The glowing sun was shrouded in lines of orange cloud. Beneath it a long wedge of sea glittered silver in the last light of the day. The land walls had already plunged half the ramshackle buildings of the Lower City into deep gloom, and the shadows of the tall spires of the great temple stretched out across the roofs of the Upper City, creeping up the slopes of the rock towards the citadel. The hills on the mainland were nothing more than a distant suggestion, full of shadows. And crawling with Gurkish soldiers. Watching us, as we watch them, no doubt. Seeing us dig our ditches, patch our walls, shore up our gates. How long will they be content to watch, I wonder? How long before the sun goes down for us?

The door opened and Glokta turned his head, wincing as his neck clicked. It was the Lord Governor's son, Korsten dan Vurms. He shut the door behind him and strode purposefully into the room, metal heel tips clicking on the mosaic floor. Ah, the flower of the Union's young nobility. The sense of honour is almost palpable. Or did someone fart?

'Superior Glokta! I hope I have not kept you waiting.'

'You have,' said Glokta as he shuffled to the table. 'That is what happens when one comes late to a meeting.'

Vurms frowned slightly. 'Then I apologise,' he said, in the most unapologetic tone imaginable. 'How are you finding our city?'

'Hot and full of steps.' Glokta dumped himself into one of the exquisite chairs. 'Where is the Lord Governor?'

The frown turned down further. 'I am afraid that my father is unwell, and cannot attend. You understand that he is an old man, and needs his rest. I can speak for him however.'

'Can you indeed? And what do the two of you have to say?'

'My father is most concerned about the work that you are undertaking on the defences. I am told that the King's soldiers have been set to digging holes on the peninsula, rather than defending the walls of the Upper City. You realise that you are leaving us at the mercy of the natives!'

Glokta snorted. 'The natives are citizens of the Union, no matter how reluctant. Believe me, they are more inclined to mercy than the Gurkish.' Of their mercy I have first-hand experience.

'They are primitives!' sneered Vurms, 'and dangerous to boot! You have not been here long enough to understand the threat they pose to us! You should talk to Harker. He's got the right ideas as far as the natives are concerned.'