Longfoot gaped, a long string of drool hanging from his bottom lip. 'I don't know!'

'What does he want with us? What does he want in the Union?'

'I don't know! I have told you everything!'

'Leaning forwards is a considerable ordeal for me. One that I begin to tire of.' Glokta frowned, and lifted the hammer, its polished head glinting.

'I just find ways from here to there! I only navigate! Please! No!' Longfoot squeezed his eyes shut, tongue wedged between his teeth. Here it comes. Here it comes. Here it comes…

Glokta tossed the hammer clattering down on the floor and leaned back, rocking his aching hips left and right to try and squeeze away the aches. 'Very well,' he sighed. 'I am satisfied.'

The prisoner opened first one grimacing eye, and then the other. He looked up, face full of hope. 'I can go?'

Severard chuckled softly behind his mask. Even Frost made a kind of hissing sound. 'Of course you can go.' Glokta smiled his empty smile. 'You can go back in your bag.'

The Navigator's face went slack with horror. 'God take pity on me.'

If there is a God, he has no pity in him.

Fortunes of War

« ^ »

Lord Marshal Burr was in the midst of writing a letter, but he smiled up as West let the tent flap drop.

'How are you, Colonel?'

'Well enough, thank you, sir. The preparations are well underway. We should be ready to leave at first light.'

'As efficient as ever. Where would I be without you?' Burr gestured at the decanter. 'Wine?'

'Thank you, sir.' West poured himself a glass. 'Would you care for one?'

Burr indicated a battered canteen at his elbow. 'I believe it would be prudent if I was to stick to water.'

West winced, guiltily. He hardly felt as if he had the right to ask, but there was no escaping it now. 'How are you feeling, sir?'

'Much better, thank you for asking. Much, much better.' He grimaced, put one fist over his mouth, and burped. 'Not entirely recovered, but well on the way.' As though to prove the point he got up easily from his chair and strode to the map, hands clasped behind his back. His face had indeed regained much of its colour. He no longer stood hunched over, wobbling as though he were about to fall.

'Lord Marshal… I wanted to speak to you… about the battle at Dunbrec'

Burr looked round. 'About what feature of it?'

'When you were sick…' West teetered on the brink of speaking, then let the words bubble out. 'I didn't send for a surgeon! I could have, but—'