“Give your report.”
“We hold everything from the Greasemarket to Lower Vicissitude Street. Messengers report some pockets of resistance in the streets around the Catflap, the Sump and Pederasty Square but we expect to have these mopped up by nightfall. We have established a headquarters in La Dernière Chemise D’Amour, on Quinsy Boulevarde.”
The warlord glared at his lieutenant.
“It’s a brothel. And an inn, my lord. It, ah, had the largest stables.”
“Enough! These city-bred Southern helots disgust me. If we burnt the Low City to stumps it would count as an act of mercy. What of the High City, within the Wall?”
“We are already – ah – my lord, all these neighbourhoods are in the High City.”