'Very good indeed,' said Glokta. 'Tell me, Brother Longfoot, is one among your remarkable talents a superhuman resistance to pain?'

The prisoner swallowed. 'It is not.'

'Then the rules of this game are simple. I ask a question and you answer precisely, correctly, and, above all, briefly. Do I make myself clear?'

'I understand completely. I do not speak other than to—'

Frost's fist sunk into his gut and he folded up, eyes bulging. 'Do you see,' hissed Glokta, 'that your answer there should have been yes?' The albino seized the wheezing Navigator's leg and dragged his foot up onto the anvil. Oh, cold metal on the sensitive sole. Quite unpleasant, but it could be so much worse. And something tells me it probably will be. Frost snapped a manacle shut around Longfoot's ankle.

'I apologise for the lack of imagination.' Glokta sighed. 'In our defence, it's difficult to be always thinking of something new. I mean, smashing a man's feet with a lump hammer, it's so…'

'Pethethrian?' ventured Frost.

Glokta heard a sharp volley of laughter from behind Severard's mask, felt his own mouth grinning too. He really should have been a comedian, rather than a torturer. 'Pedestrian! Precisely so. But don't worry. If we haven't got what we need by the time we've crushed everything below your knees to pulp, we'll see if we can think of something more inventive for the rest of your legs. How does that sound?'

'But I have done nothing!' squealed Longfoot, just getting his breath back. 'I know nothing! I did—'

'Forget… about all that. It is meaningless now.' Glokta leaned slowly, painfully forwards, let the head of the hammer tap gently against the iron beside the Navigator's bare foot. 'What I want you to concentrate on… are my questions… and your toes… and this hammer. But don't worry if you find that difficult now. Believe me when I say—once the hammer starts falling, you will find it easy to ignore everything else.'

Longfoot stared at the anvil, nostrils flaring as his breath snorted quickly in and out. And the seriousness of the situation finally impresses itself upon him.

'Questions, then,' said Glokta. 'You are familiar with the man who styles himself Bayaz, the First of the Magi?'

'Yes! Please! Yes! Until recently he was my employer.'

'Good.' Glokta shifted in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position while bending forwards. 'Very good. You accompanied him on a journey?'

'I was the guide!'

'What was your destination?'

'The Island of Shabulyan, at the edge of the World.'

Glokta let the head of the hammer click against the anvil again. 'Oh come, come. The edge of the World? A fantasy, surely?'

'Truly! Truly! I have seen it! I stood upon that island with my own feet!'

'Who went with you?'