'Er, yes, Ardee-'

She was gazing up at the magnificent statue of Harod the Great, his stern eyes fixed on the middle distance. 'Harod the Great?' she asked.

'Er, yes. In the dark ages, before there was a Union, he fought to bring the Three Kingdoms together. He was the first High King.' You idiot, thought Jezal, she knows that already, everyone does. 'Ardee, I think your brother would not-'

'And this is Bayaz, the First of the Magi?'

'Yes, he was Harod's most trusted adviser. Ardee-'

'Is it true they still keep a vacant seat for him in the Closed Council?'

Jezal was taken aback. 'I'd heard that there's an empty chair there, but I didn't know that-'

'They all look so serious, don't they?'

'Er . . . I suppose those were serious times,' he said, grinning lamely.

A Knight Herald thundered down the avenue on a huge, well-lathered horse, the sun glinting on the golden wings of his helmet. Secretaries scattered to let him pass, and Jezal tried to guide Ardee gently out of the way. To his great dismay she refused to be moved. The horse flashed past within a few inches of her, close enough for the wind to flick her hair in Jezal's face. She turned to him with a flush of excitement on her cheek, otherwise utterly undaunted by her brush with severe injury.

'A Knight Herald?' she asked, taking Jezal's arm once again and leading him off down the Kingsway.

'Yes,' squeaked Jezal, desperately trying to bring his voice under control, 'the Knights Herald are entrusted with a grave responsibility. They carry messages from the King to every part of the Union.' His heart had stopped hammering. 'Even across the Circle Sea to Angland, Dagoska, and Westport. They are entrusted to speak with the King's voice, and so forbidden from speaking except on the King's business.'

'Fedor dan Haden was on the boat on our way over, he's a Knight Herald. We talked for hours.' Jezal attempted unsuccessfully to contain his surprise. 'We talked about Adua, about the Union, about his family. Your name was mentioned, actually.' Jezal failed to look nonchalant once again. 'In connection with the coming Contest.' Ardee leaned even closer to him. 'Fedor was of the opinion that Bremer dan Gorst will cut you to pieces.'

Jezal gave a strangled cough, but he rallied well. 'Unfortunately, that opinion seems widely held.'

'But not by you, I trust?'

'Er . . .'

She stopped and took him by the hand, staring earnestly into his eyes. 'I'm sure that you'll get the better of him, no matter what they say. My brother speaks very highly of you, and he's stingy with his praise.'

'Er . . .' mumbled Jezal. His fingers were tingling pleasantly. Her eyes were big and dark, and he found himself greatly at a loss for words. She had this way of biting on her lower lip that made his thoughts stray. A fine, full lip. He wouldn't have minded having a little chew on it himself. 'Well, thank you.' He gave a gormless grin.

'So this is the park,' said Ardee, turning away from him to admire the greenery. 'It's even more beautiful than I'd imagined.'

'Erm . . . yes.'

'How wonderful, to be at the heart of things. I've spent so much of my life on the edge. There must be many important decisions made here, many important people.' Ardee allowed her hand to trail through the fronds of a willow tree by the road. 'Collem's worried there might be war in the North. He was worried for my safety. I think that's why he wanted me to come here. I think he worries too much. What do you think, Captain Luthar?'

He had been in blissful ignorance of the political situation until a couple of hours before, but that would never do as a reply. 'Well,' he said, straining to remember the name, and then with relief, 'this Bethod could do with a rap on the knuckles.'

'They say he has twenty thousand Northmen under his banner.' She leaned towards him. 'Barbarians,' she murmured. 'Savages,' she whispered. 'I heard he skins his captives alive.'

Jezal thought this was hardly suitable conversation for a young lady. 'Ardee . . .' he began.

'But I'm sure with men like you and my brother to protect us, we womenfolk have nothing to worry about.' And she turned and made off up the path. Jezal had to hurry once again to catch up.

