He looked astounding, a very beautiful thing. He looked transformed. But Cutter knew he was wrong. We didn’t do this, Judah. They did. In New Crobuzon. With or without the Council.

"Now," Judah said. "We ride into the city, we join them. We aren’t so far from the last of the rails. Jabber, gods, we’ll ride into a changed city, we’ll be part of change. We’re bringing a cargo. We’re bringing history. "

Yes, and no, Judah. Yes we are. But they’ve got their own history already.

Cutter had come not for the Iron Council, but for Judah. It was a guilt he could never forget. I’m not here for history, he thought. Low mountain pikes looked down on him. In a cold river, the Iron Council vodyanoi were swimming, while the train idled in its strath. I’m here for you.

"And there’ll be no militia now," Judah said. "They know we’re coming, but with the city in revolt they won’t spare anything to face us down. When we come, there’ll be a new government. We’ll be a… a coda to the insurgency. A commonwealth of New Crobuzon."

"It’s been hard," said one of the refugees, uncertainly. "The Collective’s under fire. Parliament’s come back hard…"

"Oh oh oh." No one saw who spoke. The sounds ebbed up suddenly. "Oh, now.

"What’s this?"

The voice was Qurabin’s. Cutter looked for the fold in air, saw a flit of gusting.

"What’s this?" The pilgrim-refugees were open-eyed in fear of this bodiless voice. "You said there were attacks, Tesh attacks. Manifestations? What kind? And what is this? This, this, this here?"

A buffeting, the stained leather of a newcomer’s bag belling with Qurabin’s tug. The woman moaned at what she thought some ghost, and Cutter snapped at her as Qurabin repeated, "What is that mark?" She looked in idiot fear at the complex gyral design on her bag.

"That? That’s a sign of freedom. Freedom spiral, that is. It’s all over the city."

"Oh oh oh."

"What is it, what is it, Qurabin?"

"What are the Tesh attacks?" The monk’s voice was calmer but still very fast. Cutter and Elsie stiffened; Ann-Hari’s concern grew; Judah slowly folded as he saw something was happening.

"No, no, this… I remember this. I need to, I have to, I’ll ask…" The monk’s voice wavered. There was an infolding sense, colours. Qurabin was asking something of the Moment of Secrets. There was silence. The refugees looked fearful.

"How is Tesh attacking?" Qurabin’s voice came back strong. "You said manifestations? Is it colour-sucked things, presences? Emptinesses in the shape of things in the world-animals, plants, hands, everything? And people gone, sickened by them and dead? They come out of nothing, unglow, is it? And they’re still coming. Yes?"

"What is it? Qurabin for Jabber’s sake…"