Glokta felt a flurry of twitches run up the side of his face and set his eyelid fluttering. Damn treacherous jelly! Her head jerked to the side. 'You know of them?'

'A passing acquaintance.' Well, where's the harm? 'I caught one, in Dagoska. I asked it questions.'

'What did it tell you?'

'It talked of righteousness and justice.' Two things that I have never seen. 'It talked of war and sacrifice.' Two things that I have seen too much of. 'It said that your friend Bayaz killed his own master.' The woman did not move so much as an eyelash. 'It said that its father, the Prophet Khalul, still seeks vengeance.'

'Vengeance,' she hissed, her hands bunching into fists. 'I will show them vengeance!'

'What did they do to you?'

'They killed my people.' She uncrossed her legs. 'They made me a slave.' She rose smoothly to her feet, looming over him. 'They stole my life from me.'

Glokta felt the corner of his mouth twitch up. 'One more thing we have in common.' And I sense my borrowed time is up.

She reached down and grabbed two fistfuls of his wet coat. She dragged him from the floor with fearsome strength, his back sliding up the wall. Body found floating in the bath . . . ? He felt his nostrils opening wide, the air hissing fast in his bloody nose, his heart thumping in anticipation. No doubt my ruined body will struggle, as best it can. An irresistible reaction to the lack of air. The unconquerable instinct to breathe. No doubt I will thrash and wriggle, just as Tulkis, the Gurkish ambassador, thrashed and wriggled when they hanged him, and dragged his guts out for nothing.

He did his twisted best to stay up under his own power, to stand as close to straight as he could manage. After all, I was a proud man once, even if that is all far behind me. Hardly the end that Colonel Glokta would have hoped for. Drowned in the bath by a woman in a dirty shirt. Will they find me slumped over the rim, my arse in the air? But what does it matter? It is not how you die, but how you lived, that counts.

She let go of his coat, flattened the front with a slap of her hand. And what has my life been, these past years? What do I have that I might truly miss? Stairs? Soup? Pain? Lying in the darkness with the memories of the things I have done digging at me? Waking in the morning to the stink of my own shit? Will I miss tea with Ardee West? A little perhaps. But will I miss tea with the Arch Lector? It almost makes you wonder why I didn't do it myself, years ago. He stared into his killer's eyes, as hard and bright as yellow glass, and he smiled. A smile of the purest relief. 'I am ready.'

'For what?' She pressed something into his limp hand. The handle of his cane. 'If you have more business with Bayaz, leave me out of it. I will not be so gentle next time.' She backed slowly towards the doorway, a bright rectangle against the shadowy wall. She turned, and the sound of her boots receded down the corridor. Aside from the soft tip-tap of water dripping from his wet coat, all fell silent.