An intricate design had been laid out with obsessive care, covering wide floor. Circles within circles, shapes, symbols, figures of frightening complexity, all described in neat lines of white powder. Salt, unless I am much mistaken. Goyle lay on his chest a stride or two from the door, at the edge of the outermost ring, his hands still tied behind him. Dark blood spread out from under him, the point of a flatbow bolt sticking out of his back. Just where his heart should be. I would never have taken that for his weak spot.

Four of the University's Adepti stood in various stages of amazement. Three of them: Chayle, Denka, and Kandelau, held candles in both hands, their sputtering wicks giving off a choking corpse-stink. Saurizin, the Adeptus Chemical, clutched an empty flatbow. The faces of the old men, lit in bilious yellow from beneath, were pantomime masks of fear.

At the far side of the room Silber stood behind a lectern, a great book open before him, staring down with intense concentration by the light of a single lamp. His finger hissed across the page, his thin lips moving ceaselessly. Even at this distance, and despite the fact the room was icy cold, Glokta could see fat beads of sweat running down his thin face. Beside him, painfully upright in his pure white coat and glaring blue daggers across the width of the chamber, stood Arch Lector Sult.

'Glokta, you crippled bastard!' he snarled, 'what the hell are you doing here?'

'I could well ask you the same question, your Eminence.' He waved his cane at the scene. 'Except the candles, the ancient books, the chanting and the circles of salt rather give the game away, no?' And a rather infantile game it seems, suddenly. All that time, while I was torturing my way through the Mercers, while I was risking my life in Dagoska, while I was blackmailing votes in your name, you were up to… this?

But Sult seemed to be taking it seriously enough. 'Get out, you fool! This is our last chance!'

'This? Seriously?' Cosca was already through the door, masked mercenaries following. Silber's eyes were still fixed on the book, lips still moving, more sweat on his face than ever. Glokta frowned. 'Someone shut him up.'

'No!' shouted Chayle, a look of utter horror on his tiny face. 'You mustn't stop the incantations! It is a profoundly dangerous operation! The consequences could be… could be—'

'Disastrous!' shrieked Kandelau. One of the mercenaries took a step towards the middle of the room nonetheless.

'Don't tread near the salt!' screeched Denka, wax dripping from his wobbling candle. 'Whatever you do!'