He winced as he reached down and picked up the fallen piece of his cane between two fingers, snapped it shut around the bloody steel. 'If you wouldn't mind closing that case for me.' Ardee stared wide-eyed at the instruments, at Severard's yawning corpse, at the blood-stained table on its side and the fragments of flesh scattered across the floor. She coughed, and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. One forgets that some people are not used to dealing with these matters. But we need such help as we can get, and it is a little late for easing anyone into this gently. If she can chop into a man with a cleaver, she can carry a blade or two for me without swooning. 'The case,' he snapped. 'I will still need my instruments.'

Ardee blinked, collected the few scattered tools with trembling hands and put them back in their places. She wedged the box under her arm and stood up, somewhat unsteadily, wiping the blood from her nose on her white sleeve. Glokta noticed that she had a piece of one of Severard's fingers caught in her hair.

'You have something…' he pointed at his head, 'just here.'

'What? Gah!' She tore the dead thing out and flung it on the ground, gave a shiver of disgust. 'You should find another way to make a living.'

'I have been thinking that for some time. But there are still a few more questions I must have answered.'

The door creaked and Glokta felt a sudden stab of panic. Cosca stepped through into the room. He whistled softly as he surveyed the carnage, pushed his cap back on his head, its feather casting a spray of long shadows across the mural behind him. 'You've made quite a mess, Superior, quite a mess.'

Glokta fingered his cane. His leg was on fire, his heart was thumping dully at his temples, he was damp with cold sweat under his scratchy clothes. 'Unavoidable.'

'I thought you'd want to know that we had our visitors. Six Practicals of the Inquisition. I rather suspect they may have been sent here to kill you.' Undoubtedly. On the Arch Lector's orders, acting on information from the late Practical Frost.

'And?' asked Glokta. After the events of the past hour he was almost expecting Cosca to come at him, sword swinging.

But if the last hour has taught us anything, it is that the least trusted henchman is not always the least reliable. 'And we cut them to pieces, of course.' The Styrian grinned. 'I'm insulted you might think otherwise.'

'Good. Good.' At least something has gone to plan. Glokta wanted nothing more than to slide to the floor and lie there, screaming. But there is work to do. He winced as he limped for the door. 'We need to head for the Agriont immediately.'