Just as friends, of course. Ardee had no other friends here. Just friends.

‘Shit!’ he cursed. It was like putting a cat by the cream and trusting it not to stick its tongue in. Why the hell hadn’t he thought it through? It was a damn disaster in the making! But what could he do about it now? He stared off miserably down the hallway.

There’s nothing like seeing another’s misery to make you forget your own, and Goodman Heath was a sorry sight indeed. He was sitting alone on a long bench, face deathly pale, staring off into space. He must have been sitting there all this time, while the Mercers and the Northmen and the Magus came and went, waiting for nothing but with nowhere left to go. West glanced up and down the hallway. There was no one else nearby. Heath was oblivious to him, mouth open, eyes glassy, battered hat forgotten on his knees.

West couldn’t simply leave the man like this, he didn’t have it in him.

‘Goodman Heath,’ he said as he approached, and the peasant looked up at him, surprised. He fumbled for his hat and made to rise, muttering apologies.

‘No, please, don’t get up.’ West sat down on the bench. He stared at his feet, unable to look the man in the eye. There was an awkward silence. ‘I have a friend who sits on the Commission for Land and Agriculture. There might be something he can do for you . . .’ He trailed off, embarrassed, squinting up the corridor.

The farmer gave a sad smile. ‘I’d be right grateful for anything you could do.’

‘Yes, yes, of course, I’ll do what I can.’ It would do no good whatsoever, and they both knew it. West grimaced and bit his lip. ‘You’d better take this,’ and he pressed his purse into the peasant’s limp, calloused fingers. Heath looked at him, mouth slightly open. West gave a quick, awkward smile then got to his feet. He was very keen to be off.

‘Sir!’ called Goodman Heath after him, but West was already hurrying down the corridor, and he didn’t look back.

On the List

W
hy do I do this?
The outline of Villem dan Robb’s townhouse was cut out in black against the clear night sky. It was an unremarkable building, a two-storey-dwelling with a low wall and a gate in front, just like a hundred others in this street.
Our old friend Rews used to live in a palatial great villa near the market. Robb really should have asked him for some more ambitious bribes. Still. Lucky for us he didn’t.
Elsewhere in the city the fashionable avenues would be brightly lit and busy with drunken revellers right through until dawn. But this secluded side street was far from the bright lights and the prying eyes.

We can work undisturbed.

Round the side of the building, on the upper floor, a lamp was burning in a narrow window.
Good. Our friend is at home. But still awake – we must tread gently.
He turned to Practical Frost and pointed down the side of the house. The albino nodded and slipped away silently across the street.

Glokta waited for him to reach the wall and disappear into the shadows beside the building, then he turned to Severard and pointed at the front door. The eyes of the lanky Practical smiled at him for a moment, then he scuttled quickly away, staying low, rolled over the low wall and dropped without a sound onto the other side.

Perfect so far, but now I must move.
Glokta wondered why he had come. Frost and Severard were more than capable of dealing with Robb by themselves, and he would only slow them down.
I might even fall on my arse and alert the idiot to our presence. So why did I come?
But Glokta knew why. The feeling of excitement was already building in his throat. It felt almost like being alive.

He had muffled the end of his cane with a bit of rag, so he was able to limp to the wall, ever so delicately, without making too much noise. By that time Severard had swung the gate open, holding the hinge with one gloved hand so that it didn’t make a noise.
Nice and neat. That little wall might as well be a hundred feet high for all my chances of getting over it.

Severard was kneeling on the step against the front door, picking the lock. His ear was close to the wood, his eyes squinting with concentration, gloved hands moving deftly. Glokta’s heart was beating fast, his skin prickly with tension.
Ah, the thrill of the hunt.