So you were sent to the North, and put in charge of one of our mines there. What did you make of Angland?’ A filthy sink of violence and corruption. A prison where we have made slaves of the innocent and guilty alike in the name of freedom. A stinking hole where we send those we hate and those we are ashamed of to die of hunger, and disease, and hard labour. ‘It was cold,’ said Glokta. ‘And so were you. You made few friends in Angland. Precious few among the Inquisition, and none among the exiles.’
