“He’s dead,” said the Haddish simply, tossing his knife down on the table and wiping his bloody hands on a rag. “Bring in the next one.” He lifted the curtain and pushed his way through. Then he saw Glokta. “Ah! The author of our woes! Have you come to feed your guilt, Superior?”

“No. I came to see if I have any.”

“And do you?”

A good question. Do I? He looked down at a young man, lying on dirty straw by the wall, wedged in between two others. His face was waxy pale, eyes glassy, lips moving rapidly as he mumbled some meaningless nonsense to himself. His leg was off just above the knee, the stump bound with a bloody dressing, a belt buckled tight round the thigh. His chances of survival? Slim to none. A last few hours in agony and squalor, listening to the groans of his fellows. A young life, snuffed out long before his time, and blah, blah, blah. Glokta raised his eyebrows. He felt nothing but a mild distaste, no more than he might have had the dying man been a heap of rubbish. “No,” he said.

Kahdia looked down at his own bloody hands. “Then God has truly blessed you,” he muttered. “Not everyone has your stomach.”

“I don’t know. Your people have been fighting well.”

“Dying well, you mean.”

Glokta’s laughter hacked at the heavy air. “Come now. There’s no such thing as dying well.” He glanced round at the endless wounded. “I’d have thought that you of all people would have learned that by now.”

Kahdia did not laugh. “How much of this do you think we can stand?”

“Losing heart, eh, Haddish? As with so many things in life, heroic last stands are a great deal more appealing in concept than in reality.” The dashing young Colonel Glokta could have told us that, dragged away from the bridge with the remains of his leg barely attached, his notions of how the world works radically altered.

“Your concern is touching, Superior, but I’m used to disappointments. Believe me, I will live with this one. The question remains. How long can we hold out?”

“If the sea lanes stay open and we can be supplied by ship, if the Gurkish cannot find a way round the land walls, if we can stick together and keep our heads, we could hold out here for weeks.”

“Hold out for what?”

Glokta paused. For what indeed? “Perhaps the Gurkish will lose heart.”

“Hah!” snorted Kahdia. “The Gurkish have no hearts! They did not subdue all Kanta with half measures. No. The Emperor has spoken, and will not be denied.”

“Then we must hope that the war will be quickly settled in the North, and that Union forces will come to our aid.” An utterly futile hope. It will be months before matters are settled in Angland. Even when they are, the army will be in no state to fight. We are on our own.

“And when might we expect such help?”

When the stars go out? When the sky falls in? When I run a mile with a smile on my face? “If I had all the answers I’d hardly have joined the Inquisition!” snapped Glokta. “Perhaps you should pray for divine help. A mighty wave to wash the Gurkish away would suit nicely. Who was it told me that miracles happen?”

Kahdia nodded slowly. “Perhaps we should both pray. I fear there is more chance of aid from my god than your masters.” Another stretcher was carried past, a squealing Styrian stretched out on it with an arrow in his stomach. “I must go.” Kahdia swept away and the curtain dropped back behind him.

Glokta frowned at it. And so the doubts begin. The Gurkish slowly tighten their grip on the city. Our doom draws nearer, and every man sees it. A strange thing, death. Far away, you can laugh at it, but as it comes closer it looks worse and worse. Close enough to touch, and no one laughs. Dagoska is full of fear, and the doubts can only grow. Sooner or later someone will try to betray the city to the Gurkish, if only to save their lives, or the lives of those they love. They might well begin by disposing of the troublesome Superior who set this madness in motion…

He felt a sudden touch on his shoulder and he caught his breath and spun round. His leg buckled and he stumbled back against a pillar, almost treading on a gasping native with bandages across his face. Vitari was standing behind him, frowning. “Damn it!” Glokta bit on his lip with his remaining teeth against a searing spasm in his leg. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on people?”

“They taught me the opposite. I need to talk to you.”

“Then talk. Just don’t touch me again.”

She eyed the wounded. “Not here. Alone.”

“Oh, come now. What can you have to say to me that you can’t say in front of a room full of dying heroes?”

“You’ll find out when we get outside.”

A chain around the throat, nice and tight, courtesy of his Eminence? Or merely some chat about the weather? Glokta felt himself smiling. I can hardly wait to find out. He held one hand up to Frost and the albino faded back into the shadows, then he limped after Vitari, threading their way through the groaning casualties and out through the door at the back, into the open air. The sharp smell of sweat swapped for the sharp smell of burning, and something else…

Long, lozenge shapes were stacked up shoulder high against the wall of the temple, swathed in rough grey cloth, some of it spotted and stained with brown blood. A whole heap of them. Corpses, waiting patiently to be buried. This morning’s harvest. What a wonderfully macabre spot for a pleasant little chat. I could hardly have picked a better.

“So, how are you enjoying the siege? It’s a bit noisy for my taste, but your friend Cosca seems to like it—”

“Where’s Eider?”

“What?” snapped Glokta, stalling for time while he thought about how to answer. I hardly expected her to find out about that so soon.

“Eider. You remember? Dressed like an expensive whore? Adornment to the city’s ruling council? Tried to betray us to the Gurkish? Her cell’s empty. Why?”

“Oh, her. She’s at sea.” True. “With fifty strides of good chain round her.” False. “She’s adorning the bottom of the bay now, since you ask.”

Vitari’s orange brows drew in with suspicion. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“I’ve got better things to do than keep you informed. We’ve a war to lose, or hadn’t you noticed?” Glokta turned away but her hand shot out in front of him and slapped on to the wall, her long arm barring his path.

“Keeping me informed means keeping Sult informed. If we start telling him different stories—”

“Where have you been the last few weeks?” He chuckled as he gestured at the pile of shrouded shapes beside the wall. “It’s a funny thing. The closer the Gurkish get to breaking through our walls and murdering every living thing in Dagoska, the less I seem to care about his fucking Eminence! Tell him what you please. You’re boring me.” He made to push past her arm but found it did not move.

“What if I were to tell him what you please?” she whispered.

Glokta frowned. Now that isn’t boring. Sult’s favourite Practical, sent here to make sure I tread the righteous path, offering deals? A trick? A trap? Their faces were no more than a foot apart, and he stared hard into her eyes, trying to guess what she was thinking. Is there just the slightest trace of desperation there? Could the motive be nothing more than simple self-preservation? When you lose the instinct yourself, it’s hard to remember how powerful it is for everyone else. He felt himself starting to smile. Yes, I see it now. “You thought you’d be recalled once the traitors had been found, didn’t you? You thought Sult would arrange a nice little boat home! But now there are no boats for anyone, and you’re worried your kindly uncle’s forgotten all about you! That you’ve been tossed to the Gurkish with the rest of the damn dogmeat!”

Vitari’s eyes narrowed. “Let me tell you a secret. I didn’t choose to be here any more than you did, but I learned a long time ago that when Sult tells you to do a thing you’d better look like you did it. All I care about is getting out of here alive.” She moved even closer. “Can we help each other?”