Before They Are Hanged by Joe Abercrombie

snapped.
    Glokta looked down at her, licking at the space where his front teeth used to be.
There is no method here. No purpose. Brutality, for it's own sake. I might almost be sickened, had I eaten anything today
. 'How old is she?'
    'Fourteen, perhaps, Superior, but I fail to see the relevance.'
    'The relevance, Inquisitor Harker, is that conspiracies are rarely led by fourteen-year-old girls.'
    'I thought it best to be thorough.'
    'Thorough? Did you even ask them any questions?'
    'Well, I—'
    Glokta's cane cracked Harker cleanly across the face. The sudden movement caused a stab of agony in Glokta's side, and he stumbled on his weak leg and had to grab at Frost's arm for support. The Inquisitor gave a squeal of pain and shock, tumbled against the wall and slid into the filth on the cell floor.
    'You're not an Inquisitor!' hissed Glokta, 'you're a fucking butcher! Look at the state of this place! And you've killed two of our witnesses! What use are they now, fool?' Glokta leaned forward. 'Unless that was your intention, eh? Perhaps Davoust was killed by a jealous underling? An underling who wanted to silence the witnesses, eh, Harker? Perhaps I should start my investigations with the Inquisition itself!'
    Practical Frost loomed over Harker as he struggled to get up, and he shrank back down against the wall, blood starting to dribble from his nose. 'No! No, please! It was an accident! I didn't mean to kill them! I just wanted to know what happened!'
    'An accident? You're a traitor or an utter incompetent, and I've no use for either one!' He leaned down even lower, ignoring the pain shooting up his back, his lips curling away to show his toothless smile. 'I understand a firm hand is most effective when dealing with primitives, Inquisitor. You will find there are no firmer hands than mine. Not anywhere. Get this worm out of my sight!'
    Frost seized hold of Harker by his coat and hauled him bodily through the filth towards the door. 'Wait!' he wailed, clutching at the door frame, 'please! You can't do this!' His cries faded down the corridor.
    Vitari had a faint smile around her eyes, as though she had rather enjoyed the scene. 'What about this mess?'
    'Get it cleaned up.' Glokta leaned against the wall, his side still pulsing with pain, wiped sweat from his face with a trembling hand. 'Wash it down. Bury these bodies.'
    Vitari nodded towards the one survivor. 'What about her?'
    'Give her a bath. Clothes. Food. Let her go.'
    'Hardly worth giving her a bath if she's going back to the Lower City.'
    She has a point there
. 'Alright! She was Davoust's servant, she can be mine. Put her back to work!' he shouted over his shoulder, already hobbling for the door. He had to get out. He could hardly breathe in there.
     
    'I am sorry to disappoint you all, but the walls are far from impregnable, not in their present poor condition…' The speaker trailed off as Glokta shuffled through the door into the meeting chamber of Dagoska's ruling council.
    It was as unlike the cell below as it was possible for a room to be.
It is, in fact, the most beautiful room I ever saw
. Every inch of wall and ceiling was carved in the most minute detail: geometric patterns of frightening intricacy wound round scenes from Kantic legends in life-size, all painted in glittering gold and silver, vivid red and blue. The floor was a mosaic of wondrous complexity, the long table was inlaid with swirls of dark wood and chips of bright ivory, polished to a high sheen. The tall windows offered a spectacular view over the dusty brown expanse of the city, and the sparkling bay beyond.
    The woman who rose to greet Glokta as he entered did not seem out of place in the magnificent surroundings.
Not in the slightest
.
    'I am Carlot dan Eider,' she said, smiling easily and holding her hands out to him as though to an old friend, 'Magister of the Guild of Spicers.'
    Glokta was impressed, he had to admit.
If only by her stomach. Not even the slightest sign of horror. She