'And is that the House of the Maker?' Ardee nodded towards the grim outline of the huge tower.

'Why, yes it is.'

'Does no one go inside?'

'No one. Not in my lifetime anyway. The bridge is kept behind lock and key.' He frowned up at the tower. Seemed strange now, that he never thought about it. Living in the Agriont, it was always there. You just got used to it somehow. 'The place is sealed, I believe.'

'Sealed?' Ardee moved very close to him. Jezal glanced around nervously but nobody was looking. 'Isn't it strange that nobody goes in there? Isn't it a mystery?' He could almost feel her breath on his neck, 'I mean to say, why not just break the door down?'

Jezal was finding it horribly difficult to concentrate with her so close. He wondered for a moment, both frightening and exciting, whether she might be flirting with him? No, no, of course not! Just not used to the city was all. The artless ways of a country girl . . . but then she was very close. If only she were a little less attractive or a little less confident. If only she were a little less . . . West's sister.

He coughed and looked off down the path, hoping vainly for a distraction. There were a few people moving along it, but no one that he recognised, unless . . . Ardee's spell was suddenly broken, and Jezal felt his skin go cold. A hunched figure, overdressed on this sunny day, was limping toward them, leaning heavily on a cane. He was bent over and wincing with every step, the faster-moving travellers giving him a wide berth. Jezal tried to steer Ardee away before he saw them, but she resisted gracefully and made a direct line for the shambling Inquisitor.

His head snapped up as they approached and his eyes glinted with recognition. Jezal's heart sank. There was no avoiding him now.

'Why, Captain Luthar,' said Glokta warmly, shuffling a little too close and shaking his hand, 'what a pleasure! I'm surprised that Varuz has let you go so early in the day. He must be mellowing in his old age.'

'The Lord Marshal is still most demanding,' snapped Jezal.

'I hope my Practicals didn't inconvenience you the other night.' The Inquisitor shook his head sadly. 'They have no manners. No manners at all. But they are the very best at what they do! I swear, the King doesn't have two more valuable servants.'

'I suppose we all serve the King in our own way.' There was a little more hostility in Jezal's voice than he had intended.

If Glokta was offended he didn't show it. 'Quite so. I don't believe I know your friend.'

'No. This is-'

'Actually, we've met,' said Ardee, much to Jezal's surprise, giving her hand to the Inquisitor. 'Ardee West.'

Glokta's eyebrows rose. 'No!' He bent down stiffly to kiss the back of her hand. Jezal saw his mouth twist as he straightened up, but the toothless grin soon returned. 'Collem West's sister! But you are so much changed.'

'For the better, I hope,' she laughed. Jezal felt horribly uncomfortable.

'Why yes indeed,' said Glokta.

'And you are changed also, Sand.' Ardee looked suddenly very sad. 'We were all so worried in my family. We hoped and hoped for your safe return.' Jezal saw a spasm run over Glokta's face. 'Then when we heard you were hurt . . . how are you?'

The Inquisitor glanced at Jezal, his eyes cold as a slow death. Jezal stared down at his boots, a lump of fear in his throat. He had no need to be scared of this cripple, did he? But somehow he wished he was still at fencing practice. Glokta stared at Ardee, his left eye twitching slightly, and she looked back at him undaunted, her eyes full of quiet concern.

'I am well. As well as can be expected.' His expression had turned very strange. Jezal felt more uncomfortable than ever. 'Thank you for asking. Truly. Nobody ever does.'

There was an awkward silence. The Inquisitor stretched his neck sideways and there was a loud click. 'Ah!' he said, 'that's got it. It's been a pleasure to see you again, both of you, but duty calls.' He treated them to another revolting smile then hobbled off, his left foot scraping in the gravel.

Ardee frowned at his twisted back as he limped slowly away. 'It's so sad,' she said under her breath.

