“So an abstract individual is a garuda who forgot, for some time, that he or she is part of a larger unit, and owes respect to all the other choosing individuals.”

There was a long pause.

“Are you any wiser, Isaac?” asked Ged gently, and broke off into giggles.

Isaac wasn’t sure if he was or not.

“So look, Ged, if I said to you ‘second-degree choice-theft with disrespect,’ would you know what a garuda had done?”

“No . . .” Ged looked thoughtful. “No, I wouldn’t. Sounds bad . . . I think there are some books in the library that might explain, though . . .”

At that moment, Lemuel Pigeon strode into Isaac’s view.

“Ged, look,” Isaac interrupted hurriedly. “Beg pardon and all that, I really have to have a word with Lemuel. Can I talk to you later?”

Ged grinned without rancour and waved Isaac away.

“Lemuel . . . a word in your ear. Could be profitable.”

“Isaac! Always a pleasure to deal with a man of science. How’s the life of the mind?”

Lemuel leant back in his chair. He was dressed foppishly. His jacket was burgundy, his waistcoat yellow. He wore a small top hat. A mass of yellow curls burst out from under it in a ponytail they clearly resented.

“The life of the mind, Lemuel, has reached something of an impasse. And that, my friend, is where you come in.”

“Me?” Lemuel Pigeon smiled lopsidedly.

“Yes, Lemuel,” said Isaac portentously. “You too can forward the cause of science.”

Isaac enjoyed bantering with Lemuel, although the younger man made him a little uneasy. Lemuel was a chancer, a snitch, a fence . . . the quintessential go-between. He had carved a profitable little niche for himself out of being a most efficient middle-man. Packages, information, offers, messages, refugees, goods: anything that two people wanted to exchange without actually meeting, Lemuel would courier. He was invaluable to those like Isaac who wanted to dredge the New Crobuzon underworld without getting their feet wet or their hands dirty. Similarly, the denizens of that other city could use Lemuel to reach into the realm of the more-or-less legal without beaching, flopping helplessly at the militia’s door. Not that all of Lemuel’s work involved both worlds: some was entirely legal or entirely illegal. It was just that crossing the border was his speciality.

Lemuel’s existence was precarious. He was unscrupulous and brutal—vicious when necessary. If the going ever got dangerous, he would leave anyone with him in a trail of his dust. Everyone knew that. Lemuel never hid it. There was a certain honesty about him. He never pretended that you could trust him.

“Lemuel, you young science fiend, you . . .” Isaac said. “I’m conducting a little research. Now, I need to get hold of some specimens. I’m talking anything that flies. And that is where you come in. See, a man in my position can’t be trogging around New Crobuzon looking for fucking wrens . . . a man in my position should be able to put the word out and have winged things fall into his lap.”