The Glitch had largely spared the Polar regions, the City itself. But at the height of the Glitch, with vortex lines tangling around the City, Longitude I had failed. The City had rattled in its superconducting cage like a trapped Air-pig. The anchor-band's current had been restored quickly, and the effects on the external parts of the structure — such as the Spine and the Committee Palace — had been minimal. But it had been in the hidden interior of the City, where thousands of clerks and artisans toiled their lives away, that the most serious injuries had been incurred.

"Do we have any figures on the casualties yet?"

Muub looked at the Vice-Chair. "I'm surprised you're asking me. I'm your father's Physician, but I'm really just one Hospital Administrator — one of twelve in all of Parz."

Hork waved fat fingers. "I know that. All right, forget I asked. I just wanted your view. The trouble is that the agencies which gather statistics like that for us are precisely those which were wrecked by the Glitch itself." He shook his head, the jowls wobbling angrily. "People think gathering information is a joke — unnecessary. A luxury. I suspect even my highly intelligent father shares that view." The last few words were spat out, venomously. "But the fact is, without such data a government can scarcely operate. I've tried to justify this to my father often enough. You see, Doctor, without central government functions, the state is like a body without a head. We can't even raise tithes successfully, let alone allocate expenditure." Hork grimaced. "It makes today's Grand Tribute look a little pointless, doesn't it, Physician?"

Muub nodded. "I understand, sir."

"I tell you, Muub," Hork said, still nervously chewing on his bearded underlip, "one more Glitch like that and we could be done for."

Muub frowned. "Who are 'we'? The government, the Committee?"

Hork shrugged. "There are plenty of hotheads, out in the ceiling-farms, in the dynamo sheds, in the Harbor... There seems no way of rooting such vermin out. Even Breaking them on the Wheel serves only to create martyrs."

Muub smiled. "A wise observation."

Hork laughed, displaying well-maintained teeth. "And you're a patronizing old fool who pushes his luck... Martyrs. Yet another subtlety of human interaction which seems to evade my poor, absent father." Now Hork looked piercingly at Muub; the Physician found himself flinching. "And you," Hork said. "Do you scent rebellion in the Air?"

Muub thought carefully. He knew he wasn't under any personal suspicion; but he also knew that the Vice-Chair — unlike his father — took careful note of anything said to him. And Hork had dozens, hundreds of informants spread right throughout Parz and its hinterland. "No, sir. Although there are plenty of grumbles — and plenty of folk ready to blame the Committee for our predicament."