One night Judah made four little figures from the earth, and with muttered cantrips he had them dance while his companions clapped to give them music. When they were done he had them bow; then they fell back into earth.

He said: "I want to tell you all that I’m grateful. I want you to know that." They drank a toast in water. "I want to tell you… we’ve been going so long, it’s like the journeying’s what it’s for. But that’s not so.

"I don’t even know for sure if you believe in the Iron Council." He smiled. "I think you do. But maybe for some of you it isn’t even about that anymore. I think you’re here because of the time in the claphouse, Elsie," he said, and she met his eyes and nodded. "I know why you’re here," he said to Cutter.

"Even you, maybe, Drogon… A stravager like you… Myths and hopes are your currency, right? That’s what you trade in; that’s what keeps horse-tramps moving. Are you here because you think Iron Council’s like the Marzipan Palace? Are you looking for a heaven?"

"It’s not why I’m here, Judah Low," said Pomeroy. Judah smiled. "You mean the most to me, Judah, I’d die for you, but I’d not die now. Not with what’s happening in New Crobuzon. There’s too much at stake. I’m here because of what you say’s coming for the Council. And because I think you can stop it. That’s why I’m here."

Judah nodded, and sighed. "That’s what I want to say. This is greater than any of us. Iron Council…" He was silent for very long. "It’s tough, because that’s how it’s had to be. But it’s the Council. It’s Iron Council. And the governors of New Crobuzon-I don’t know how-they’ve found it. My contact, my erstwhile friend, he had every reason not to tell me but he did, thank Jabber. They’ve found it, after all this time. Long enough that plenty of citizens aren’t sure it ever existed, and thousands more think it’s long gone.

"Chaverim… friends… We’re going to save Iron Council."

The next day Qurabin had a long conversation with the Moment. The unfindable monk cried, supplicated, made a desolate sound.

At last Cutter spoke. "Monk," he said. "Monk, what happened? Are you there? Are you gone?"

"It’s not hidden anymore," Qurabin said in a voice that was deadened. "I know where to find it. But it cost… I lost my own language."

Qurabin had been left only with Ragamoll, the brash infant tongue of the travellers.