“You see here? The shape of this wound?” The Adeptus prodded at a flap of gristle.

“No I do not see,” said Glokta. It appears all to be one enormous wound to me.

The old man leaned towards him, his eyes wide. “Human,” he said.

“We know that it is human! This is a foot!”

“No! No! These teeth marks, here… they are human bites!”

Glokta frowned. “Human… bites?”

“Absolutely!” Kandelau’s beaming smile was quite at odds with the surroundings. And with the subject matter, I rather think. “This individual was bitten to death by another person, and, heh heh, in all likelihood,” and he gestured triumphantly at the mess on his table, “considering the incomplete nature of the remains… partially eaten!”

Glokta stared at the old man for a moment. Eaten? Eaten? Why must every question answered raise ten more? “This is what you would have me tell the Arch Lector?”

The Adeptus laughed nervously. “Well, heh heh, these are the facts, as I see them…”

“A person, unidentified, perhaps a man, perhaps a woman, either young or old, was attacked in the park by an unknown assailant, bitten to death within two hundred strides of the King’s palace and partially… eaten?”

“Er…” Kandelau gave a worried glance sideways towards the entrance. Glokta turned to look, and frowned. There was a new arrival there, one that he had not heard enter. A woman, standing in the shadows at the edge of the bright lamp-light with her arms folded. A tall woman with short, spiky red hair and a black mask on her face, staring at Glokta and the Adeptus through narrowed eyes. A Practical. But not one I recognise, and women are quite a rarity in the Inquisition. I would have thought…

“Good afternoon, good afternoon!” A man stepped briskly through the door: gaunt, balding, with a long black coat and a prim little smile on his face. An unpleasantly familiar man. Goyle, damn him. Our new Superior of Adua, arrived at last. Great news. “Inquisitor Glokta,” he purred, “what an absolute pleasure it is to see you again!”

“Likewise, Superior Goyle.” You bastard.

Two other figures followed close behind the grinning Superior, making the glaring little room seem quite crowded. One was a dark-skinned, stocky Kantic with a big golden ring through his ear, the other was a monster of a Northman with a face like a stone slab. He almost had to stoop to cram himself through the doorway. Both were masked and dressed from head to toe in Practicals black.

“This is Practical Vitari,” chuckled Goyle, indicating the red-haired woman, who had flowed over to the jars and was peering into them, one at a time, tapping on the glass and making the specimens wobble. “And these are Practicals Halim,” the Southerner sidled past Goyle and into the room, busy eyes darting here and there, “and Byre.” The monstrous Northman gazed down at Glokta from up near the ceiling. “In his own country they call him the Stone-Splitter, would you believe, but I don’t think that would work here, do you Glokta? Practical Stone-Splitter, can you imagine?” He laughed softly to himself and shook his head.

And this is the Inquisition? I had no idea the circus was in town. I wonder if they stand on each other’s shoulders? Or jump through flaming hoops?

“A remarkably diverse selection,” said Glokta.

“Oh yes,” laughed Goyle, “I have picked them up wherever my travels have taken me, eh my friends?”

The woman shrugged as she prowled around the jars. The dark-skinned Practical inclined his head. The towering Northman simply stood there.

“Wherever my travels have taken me!” chuckled Goyle, just as though everyone else had laughed with him. “And I have more besides! It’s been quite a time, I do declare!” He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye as he moved towards the table in the centre of the room. It seemed that everything was a source of amusement to him, even the thing on the bench. “But what’s all this? A body, unless I’m quite mistaken!” Goyle looked up sharply, his eyes sparkling. “A body? A death within the city? As Superior of Adua, surely that falls within my province?”

Glokta bowed. “Naturally. I was not aware that you had arrived, Superior Goyle. Also, I felt that the unusual circumstances of this—”

“Unusual? I see nothing unusual.” Glokta paused. What game is this chuckling fool playing?

“Surely you would agree that the violence here is… exceptional.”

Goyle gave a flamboyant shrug. “Dogs.”

“Dogs?” asked Glokta, unable to let that one pass. “Domestic pets run mad, do you think, or wild ones which climbed over the walls?”

The Superior only smiled. “Whichever you like, Inquisitor. Whichever you like.”

“I’m afraid it could not possibly be dogs,” the Adeptus Physical began pompously to explain. “I was only just making clear to Inquisitor Glokta… these marks here, and on the skin here, do you see? These are human bites, undoubtedly…”

The woman sauntered away from the jars, closer and closer to Kandelau, leaning in towards him until her mask was only inches away from his beak of a nose. He slowly trailed off. “Dogs,” she whispered, then barked in his face.

The Adeptus jumped away. “Well, I suppose I could have been mistaken… of course…” He backed into the enormous Northman’s chest, who had moved with surprising speed to position himself directly behind. Kandelau turned slowly around, staring up with wide eyes.

“Dogs,” intoned the giant.

“Dogs, dogs, dogs,” hummed the southerner in a thick accent.

“Of course,” squeaked Kandelau, “dogs, of course, how foolish I’ve been!”

“Dogs!” shouted Goyle in delight, throwing his hands in the air. “The mystery is solved!” To Glokta’s amazement, two of the three Practicals began politely to applaud. The woman stayed silent. I never believed that I would miss Superior Kalyne, but suddenly I am overcome with nostalgia. Goyle turned slowly round, bowing low. “My first day here, and already I warm to the work! You can bury this,” he said, gesturing to the corpse and smiling broadly at the cringing Adeptus. “Best buried, eh?” He looked over at the Northman. “Back to the mud, as you say in your country!”

The massive Practical showed not the slightest sign that anyone had spoken. The Kantic was standing there, turning the ring through his ear round and round. The woman was peering down at the carcass on the table, sniffing at it through her mask. The Adeptus Physical was backed up against his jars, sweating profusely.

Enough of this pantomime. I have work to do. “Well,” said Glokta stiffly, limping for the door, “the mystery is solved. You don’t need me any more.”

Superior Goyle turned to look at him, his good humour suddenly vanished. “No!” he hissed, furious little eyes nearly popping out of his head. “We don’t… need you… any more!”

Never Bet Against a Magus

Logen sat in the hot sun, hunched over on his bench, and sweated. The ridiculous clothes did not help with the sweating, or indeed with anything else. The tunic had not been designed to sit down in, and the stiff leather dug painfully into his fruits whenever he tried to move.

“Fucking thing,” he growled, tugging at it for the twentieth time. Quai looked hardly more comfortable in his magical garb—the glittering of the gold and silver symbols only served to make his face look the more ill and pallid, his eyes the more twitchy and bulging. He’d hardly spoken a word all morning. Of the three of them, only Bayaz appeared to be enjoying himself, beaming round at the surging crowds on the benches, the sunlight shining off his tanned pate.

They stood out among the heaving audience like well-rotted fruit, and seemed about as popular. Even though the benches were packed shoulder to shoulder a small, nervous space had built up around the three of them where no one would sit.