“Those are garuda,” Isaac said.

Lin and Isaac walked down the hill towards the railway lines, bearing slightly to their right to arrive at the garudas’ looming makeshift eyries.

“Almost all the garuda in the city live in those four buildings. There probably aren’t two thousand in the whole of New Crobuzon. That makes them about . . . uh . . . nought point fucking nought three per cent of the population . . .” Isaac grinned. “I’ve been doing my research, see?”

But they don’t all live here. What about Krakhleki?

“Oh sure, I mean, there are garuda that get out. I taught one once, nice geezer. There’s probably a couple in Dog Fenn, three or four in Murkside, six in Gross Coil. Jabber’s Mound and Syriac each have a handful, I’ve heard. And once or twice a generation, someone like Krakhleki makes it big. I’ve never read his stuff, by the way. Is he any good?” Lin nodded. “Right, so you’ve got people like him, and others . . . you know, what’s the name of that fucker . . . the one in the Diverse Tendency . . . Shashjar, that’s the one. They stick him in to prove the DTs are for all xenians.” Isaac made a rude noise. “ ’Specially the rich ones.”

But most of them are here. And when you’re here, it must be difficult to get out . . .

“I’d suppose so. Bit of an understatement, in fact . . .”

They crossed a brook and slowed as they approached the outlands of Spatters. Lin crossed her arms and shook her headbody.

What am I doing here? she signed sardonically.

“You’re expanding your mind,” said Isaac cheerfully. “Important to learn how other races live in our fair city.”

He tugged at her arm until, mock-protesting, Lin allowed him to drag her out of the shade of the trees and into Spatters.

To get into Spatters, Isaac and Lin had to cross rickety bridges, planks thrown across the eight-foot ditch that separated the township from Vaudois Hill park. They walked in single file, their arms sometimes outstretched for balance.

Five feet below them, the trench was filled with a noisome gelatinous soup of shit and pollutants and acid rain. The surface was broken with bubbles of fell gas and bloated animal corpses. Here and there bobbed rusting tins and knots of fleshy tissue like tumours or aborted foetuses. The liquid undulated rather than rippled, contained by a thick surface tension so oily and strong that it would not break: the pebbles that fell from the bridge were swallowed without the slightest splash.

Even with one hand clapped over his mouth and nose against the stench, Isaac could not contain himself. Halfway across the plank he let out a bark of revulsion that turned into a retch. He controlled himself before he puked. To stagger on that bridge, to lose one’s balance and fall, was too utterly vile a thought to consider.