'You're a hard man, Superior.' He grinned as he tossed the cap away into the shadows. 'And I love you for it.' He pulled his own mask on, then frowned at Ardee, standing, confused and exhausted in a corner of the store-room. 'What about her?'

'Her? A prisoner, Practical Cosca! A spy in league with the Gurkish. His Eminence expressed his desire to question her personally.' Ardee blinked at him. 'It's easy. Just look scared.'

She swallowed. 'That shouldn't be a problem.'

Wandering through the House of Questions with the aim of arresting the Arch Lector? I should say not. Glokta snapped his fingers. 'We need to move.'

'We need to move,' said West. 'Have we cleared the docks? Where the hell is Poulder?'

'Nobody seems to know, sir.' Brint tried to push his horse further, but they were squashed in by a grumbling throng. Spears waved, their points flailing dangerously close. Soldiers cursed. Sergeants bellowed. Officers clucked like frustrated chickens. It was hard to imagine more difficult terrain than the narrow streets behind the docks through which to manoeuvre an army of thousands. To make matters worse there was now an ominous flow of wounded, limping or being carried, in the opposite direction.

'Make some room for the Lord Marshal!' roared Pike. 'The Lord Marshal!' He lifted his sword as though he was more than willing to lay about him with the flat, and men rapidly cleared out of the way, a valley forming through the rattling spears. A rider came clattering up out of their midst. Jalenhorm, a bloody cut across his forehead.

'Are you alright?'

The big man grinned. 'It's nothing, sir. Caught my head on a damn timber.'

'Progress?'

'We're forcing them back towards the western side of the city. Kroy's cavalry made it to the Four Corners, as far as I can tell, but the Gurkish still have the Agriont well surrounded, and now they're regrouping, counterattacking from the west. A lot of Kroy's foot are still all caught up in the streets on the other side of the river. If we don't get reinforcement there soon—'

'I need to speak to General Poulder,' snapped West. 'Where the hell is bloody Poulder? Brint?'

'Sir?'

'Take a couple of these fellows and bring Poulder here, right away!' He stabbed at the air with a finger. 'In person!'

'Yes, sir!' Brint did his best to turn his horse around.

'What about at sea? Is Reutzer up?'

'As far as I'm aware he's engaged the Gurkish fleet, but I've no idea how…' The smell of rotting salt and burning wood intensified as they emerged from the buildings and onto the harbour. 'Bloody hell.'

West could only agree.