'My name is Colonel West,' he croaked, voice cracking on the stinging air. 'There are ten thousand soldiers camped a dozen miles down the road, under Crown Prince Ladisla. We have need of smiths.' West cleared his throat, tried to speak louder without coughing his lungs out. 'Who among you can work metals?'

No one spoke. The men stared at their threadbare shoes or their bare feet, with the odd sidelong glance at the glowering Practicals.

'You need not be afraid. Who can work metals?'

'I can, sir.' A man stepped forward from the line, the irons on his ankles rattling. He was lean and sinewy, slightly stooped. As the lamplight fell across his head West found himself wincing. He was disfigured by hideous burns. One side of his face was a mass of livid, slightly melted-looking scars, no eyebrow, scalp patchy with pink bald spots. The other side was little better. The man scarcely had a face at all. 'I can work a forge, and I did some soldiering too, in Gurkhul.'

'Good,' muttered West, doing his best to swallow his horror at the man's appearance. 'Your name?'

'Pike.'

'Are any of these others good with metal, Pike?'

The burned man shuffled and clanked his way down the line, pulling men forward by their shoulders while the commandant looked on, his frown growing deeper with every passing moment.

West licked his dry lips. Hard to believe that in so little time he could have gone from so horribly cold to so horribly hot, but here he was, more uncomfortable than ever. 'I'll need keys to their irons, Inquisitor.'

'There are no keys. The irons are melted shut. They are not intended ever to be removed and I would strongly advise you not to. Many of these prisoners are extremely dangerous, and you should bear in mind that you will be returning them to us as soon as you can make alternative arrangements. The Inquisition is not in the business of early releases.' He stalked off to speak to one of the Practicals.

Pike sidled up, pulling another convict by the elbow. 'Pardon me, sir,' he murmured, growling voice kept low. 'But could you find a place for my daughter?'

West shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable. He would have liked to take everyone and burn the damn place to the ground, but he was already pushing his luck. 'It's not a good idea, a woman in amongst all those soldiers. Not a good idea at all.'

'A better idea than staying here, sir. I can't leave her on her own. She can help me at the forge. She can swing a hammer herself if it comes to that. She's strong.'