“Fuck damn,” spat Isaac. He bent down and pulled a plug from Andrej’s helmet, disconnecting the Construct Council, which was still concertedly attempting to bypass the circuit-valve and gain control of the crisis engine. Isaac yanked the wire free, sending a damaging spasm of feedback and rerouted energy bolting down the line into the Council’s brain.

“Get this shit!” he hissed at Yagharek, and pointed at the engines that littered the roof, fouled with ichor and acid rain. The garuda dropped to one knee and scooped up the sack. “Weaver!” said Isaac urgently, and stumbled over to the enormous figure.

He kept looking back, over his shoulder, fearful of seeing some gung-ho militiaman reaching up to take a potshot. Over the rain, the sound of metallic crunching steps drew nearer on the roof below them in a pounding jog.

“Weaver!” Isaac clapped his hands in front of the extraordinary spider. The Weaver’s multifarious eyes slid up to meet him. The Weaver still wore the helmet that linked it to Andrej’s corpse. It was rubbing its hands in slake-moth viscera. Isaac looked down briefly at the pile of huge corpses. Their wings had faded to a pale, drab dun, without pattern or variation.

“Weaver, we need to go,” he whispered. The Weaver interrupted him.

. . . I TIRE AND GROW OLD AND COLD GRIMY LITTLING . . . the Weaver said quietly . . . YOU WORK WITH FINESSE I GRANT AND GIVE YOU BUT THIS SIPHONING OF PHANTASMS FROM MY SOLE SOUL LEAVES ME MELANCHOLIC SEE PATTERNS INHERE EVEN IN THESE THE VORACIOUS ONES PERHAPS I JUDGE QUICK AND SLICK TASTES FALTER AND ALTER AND I AM UNSURE . . . It raised a handful of glistening guts to Isaac’s eyes and began to pull them gently apart.

“Believe me, Weaver,” said Isaac urgently, “this was the right thing, we saved the city for you to . . . to judge, to weave . . . now that we’ve done this. But we need to go now, we need you to help us. Please . . . get us away from here . . .”

“Isaac,” hissed Derkhan, “I don’t know who these swine are that are coming but . . . but they’re not militia.”

Isaac stole a glance out over the roofs. His eyes widened incredulously.

Stomping purposefully towards them was a battery of extraordinary metal soldiers. The light slid from them, illuminating their edges in cold flashes. They were sculpted in astonishing and frightening detail. Their arms and legs swung with great bursts of hydraulic power, pistons hissing as they stormed closer. Little glimmers of reflected light came from somewhere a little behind their heads.

“Who the fuck are those bastards?” said Isaac in a strangled voice.

The Weaver interrupted him. Its voice was suddenly loud again, purposeful.