Glokta scanned across the fence, and the camps behind, from the sea on one side to the sea on the other. Are they simply flexing their muscles, putting on a show of force? Or are they in deadly earnest? The Gurkish love a good show, but they don't mind a good fight either—that's how they've conquered the whole of the South, more or less. He lowered the eye-glass. 'How many Gurkish, do you think?'

Vissbruck shrugged. 'Impossible to say. At least five thousand, I would guess, but there could be many more, behind those hills. We have no way of knowing.'

Five thousand. At the least. If it's a show, it's a good one. 'How many men have we?'

Vissbruck paused. 'I have around six hundred Union soldiers under my command.'

Around six hundred? Around? You lackwit dunce! When I was a soldier I knew the name of every man in my regiment, and who was best suited to what tasks. 'Six hundred? Is that all?'

'There are mercenaries in the city also, but they cannot be trusted, and frequently cause trouble of their own. In my opinion they are worse than worthless.'

I asked for numbers, not opinions. 'How many mercenaries?'

'Perhaps a thousand, now, perhaps more.'

'Who leads them?'

'Some Styrian. Cosca, he calls himself.'

'Nicomo Cosca?' Vitari was staring down from the parapet, one orange eyebrow raised.

'You know him?'

'You could say that. I thought he was dead, but it seems there's no justice in the world.'

She's right there. Glokta turned to Vissbruck. 'Does this Cosca answer to you?'

'Not exactly. The Spicers pay him, so he answers to Magister Eider. In theory, he's supposed to follow my orders—'

'But he only follows his own?' Glokta could see in the General's face that he was right. Mercenaries. A double-edged sword, if ever there was one. Keen, as long as you can keep paying, and provided that trustworthiness is not a priority. 'And Cosca's men outnumber yours two to one.' It would appear that, as far as the defences of the city are concerned, I am speaking to the wrong man. Perhaps there is one issue, though, on which he can enlighten me. 'Do you know what became of my predecessor, Superior Davoust?'

General Vissbruck twitched his annoyance. 'I have no idea. That man's movements were of no interest to me.'

'Hmm,' mused Glokta, jamming his hat down tighter onto his head as another gritty gust of wind blew in across the walls. 'The disappearance of the city's Superior of the Inquisition? Of no interest whatsoever?'