The Blade Itself Read Free

own ways, but at least they got to sit down.
    Major West was
sweating steadily into his embroidered dress uniform. He had been
standing in the same position, hands behind his back, teeth gritted,
for nearly two hours while Lord Hoff sulked and grumbled and bellowed
his way through the applicants and anyone else in view. West
fervently wished, and not for the first time that afternoon, that he
was lying under a tree in the park, with a strong drink. Or perhaps
under a glacier, entombed within the ice. Anywhere but here.
    Standing guard
on these horrible audiences was hardly one of West’s more
pleasant duties, but it could have been worse. You had to spare a
thought for the eight soldiers stood around the walls: they were in
full armour. West was waiting for one of them to pass out and crash
to the floor with a sound like a cupboard full of saucepans, no doubt
to the great disgust of the Lord Chamberlain, but so far they were
all somehow staying upright.
    â€œWhy is
this damned room always the wrong temperature?â€

On the List
    Why 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.
    There was a soft
click, then another. Severard slipped his glittering picks into a
pocket, then reached out and slowly, carefully turned the doorknob.
The door swung silently open. What a useful fellow he is. Without
him and Frost I am just a cripple. They are my hands, my arms, my
legs. But I am their brains. Severard slipped inside and Glokta
followed him, wincing with pain every time he put his weight on his
left leg.
    The hallway was
dark, but there was a shaft of light spilling down the stairs from
above and the banisters cast strange, distorted shadows on the wooden
floor. Glokta pointed up the steps,