Ah, the mercenary's code. Some men will do anything for money. Most men will do anything for enough. Perhaps even make a Superior of the Inquisition disappear? 'Do you know what became of my predecessor, Superior Davoust?'

'Ah, the riddle of the invisible torturer!' Cosca scratched thoughtfully at his sweaty beard, picked a little at the rash on his neck and examined the results, wedged under his fingernail. 'Who knows or cares to know? The man was a swine. I hardly knew him and what I knew I didn't like. He had plenty of enemies, and, in case you hadn't noticed, it's a real snake pit down here. If you're asking which one bit him, well… isn't that your job? I was busy here. Drinking.'

Not too difficult to believe. 'What would your opinion be of our mutual friend, General Vissbruck?'

Cosca hunched his shoulders and sank a little lower into his chair. 'The man's a child. Playing soldiers. Tinkering with his little castle and his little fence, when the big walls are all that count. Lose those and the game is done, I say.'

'I've been thinking the very same thing.' Perhaps the defence of the city could be in worse hands, after all. 'Work has already begun on the land walls, and on the ditch beyond. I hope to flood it.'

Cosca raised an eyebrow. 'Good. Flood it. The Gurkish don't like the water much. Poor sailors. Flood it. Very good.' He tipped his head back and sucked the last drops from the bottle, then he tossed it on the dirty floor, wiped his mouth with his dirty hand, then wiped his hand on the front of his sweat-stained shirt. 'At least someone knows what they're doing. Perhaps when the Gurkish attack, we'll last longer than a few days, eh?' Providing we aren't betrayed beforehand.

'You never know, perhaps the Gurkish won't attack.'

'Oh, I hope they do.' Cosca reached under his chair and produced another bottle. There was a glint in his eye as he pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it across the room. 'I get paid double once the fighting starts.'

It was evening, and a merciful breeze was washing through the audience chamber. Glokta leaned against the wall by the window, watching the shadows stretch out over the city below.

The Lord Governor was keeping him waiting. Trying to let me know he's still in charge, whatever the Closed Council might say. But Glokta didn't mind being still for a while. The day had been a tiring one. Slogging round the city in the baking heat, examining the walls, the gates, the troops. Asking questions. Questions to which no one has satisfactory answers. His leg was throbbing, his back was aching, his hand was raw from gripping his cane. But no worse than usual. I am still standing. A good day, all in all.