“I gather,” she said to one of Motley’s captains, a taciturn Remade human whose left arm had been replaced with an unruly python that he fought to quieten, “that you know how to pilot an aerostat.” He nodded. She did not remark on the obvious illegality of that skill. “You’ll be piloting the Beyn’s Honour, your colleagues the Avanc. The militia have been warned. Keep an eye out for other air traffic. We thought you might want to get started this afternoon. The quarries tend to be inactive before the night, but we thought it might be an idea for you to get used to the controls.”

The captain did not respond. All around him, his crew were checking their equipment, checking the angles of their helmets’ mirrors. They were stern and cold. They seemed less fearful than the militia officers Stem-Fulcher had left in the training room below, practising aiming through mirrors, firing behind their own backs. Motley’s men, after all, had dealt with the slake-moths more recently.

Like one of her own officers, she saw that a couple of the gangsters wore flamethrowers; hard backpacks of pressurized oil that burst through a flaming nozzle to ignite. They had been modified, as had her own man’s, to spray the burning oil directly backwards out of the pack.

Stem-Fulcher stole another glance at several of Motley’s extraordinary Remade troops. It was impossible to tell how much original organic material was retained under the Remades’ metal layers. Certainly the impression was one of almost total replacement, with bodies sculpted with exquisite and unusual care to mimic human musculature.

At first sight, nothing of the human was visible. The Remade had heads of moulded steel. They even sported implacable faces of folded metal. Heavy industrial brows and inset eyes of stone or opaque glass, thin noses and pursed lips and cheekbones glinting darkly like polished pewter. The faces had been designed for aesthetic effect.

Stem-Fulcher had only realized that they were Remade, rather than fabulous constructs, when she had glimpsed the back of one’s head. Embedded behind the splendid metal face was a much less perfect human one.

This was the only organic feature retained. Jutting out from the back end of those immobile metal features were mirrors, like a sweep of hair. They were held in front of the Remades’ real, human eyes.