The General was already collecting his notes. 'I am doing all I can, but people are beginning to doubt that they will ever be paid.'

Vurms was more direct. 'No one trusts us any longer. Without money, we can do nothing.'

'Nothing,' growled Severard. Frost slowly shook his head.

Glokta rubbed at his sore eyes. 'A Superior of the Inquisition vanishes without leaving so much as a smear behind. He retires to his chambers at night, the door is locked. In the morning he does not answer. They break down the door and find…' Nothing. 'The bed has been slept in, but there is no body. Not the slightest sign of a struggle even.'

'Nothing,' muttered Severard.

'What do we know? Davoust suspected a conspiracy within the city, a traitor intending to deliver Dagoska to the Gurkish. He believed a member of the ruling council was involved. It would seem likely that he uncovered the identity of this person, and was somehow silenced.'

'But who?'

We must turn the question on its head. 'If we cannot find our traitor, we must make them come to us. If they work to get the Gurkish in, we need only succeed in keeping them out. Sooner or later, they will show themselves.'

'Rithky,' mumbled Frost. Risky indeed, especially for Dagoska's latest Superior of the Inquisition, but we have no choices.

'So we wait?' asked Severard.

'We wait, and we look to our defences. That and we try to find some money. Do you have any cash, Severard?'

'I did have some. I gave it to a girl, down in the slums.'

'Ah. Shame.'

'Not really, she fucks like a madman. I'd thoroughly recommend her, if you're interested.'

Glokta winced as his knee clicked. 'What a thoroughly heartwarming tale, Severard, I never had you down for a romantic. I'd sing a ballad if I wasn't so short of funds.'

'I could ask around. How much are we talking about?'

'Oh, not much. Say, half a million marks?'

One of the Practical's eyebrows went up sharply. He reached into his pocket, dug around for a moment, pulled his hand out and opened it. A few copper coins shone in his palm.

'Twelve bits,' he said. 'Twelve bits is all I can raise.'

'Twelve thousand is all I can raise,' said Magister Eider. Scarcely a drop in the bucket. 'My Guild are nervous, business has not been good, the great majority of their assets are bound up in ventures of one kind or another. I have little cash to hand either.'

I daresay you have a good deal more than twelve thousand, but what's the difference? I doubt even you have half a million tucked away. There probably isn't that amount in the whole city. 'One would almost think they didn't like me.'