"You know why."

"No I don’t. I know it’s a homage, and I’m glad for that, but why him, why not Seshech or Billy le Ginsen, why not Poppy Lutkin?"

"Because we’d get arrested if we tried that."

"Don’t play stupid, lad. You know what I mean-there’s scores of names you could’ve chose to send a message, to piss in the Mayor’s bath, but you honoured him. The founding editor of Runagate Rampant -not The Forge or Toilers’ War or The Bodkin. Why him?" Curdin tapped his paper against his thigh. "I’ll tell you why, lad-whether you know it or not, he’s the one scares the powers. Because he was right. About factions, about war, about the plurality. And Bill and Poppy and Neckling Verdant, and them others-Toro, Ori, Toro and his band and all, even Jack Half-a-Prayer-good people, chaverim, but on stuff like this their strategy’s for shit. Ben was right, and Toro’s wrong."

Ori heard arrogance, or commitment, or fervour, or analysis in Curdin’s voice. Angry as he was, he did not care to disentangle them.

"You going to sneer at Half-a-Prayer now?"

"I didn’t mean that, I ain’t saying that…"

"Godspit, who you think you are? Toro’s doing things, Curdin. He’s making things happen. You-you’re talking, Double-R ’s just talking. And Benjamin Flex is dead. Been dead for a long time."

"You ain’t being fair," he heard Curdin say. "You ain’t hardly got fluff on your chin, and you’re telling me about Benjamin Flex, for Jabber’s sake." And his voice was not unkind. He meant it lightly, but Ori was outraged.

"At least I done something!" he shouted. "At least I’m doing something. "

Chapter Eight

No one seemed to know what had started the war with Tesh. The Runagaters had their theories, and there were official stories and the unseen machinations behind them, but among Ori’s circle no one knew quite what had started it, or even exactly when it had begun.

As the long recession had bitten, years before, merchant ships from New Crobuzon had started returning to dock reporting piratical manoeuvres against them, sudden brigandry from unknown ships. The city’s exploration and its trade were under attack. History was marked by New Crobuzon’s oscillations between autarky and engagement, but never, its wounded captains said, had its emergence into mercantilism been so punished, so unexpectedly.

After centuries of uncertainty and strange relations, the city had made understandings with the Witchocracy, and the passage of New Crobuzon ships through the Firewater Straits had been unhindered. So a sea-route was open to the grasslands and islands, the legendary places on the far side of the continent. Ships came back and said they had been to Maru’ahm. They sailed for years and brought back jewelled cakes from thousands of miles away, from the crocodile double-city called The Brothers. And then the piracy had begun, hard, and New Crobuzon came slowly to understand that it was being attacked.

The arcane Tesh ships, the barquentines and dandy catboats all raggedy with coloured cloth, whose crews wore henna and filed their teeth, had ceased coming to New Crobuzon’s docks. There was a rumour that through long-disused channels, Tesh’s secret and hidden ambassador had told the Mayor that their two states were at war.