'What?' mumbled Jezal. He was thinking about that big white bastard in the street, those narrow pink eyes. The prisoner with the bag on his head. We all serve the King in our own way. Quite so. He gave an involuntary shiver.

'He and my brother used to be quite close. He came to stay with us one summer. My family were so proud to have him it was embarrassing. He used to fence with my brother every day, and he always won. The way he moved, it was something to see. Sand dan Glokta. He was the brightest star in the sky.' She flashed her knowing half-smile again. 'And now I hear you are.'

'Er . . .' said Jezal, not sure whether she was praising him or poking fun. He could not escape the feeling that he had been out-fenced twice that day, once by each sibling.

He rather fancied that the sister had given him the worse beating.

The Morning Ritual.

It was a bright summer's day, and the park was filled to capacity with colourful revellers. Colonel Glokta strode manfully toward some meeting of great importance, people bowing and scraping respectfully away to give him room. He ignored most, favoured the more important ones with his brilliant smile. The lucky few beamed back at him, delighted to be noticed.

'I suppose we all serve the King in our own way,' whined Captain Luthar, reaching for his steel, but Glokta was far too quick for him. His blade flashed with lightning speed, catching the sneering idiot through the neck.

Blood splattered across Ardee West's face. She clapped her hands in delight, looking at Glokta with shining eyes.

Luthar seemed surprised to be killed. 'Hah. Quite so,' said Glokta with a smile. The Captain pitched over onto his face, blood pouring from his punctured throat. The crowd roared their appreciation and Glokta indulged them with a deep, graceful bow. The cheering was redoubled.

'Oh, Colonel, you shouldn't,' murmured Ardee as Glokta licked the blood from her cheek.

'Shouldn't what?' he growled, tipping her back in his arms and kissing her fiercely. The crowd were in a frenzy. She gasped as he broke away, looking up at him adoringly with those big dark eyes of hers, lips slightly parted.

'The Arth Ector wanth you,' she said with a comely smile.

'What?' The crowd had fallen silent, damn them, and his left side was turning numb.

Ardee touched him tenderly on the cheek. 'The Arth Ector!' she shouted.

There was a heavy knock at the door. Glokta's eyes flicked open.

Where am I? Who am I?

Oh no.

Oh yes. He realised straight away he had been sleeping badly, his body was twisted round under the blankets, his face pushed into the pillow. His whole left side was dead.

The beating on the door came heavier than before. 'The Arth Ector!' came Frost's tongueless bellow from the other side.

Pain shot through Glokta's neck as he tried to raise his head from the pillow. Ah, there's nothing like the first spasm of the day to get the mind working. 'Alright!' he croaked, 'give me a minute, damn it!'

The albino's heavy footsteps thudded away down the corridor. Glokta lay still for a moment, then cautiously moved his right arm, ever so slowly, breath rasping with the effort, and tried to twist himself onto his back. He clenched his fist as the needling started in his left leg. If only the damn thing would stay numb. But the pain was coming on fast now. He was also becoming aware of an unpleasant smell. Damn it. I've shit myself again.

'Barnam!' howled Glokta, then waited, panting, left side throbbing with a vengeance. Where is the old idiot? 'Barnam!' he screamed at the top of his lungs.

'Are you alright, sir?' came the servant's voice from beyond the door.

Alright? Alright, you old fool? Just when do you think I was last alright? 'No, damn it! I've soiled the bed!'

'I've boiled water for a bath, sir. Can you get up?'

Once before Frost had had to break the door down. Maybe I should let it stand open all night, but then how could I sleep? 'I think I can manage,' Glokta hissed, tongue pressed into his empty gums, arms trembling as he hauled himself out of the bed and onto the chair beside it.

His grotesque, toeless left leg twitched to itself, still beyond his control. He glared down at it with a burning hatred. Fucking horrible thing. Revolting, useless lump of flesh. Why didn't they just cut you off? Why don't I still? But he knew why not. With his leg still on he could at least pretend to be half a man. He punched his withered thigh, then immediately regretted it. Stupid, stupid. The pain crept up his back, a little more intense than before, and growing with every second. Come now, come now, let's not fight. He started to rub gently at the wasted flesh. We are stuck with each other, so why torment me?

