“Good evening, der Grimnebulin,” said the avatar, in the heart of the rubbish. Isaac nodded a greeting to it, and to the enormous skeleton shape of the Council itself, which waited beyond. “You did not come alone.” His voice was emotionless as ever.

“Please don’t start,” said Isaac. “We are not going to get into this on our own. We are one fat scientist, a crook and a journalist. We need some fucking professional back-up. These are people who kill exotic animals for a damn living, and they have not the slightest damn interest in telling anyone about you. All they know is that some fucking constructs are going to be there with us. Even if they could work out who or what you were, they’ve probably broken at least two-thirds of New Crobuzon’s laws by now, so they ain’t about to damn well go running to Rudgutter.” There was silence. “Just damn well compute it, if you want. You are in no risk at all from the three reprobates busy making helmets.”

Isaac imagined that he felt a trembling under his feet, as the information raced through the Council’s innards. After a long pause, the avatar and the Council nodded warily. Isaac did not relax.

“I’ve come for those of yourself you can risk for tomorrow’s business,” he said. The Council nodded again.

“Very well,” said the Construct Council slowly with the dead man’s tongue. “First, as we discussed, I will take the part of caretaker. Have you the crisis engine?”

Something hard moved across Isaac’s face. It went quickly.

“Right here,” he said, and put one of his bags down in front of the avatar. The naked man opened it and bent down to peer inside at the tubes and glass within, giving Isaac a sudden, vile view into the scabbing hollow of his skull. He picked it up and walked over to the Council with it, depositing it before the enormous figure’s crotch.

“So,” said Isaac. “You hang on to that, just in case they find our shack. Good idea. I’ll be back for it in the morning.” He glowered. “Which of you are coming with us? We need some power behind us.”

“I cannot risk discovery, Grimnebulin,” the avatar said. “If I were to come in my hidden selves, those construct bodies that work by day in grand houses and building sites and bank vaults, biding their time and accumulating knowledge, and they were to come back battered and broken, or not come back at all, I would leave myself open to the inquiry of the city. And I am not ready for that. Not yet.” Isaac nodded slowly. “Accordingly, I will be coming with you in those shapes that I can afford to lose. That will arouse confusion and bewilderment, but not suspicion of the truth.”

Behind Isaac, the rubbish began to skitter and fall away. He turned.