'Superior Glokta, good evening.' Marovia himself was seated at a long table near the empty fireplace, set for dinner, a flickering candelabra making each dish glisten in the gloom. 'I hope you do not mind if I eat while we talk? I would rather dine in the comfort of my rooms, but I find myself eating here more and more. So much to do, you see? And one of my secretaries appears to have taken a holiday unannounced.' A holiday to the slaughterhouse floor, in fact, by way of the intestines of a herd of swine. 'Would you care to join me?' Marovia gestured at a large joint of meat, close to raw in the centre, swimming in bloody gravy.

Glokta licked at his empty gums as he manoeuvred himself into a chair opposite. 'I would be delighted, your Worship, but the laws of dentistry prevent me.'

'Ah, of course. Those laws there can be no circumventing, even by a High Justice. You have my sympathy, Superior. One of my greatest pleasures is a good cut of meat, and the bloodier the better. Just show them the flame, I always tell my cook. Just show it to them.' Funny. I tell my Practicals to start the same way. 'And to what do I owe this unexpected visit? Do you come on your own initiative, or at the urging of your employer, my esteemed colleague from the Closed Council, Arch Lector Sult?'

Your bitter mortal enemy from the Closed Council, do you mean? 'His Eminence is aware that I am here.'

'Is he?' Marovia carved another slice and lifted it dripping onto his plate. 'And with what message has he sent you? Something relating to tomorrow's business in the Open Council, perhaps?'

'You spoil my surprise, your Worship. May I speak plainly?'

'If you know how.'

Glokta showed the High Justice his empty grin. 'This affair with the vote is a terrible thing for business. The doubt, the uncertainty, the worry. Bad for everyone's business.'

'Some more than others.' Marovia's knife squealed against the plate as he slit a ribbon of fat from the edge of his meat.

'Of course. At particular risk are those that sit on the Closed Council, and those that struggle on their behalf. They are unlikely to be given such a free hand if powerful men such as Brock or Isher are voted to the throne.' Some of us, indeed, are unlikely to live out the week.