He saw Morrow now, leaning on one of the pens. Just like a farmer admiring his prize-winning herd. Glokta limped up beside him, boots squelching, wincing and breathing hard, sweat trickling down his back. 'Well, Morrow, you know just how to make a girl feel special, I'll give you that.'

Marovia's secretary grinned up at him, a small man with a round face and eyeglasses. 'Superior Glokta, may I first say that I have nothing but the highest respect for your achievements in Gurkhul, your methods in negotiation, and—'

'I did not come here to exchange pleasantries, Morrow. If that's all your business I can think of sweeter-smelling venues.'

'And sweeter companions too, I do not doubt. To business, then. These are trying times.'

'I'm with you there.'

'Change. Uncertainty. Unease amongst the peasantry—'

'A little more than unease, I would say, wouldn't you?'

'Rebellion, then. Let us hope that the Closed Council's trust in Colonel Luthar will be justified, and he will stop the rebels outside the city.'

'I wouldn't trust his corpse to stop an arrow, but I suppose the Closed Council have their reasons.'

'They always do. Though, of course, they do not always agree with each other.' They never agree about anything. It's practically a rule of the damn institution. 'But it is those that serve them,' and Morrow peered significantly over the rims of his eye-glasses, 'that carry the burden for their lack of accord. I feel that we, in particular, have been stepping on each other's toes rather too much for either of our comfort.'

'Huh,' sneered Glokta, working his numb toes inside his boot. 'I do hope your feet aren't too bruised. I could never live with myself if I caused you to limp. Might you have a solution in mind?'

'You could say that.' He smiled down at the pigs, watching them squirm and grunt and clamber over one another. 'We had hogs on the farm, where I grew up.' Mercy. Anything but the life story. 'It was my responsibility to feed them. Rising in the morning, so early it was still dark, breath smoking in the cold.' Oh, he paints a vivid picture! Young Master Morrow, up to his knees in filth, watching his pigs gorge themselves, and dreaming of escape. A brave new life in the glittering city! Morrow grinned up at him, dim light twinkling on the lenses of his spectacles. 'You know, these things will eat anything. Even cripples.'

Ah. So that's it.

It was then that Glokta became aware of a man moving furtively towards them from the far end of the shed. A burly-looking man in a ragged coat, keeping to the shadows. He had his arm pressed tightly by his side, hand tucked up in his sleeve. Just as if he were hiding a knife up there, and not doing it very well. Better just to walk up with a smile on your face and the knife in plain view. There are a hundred reasons to carry a blade in a slaughterhouse. But there can only ever be one reason to try and hide one.