The Magus made a careless movement with one hand and something flickered into the air, clattered to the centre of the board and spun round and round until it lay flat, with the unmistakable sound of falling money. A golden fifty-mark piece, glinting warm and welcoming in the lamplight. Glokta almost laughed. Ah, even now, even here, it always comes down to this. Everything has a price.

'It was money that bought victory in King Guslav's half-baked Gurkish war,' said Bayaz. 'It was money that united the Open Council behind their bastard king. It was money that brought Duke Orso rushing to the defence of his daughter and tipped the balance in our favour. All my money.'

'It was money that enabled me to hold Dagoska as long as I did.'

'And you know whose.' Who would have thought? More first of the moneylenders than First of the Magi. Open Council and Closed, commoners and kings, merchants and torturers, all caught up in a golden web. A web of debts, and lies, and secrets, each strand plucked in its proper place, played like a harp by a master. And what of poor Superior Glokta, fumbling buffoon? Is there a place for his sour note in this sweet music? Or is the loan of my life about to be called in?

'I suppose I should congratulate you on a hand well played,' muttered Glokta bitterly.

'Bah.' Bayaz dismissed it with a wave. 'Forcing a clutch of primitives together under that cretin Harod and making them act like civilised men. Keeping the Union in one piece through the civil war and bringing that fool Arnault to the throne. Guiding that coward Casamir to the conquest of Angland. Those were hands well played. This was nothing. I hold all the cards and always will do. I have—'

I tire of this. 'And blah, blah, fucking blah. The stench of self-satisfaction is becoming quite suffocating. If you mean to kill me, blast me to a cinder now and let's be done, but, for pity's sake, subject me to no more of your boasting.'

They sat still for a long moment, gazing at each other in silence across the darkened table. Long enough for Glokta's leg to start trembling, for his eye to start blinking, for his toothless mouth to turn dry as the desert. Sweet anticipation. Will it be now? Will it be now? Will it be—'Kill you?' asked Bayaz mildly. 'And rob myself of your winning sense of humour?'

Not now. 'Then… why reveal your game to me?'

'Because I will soon be leaving Adua.' The Magus leaned forwards, his hard face sliding into the light. 'Because it is necessary that you understand where the power lies, and always will lie. It is necessary that you, unlike Sult, unlike Marovia, have a proper perspective. It is necessary… if you are to serve me.'