Long, lozenge shapes were stacked up shoulder high against the wall of the temple, swathed in rough grey cloth, some of it spotted and stained with brown blood. A whole heap of them. Corpses, waiting patiently to be buried. This morning's harvest. What a wonderfully macabre spot for a pleasant little chat. I could hardly have picked a better.

'So, how are you enjoying the siege? It's a bit noisy for my taste, but your friend Cosca seems to like it—'

'Where's Eider?'

'What?' snapped Glokta, stalling for time while he thought about how to answer. I hardly expected her to find out about that so soon.

'Eider. You remember? Dressed like an expensive whore? Adornment to the city's ruling council? Tried to betray us to the Gurkish? Her cell's empty. Why?'

'Oh, her. She's at sea.' True. 'With fifty strides of good chain round her.' False. 'She's adorning the bottom of the bay now, since you ask.'

Vitari's orange brows drew in with suspicion. 'Why wasn't I told?'

'I've got better things to do than keep you informed. We've a war to lose, or hadn't you noticed?' Glokta turned away but her hand shot out in front of him and slapped on to the wall, her long arm barring his path.

'Keeping me informed means keeping Sult informed. If we start telling him different stories—'

'Where have you been the last few weeks?' He chuckled as he gestured at the pile of shrouded shapes beside the wall. 'It's a funny thing. The closer the Gurkish get to breaking through our walls and murdering every living thing in Dagoska, the less I seem to care about his fucking Eminence! Tell him what you please. You're boring me.' He made to push past her arm but found it did not move.

'What if I were to tell him what you please?' she whispered.

Glokta frowned. Now that isn't boring. Sult's favourite Practical, sent here to make sure I tread the righteous path, offering deals? A trick? A trap? Their faces were no more than a foot apart, and he stared hard into her eyes, trying to guess what she was thinking. Is there just the slightest trace of desperation there? Could the motive be nothing more than simple self-preservation? When you lose the instinct yourself, it's hard to remember how powerful it is for everyone else. He felt himself starting to smile. Yes, I see it now. 'You thought you'd be recalled once the traitors had been found, didn't you? You thought Sult would arrange a nice little boat home! But now there are no boats for anyone, and you're worried your kindly uncle's forgotten all about you! That you've been tossed to the Gurkish with the rest of the damn dogmeat!'