"We got out, is all," said Rahul. Drogon whispered agreement. "We got lost. Came out of that tunnel, well, that alleyway, whatever, into the main part of the town. It took us a while to find where we were. But there was so much going on that night. We never saw nor heard a thing from you. Not from none of you. We didn’t know if you’d fixed that Teshman or not. We’d no idea. You did, didn’t you?

"It took us time to get back to the Collective, but honestly there were so many damn holes we could walk in. When we found out you’d gone-no, I don’t blame you at all, sister, you couldn’t have known we was coming-we had to get back.

"So we smuggled us out, and then old Drogon here goes off for two days and comes back with his brothers."

"There ain’t so many of us horse-wanderers," Drogon told Cutter. "You can get word out. I know where to find them. And they owe me."

"Where are they now?"

"Most are gone. Some ride tomorrow. These men are nomads , Cutter. Give them your thanks, any coin you can share, that’s all they want."

"We knew the militia was coming," Rahul said. "We rode hard."

"You came out of nowhere."

"We came out of the trails. Drogon knows them. We came fast. I ain’t never known horses like these men’s. Where’s the monk? Talking of secret trails. Qurabin. Oh no… Gods. And Ori? Did he… Ori? Gods, gods. And…"

"Elsie."

"Oh gods. No. Oh gods."

"I didn’t think you could do it," Cutter said to the Councillors. "I admit that. I was wrong. I’m happy. But it ain’t enough. I told you why Judah ain’t here… he’s working on something. In the Collective. But it’s too fucking late. It’s too late. He’s trying to do what he can.

"Listen to me.

"The Collective’s fallen. Shut your mouth, no, listen… The Collective was a… a dream, but it’s over. It failed. If it ain’t dead by now it’ll be dead in days. You understand? Days.

"By the time the Council comes close to the city… the Collective’ll be dead. New Crobuzon’ll be under martial rule. And what then? Killed Stem-Fulcher, it didn’t make a spit of difference: the system won’t be beat-don’t look at me like that, I don’t like it any more’n you. And when you come rolling up saying Hello, we’re the inspiration, on cue, you know what’ll happen. You know what’ll be waiting.

"Every militiaman and -woman in New Crobuzon. Every fucking war engine, every karcist, every thaumaturge, every construct, every spy and turncoat. They’ll kill you in view of the city, and then the hope that you are-you still are-dies when you die.