'That is the very least of what they would do.' Mauthis' expression was unmistakable. Fear. Fear, in that emotionless mask of a face. Something about it left a certain bitterness on Glokta's tongue, a certain coldness down his back, a certain tightness in his throat. It was a feeling he remembered, from long ago. It was the closest he had come to being afraid, himself, in a long time. They have me. Utterly and completely. I knew it when I signed. That was the price, and I had no choice but to pay.

Glokta swallowed. 'You may tell your employers that there will be no further enquiries.'

Mauthis closed his eyes for a moment and blew out with evident relief. 'I am delighted to carry that message back to them. Good day.' And he turned and left Glokta alone in Ardee's living room, staring at the door, and wondering what had just happened.

The Abode of Stones

The Abode of Stones

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The prow of the boat crunched hard into the rocky beach and stones groaned and scraped along the underside. Two of the oarsmen floundered out into the washing surf and dragged the boat a few steps further. Once it was firmly grounded they hurried back in as though the water caused intense pain. Jezal could not entirely blame them. The island at the edge of the World, the ultimate destination of their journey, the place called Shabulyan, had indeed a most forbidding appearance.

A vast mound of stark and barren rock, the cold waves clutching at its sharp promontories and clawing at its bare beaches. Above rose jagged cliffs and slopes of treacherous scree, piled steeply upwards into a menacing mountain, looming black against the dark sky.

'Care to come ashore?' asked Bayaz of the sailors.

The four oarsmen showed no sign of moving, and their Captain slowly shook his head. 'We have heard bad things of this island,' he grunted in common so heavily accented it was barely intelligible. 'They say it is cursed. We will wait for you here.'

'We may be some time.'

'We will wait.'

Bayaz shrugged. 'Wait, then.' He stepped from the boat and waded through knee-high breakers. Slowly and somewhat reluctantly the rest of the party followed him through the icy sea and up onto the beach.

It was a bleak and blasted place, a place fit only for stones and cold water. Waves foamed greedily up the shore and sucked jealously back out through the shingle. A pitiless wind cut across this wasteland and straight through Jezal's wet trousers, whipping his hair in his eyes and chilling him to the marrow. It snatched away any trace of excitement he might have felt at reaching the end of their journey. It found chinks and holes in the boulders and made them sing, and sigh, and wail in a mournful choir.