'Not entirely.' Glokta licked at the salty space where his front teeth had once been. And the secrets begin to spill like turds from a draining latrine-pit. 'My rich uncle was none other than the banking house of Valint and Balk.'

Marovia frowned. 'They advanced you money?'

'It was thanks to their generosity that I was able to keep the Gurkish out as long as I did.'

'Bearing in mind that powerful people have no friends, what did Valint and Balk get in return?'

'In essence?' Glokta gave the High Justice an even stare. 'Whatever they wanted. Shortly after returning from Dagoska I was investigating the death of Crown Prince Raynault.'

'A terrible crime.'

'Of which the Gurkish ambassador who hung for it was innocent.'

Marovia registered the tiniest hint of surprise. 'You say so?'

'Undoubtedly. But the death of the heir to the throne created other problems, problems relating to votes in the Open Council, and his Eminence was happy with the easy answer. I tried to pursue the matter, but was prevented. By Valint and Balk.'

'You suspect that these bankers were involved in the death of the Crown Prince, then?'

'I suspect them of all manner of things, but proof is in short supply.' Always too many suspicions, and not enough proof.

'Banks,' grunted Marovia. 'They are made of air. They spin money out of guesses, and lies, and promises. Secrets are their currency, even more than gold.'

'So I have discovered. But men lost in the desert—'

'Yes, yes! Please continue.'

Glokta found, to his surprise, that he was greatly enjoying himself. He was almost tripping over his own tongue in his eagerness to blurt it all out. Now I begin throwing away the secrets I have hoarded for so long, I find I cannot stop. I feel like a miser on a spending spree. Horrified, yet liberated. Agonised, yet delighted. Something like cutting your own throat, I imagine—a glorious release, but one you can enjoy only once. And like cutting my own throat, it will very likely end in my ugly death. Ah well. It has been coming some time, has it not? And not even I could claim I don't deserve it ten times over.

Glokta leaned forwards. Even here, even now, I somehow need to speak it softly. 'Arch Lector Sult is not happy with our new king. Most particularly, he is not happy with the influence that Bayaz exerts over him. Sult finds his powers much curtailed. He believes, in fact, that you are somehow behind the whole business.'

Marovia frowned. 'Does he now?'