The door opened before Glokta even had the chance to knock. Kahdia stood in the doorway, tall and slender in his white robe. 'Why don't you come in?' The Haddish turned, stepped over to the only chair and sat down in it.

'Wait here,' said Glokta.

'Uh.'

The inside of the shed was no more auspicious than the outside. Clean, and orderly, and poor as hell. The ceiling was so low that Glokta could only just stand upright, the floor was hard-packed dirt. A straw mattress lay on empty crates at one end of the single room, a small chair beside it. A squat cupboard stood under the window, a few books stacked on top, a guttering candle burning beside them. Apart from a dented bucket for natural functions, that appeared to be the full extent of Kahdia's worldly possessions. No sign of any hidden corpses of Superiors of the Inquisition, but you never know. A body can be packed away quite neatly, if one cuts it into small enough pieces…

'You should move out of the slums.' Glokta shut the door behind him on creaking hinges, limped to the bed and sat down heavily on the mattress.

'Natives are not permitted within the Upper City, or had you not heard?'

'I'm sure that an exception could be made in your case. You could have chambers in the Citadel. Then I wouldn't have to limp all the way down here to speak to you.'

'Chambers in the Citadel? While my fellows rot down here in the filth? The least a leader can do is to share the burdens of his people. I have little other comfort to give them.' It was sweltering hot down here in the Lower City, but Kahdia did not seem uncomfortable. His gaze was level, his eyes were fixed on Glokta's, dark and cool as deep water. 'Do you disapprove?'

Glokta rubbed at his aching neck. 'Not in the least. Martyrdom suits you, but you'll have to forgive me if I don't join in.' He licked at his empty gums. 'I've made my sacrifices.'

'Perhaps not all of them. Ask your questions.' Straight to business, then. Nothing to hide? Or nothing to lose?

'Do you know what became of my predecessor, Superior Davoust?'

'It is my earnest hope that he died in great pain.' Glokta felt his eyebrows lift. The very last thing I expected—an honest answer. Perhaps the first honest answer that I have received to that question, but hardly one that frees him from suspicion.

'In great pain, you say?'

'Very great pain. And I will shed no tears if you join him.'

Glokta smiled. 'I don't know that I can think of anyone who will, but Davoust is the matter in hand. Were your people involved in his disappearance?'