"Oh yes," he said. Shaven, cleaned, smoking a prerolled cigarillo. "You’re my staff, now. Best get used to it." He sat with his back to the wall in their new, huge, empty room, and told them about Bertold Sulion.

Toro was with them. Ori realised it. He did not know how long that strange-silhouetted figure had been standing at the edge, with the oil-light drawing the edges of its horns. It was evening.

"Why are we here, Bull?" he said. "Where’s Ulliam?"

"Ulliam can’t come often. Remade would be a rarity on these streets. You’re here because I told you to be. Shut up and learn why. I’ll give you money. You get clothes. You’re servants now. Anyone sees you, you’re butlers, footmen, scullery maids. You keep yourselves clean. Got to fit in."

"Was Badside compromised?" Ruby said. Toro did not sit, but seemed to lean, to be resting held up on nothing. Ori could feel the hex in those horns.

"You know what we aim to do. You know what we’ve wanted, what we build for." Toro’s unnatural deep tones were a constant shock, a static charge. "The chair-of-the-board is in Parliament. On Strack Island. In the river. Vodyanoi militia in the water, cactus guards, officers in every chamber. Thaumaturges, the best in the city, putting up buffers and orneryblocks, charmtraps, all sorts. We ain’t getting into Parliament.

"And then there’s the Spike, and Perdido Street Station. You-know-who has to spend a lot of time in the Spike. Commanding the militia. Or in the station. In the embassy wing, in the high-tower." It was more than the hub of New Crobuzon’s trains. It was a town, in three dimensions, encased in brick. The vastness of its mad-made architecture disobeyed not only rules of style but, it was said, of physics.

"When our quarry’s there, it ain’t as if it’s just the Perdidae we got to face." Not that they would be easy to defeat. The dedicated submilitia given over to protect the station were well-armed and trained. "Wherever the chair-of-the-board goes, the Clypeans go. They’re our worry.

"What about in town? When did you last see any Fat Sun bigwig give a speech? They’re too scared, too busy trying to make secret peace with Tesh. So we need another strategy." There was a long quiet.

"You-know-who is very close, intimate with one particular magister. Magister Legus. Weekly they meet. There’s all rumours, if you know who to ask. At Legus’ private house. Where he lives as a citizen, takes off his mask. They settle down in private. Sometimes they don’t part again until the morning.

"Happens every week, sometimes twice. In the magister’s house.

"The house next door."

Tumult. How do you know ? someone was shouting, and You can’t, and Whose is this place? How did you get this? and on.