"So I got word to your best defender in the city, one there when your Council was born. You think it isn’t known?" He shook his head with gentle amusement. "Who’s an idea where the Council might have gone? Of course we know. Known for a long time who their man is in the city. I’ve paid one of his friends, a long time, to keep a link to him. I got him word so he’d come find you. We knew he could. And we could come and help. To find the Council, to help it back. My whispersmith."

Drogon was an employee. He was security, an agent, for the TRT. Cutter’s blood went from his stomach.

"He’s somewhere near, you know, they say. Your defender, Low. He’s been seen. He’s like a lost thing now the Collective’s near gone. He’s been seen around the lines. Waiting for your end. We’ve what we needed.

"We came to help, and learn the way. We learnt it all. Drogon, my man. A good man. We’d not have them interrupt you. We had to stop them. So close, so nearly home. I couldn’t let them interrupt you so near the city. We had to see you back again."

That’s why Drogon came back. This mad bastard here, Wrightby’s fucking mission. And those other cavalry, TRT all? Good gods. He needed us to come through. He had to know we’d made it all the way. Had to see our route. He fought the city. He killed the damn militia so he could see us get back.

"And now, you’re here. Shhh, still now."

"Still," said Drogon, and Cutter’s slow struggling ended.

"Now you’re here. You’ll be on the rails tomorrow. And back to the city. You see, you’ve done what was needed. I’ve the route across the continent. By the cacotopic stain. The way you made out of your bodies and your need. We thank you for it."

Drogon, without sneer or show, inclined his head.

"You can be sure we’ll use it. I’ll build the iron way. This continent will be made again, Remade, it’ll be made beautiful." Cutter stared at the visionary of money and iron. He stared and could not speak, could not move, could not tell Weather Wrightby he was mad. Now Wrightby could cross the continent, after so long trying and failing. He would plough a train-thin strip and siphon money to the west and suck it back again. He would change the world and New Crobuzon.

Can he? It’s a long way. A damn long way.

But he knows the way now.