Glokta knew his mouth was open, but he could not close it. Bright, clean, gold, glowing yellow. All that wealth seemed almost to give off warmth, like a bonfire. It tugged at him, dragged at him, pulled him forward. He took a hesitant step, in fact, before he stopped himself. Great big, golden, fifty mark pieces. Neat, even stacks, just as before. Most men would never in their lives see such coins. Few men indeed can ever have seen so many.

Mauthis reached into his coat and pulled out a flat leather case. He placed it carefully on the table and unfolded it: once, twice, three times.

'One half of one million marks in polished stones.'

There they lay on the soft black leather, on the hard brown table top, burning with all the colours under the sun. Two large handfuls, perhaps, of multi-coloured, glittering gravel. Glokta stared down at them, numb, and sucked at his gums. Magister Eiders jewels seem suddenly rather quaint.

'In total, I have been ordered by my superiors to advance to you, Sand dan Glokta, Superior of Dagoska, the sum of precisely one million marks.' He unrolled a heavy paper. 'You will sign here.'

Glokta stared from one chest to another and back. His left eye gave a flurry of twitches. 'Why?'

'To certify that you received the money.'

Glokta almost laughed. 'Not that! Why the money?' He flailed one hand at it all. 'Why all this?'

'It would appear that my employers share your concern that Dagoska should not fall to the Gurkish. More than that I cannot tell you.'

'Cannot, or will not?'

'Cannot. Will not.'

Glokta frowned at the jewels, at the silver, at the gold. His leg was throbbing, dully. All that I wanted, and far more. But banks do not become banks by giving money away. 'If this is a loan, what is the interest?'

Mauthis flashed his icy smile again. 'My employers would prefer to call it a contribution to the defence of the city. There is one condition, however.'

'Which is?'

'It may be that in the future, a representative of the banking house of Valint and Balk will come to you requesting… favours. It is the most earnest hope of my employers that, if and when that time comes, you will not disappoint them.'

One million marks worth of favours. And I place myself in the power of a most suspect organisation. An organisation whose motives I do not begin to understand. An organisation that, until recently, I was on the point of investigating for high treason. But what are my options? Without money, the city is lost, and I am finished. I needed a miracle, and here it is, sparkling before me. A man lost in the desert must take such water as is offered…