'Nuh,' grunted the albino, shaking his head angrily.

'Damn it! Can none of these bastards keep their own instruments? Go next door and see if we can borrow some, at least.'

The Practical lumbered from the room, the heavy door hanging ajar behind him. Glokta winced as he rubbed at his leg. Farrad stared at him, spit running from one corner of his forced-open mouth. His bulging eyes rolled sideways as a howl of pain came muffled from the corridor outside.

'I do apologise for this,' said Glokta. 'We're usually a great deal more organised, but it's been busy as hell here the last few days. Such a lot to get through, you see.'

Frost pulled the door shut and handed Glokta a pair of rusty pliers, handles first. There was some dry blood and a couple of curly hairs caked to the jaws.

'Is this the best they could do? These are dirty!'

Frost shrugged. 'Whath a ifferenth?'

A fair point, I suppose. Glokta gave a long sigh, struggled up from his chair and leaned forwards to peer into Farrad's mouth. And a sweet set he has, too. A pearly white complement. I suppose you'd expect prize-winning teeth from a prize-winning dentist. Anything else would be a poor advertisement for his trade.

'I applaud your cleanliness. It's a rare privilege to question a man who appreciates the importance of washing the mouth out. I can't say I've ever seen a better set of teeth.' Glokta tapped at them happily with the pliers. 'It seems a shame to tear them all out, just so that you can confess in ten minutes time instead of now, but there we are.' He closed the jaws around the nearest tooth, worked his hand around the handles.

'Gurlgh,' gurgled Farrad. 'Glaigh!'

Glokta pursed his lips, as though considering, then released the pliers. 'Let us give the good master one further chance to talk.' Frost unscrewed the clamp and pulled it from Farrad's mouth along with a string of drool. 'Is there something you wish to say?'

'I will sign!' gasped Farrad, a long tear running down one cheek. 'God help me, I will sign!'

'And you will name two accomplices?'

'Whatever you wish… please… whatever you wish.'

'Excellent,' said Glokta, as he watched the pen scratching against the paper of confession. 'Who's next?'

Glokta heard the lock behind him rattle. He scowled as he turned his head, preparing to scream at his presumptuous visitor.

'Your Eminence,' he whispered, with barely concealed dismay, grimacing as he struggled to get up from his chair.

'No need to rise, I do not have all day.' Glokta found himself frozen in the most painful possible position, bent somewhere between sitting and standing, and had to sag back into his chair with little grace as Sult swept into the room, three of his huge Practicals looming silently in the doorway behind him. 'You may ask your freak of nature to leave us.'

Frost's eyes narrowed, flickered over the other Practicals, then back to Sult. 'Very good, Practical Frost,' said Glokta hastily. 'You may remove our prisoner.'