Below them in the Upper City, the morning chanting was beginning. A strange wailing that drifted from the spires of the Great Temple, out over Dagoska and into every building, even here, in the audience chamber of the Citadel. Kahdia calls his people to prayer.

Vurms' lip curled at the sound. 'That time again already? Damn those natives and their bloody superstitions! We should never have let them back into their temple! Damn their bloody chanting, it gives me a headache!'

And it's worth it for that alone. Glokta grinned. 'If it makes Kahdia happy, your headache is something I can live with. Like it or not, we need the natives, and the natives like to chant. Get used to it, is my advice. That or wrap a blanket round your head.'

Vissbruck sat back in his chair and listened while Vurms sulked. 'I have to admit that I find the sound rather soothing, and we cannot deny the effect the Superior's concessions have had on the natives. With their help the land walls are repaired, the gates are replaced, and the scaffolds are already being dismantled. Stone has been acquired for new parapets but, ah, and here is the problem, the masons refuse to work another day without money. My soldiers are on quarter pay, and morale is low. Debt is the problem, Superior.'

'I'll say it is,' muttered Vurms angrily. 'The granaries are close to capacity, and two new wells have been dug in the Lower City, at great expense, but my credit is utterly exhausted. The grain merchants are after my blood!' A damn sight less keenly than every merchant in the city is after mine, I daresay. 'I can scarcely show my face any longer for their clamouring. My reputation is in jeopardy, Superior!'

As if I had no larger concerns than the reputation of this dolt. 'How much do we owe?'

Vurms frowned. 'For food, water, and general equipment, no less than a hundred thousand.' A hundred thousand? The Spicers love making money, but they hate spending it more. Eider will not come up with half so much, if she even chooses to try.

'What about you, General?'

'The cost of hiring mercenaries, excavating the ditch, of the repairs to the walls, of extra weapons, armour, ammunition…' Vissbruck puffed out his cheeks. 'In all, it comes to nearly four hundred thousand marks.'

It was the most Glokta could do to keep from choking on his own tongue. Half a million? A king's ransom and more besides. I doubt that Sult could provide so much, even if he had the mind, and he does not. Men die all the time over debts a fraction of the size. 'Work however you can. Promise whatever you want. The money is on its way, I assure you.'