'Can you get to the door, sir?' Glokta wrinkled his nose at the smell then took hold of his cane and slowly, agonisingly, pushed himself to his feet. He hobbled across the room, almost slipping halfway there but righting himself with a searing twinge. He turned the key in the lock, leaning against the wall for balance, and hauled the door open.

Barnam was standing on the other side, his arms outstretched, ready to catch him. The ignominy of it. To think that I, Sand dan Glokta, the greatest swordsman the Union has ever seen, must be carried to my bath by an old man so that I can wash my own shit off. They must be laughing loud now, all those fools I beat, if they still remember me. I'd be laughing too, if it didn't hurt so much. But he let the weight off his left leg and put his arm round Barnam's shoulders without complaint. What's the use after all? Might as well make it easy for myself. As easy as it can be.

Glokta took a deep breath. 'Go gently, the leg hasn't woken up yet.' They hopped and stumbled down the corridor, slightly too narrow for both of them together. The bathroom seemed a mile away. Or more. I'd rather walk a hundred miles as I used to be, than to the bathroom as I am. But that's my bad luck isn't it? You can't go back. Not ever.

The steam felt deliciously warm on Glokta's clammy skin. With Barnam holding him under the arms he slowly lifted his right leg and put it gingerly into the water. Damn it, that's hot. The old servant helped him get the other leg in, then, taking him under the armpits, lowered him like a child, until he was immersed up to his neck.

'Ahhh.' Glokta cracked a toothless smile. 'Hot as the Maker's forge, Barnam, just the way I like it.' The heat was getting into the leg now, and the pain was subsiding. Not gone. Never gone. But better. A lot better. Glokta began to feel almost as if he could face another day. You have to learn to love the small things in life, like a hot bath. You have to love the small things, when you've nothing else.

Practical Frost was waiting for him downstairs in the tiny dining room, his bulk wedged into a low chair against the wall. Glokta sagged into the other chair and caught a whiff from the steaming porridge bowl, wooden spoon sticking up at an angle without even touching the side. His stomach rumbled and his mouth began watering fiercely. All the symptoms, in fact, of extreme nausea.

'Hurray!' shouted Glokta. 'Porridge again!' He looked over at the motionless Practical. 'Porridge and honey, better than money, everything's funny, with porridge and honey!'

The pink eyes did not blink.

'It's a rhyme for children. My mother used to sing it to me. Never actually got me to eat this slop though. But now,' and he dug the spoon in, 'I can't get enough of it.'

Frost stared back at him.

'Healthy,' said Glokta, forcing down a mouthful of sweet mush and spooning up another, 'delicious,' choking down some more, 'and here's the real clincher,' he gagged slightly on the next swallow, 'no chewing required.' He shoved the mostly full bowl away and tossed the spoon after it. 'Mmmmm,' he hummed. 'A good breakfast makes for a good day, don't you find?'

It was like staring at a whitewashed wall, but without all the emotion.

'So the Arch Lector wants me again, does he?'

The albino nodded.

'And what might our illustrious leader desire with the likes of us, do you think?'

A shrug.

'Hmmm.' Glokta licked bits of porridge out of his empty gums. 'Does he seem in a good mood, do you know?'

Another shrug.

'Come, come, Practical Frost, don't tell me everything at once, I can't take it in.'

Silence. Barnam entered the room and cleared away the bowl. 'Do you want anything else, sir?'

'Absolutely. A big half-raw slab of meat and a nice crunchy apple.' He looked over at Practical Frost. 'I used to love apples when I was a child.'

How many times have I made that joke? Frost looked back impassively, there was no laughter there. Glokta turned to Barnam, and the old man gave a tired smile.