He wordlessly handed her a glass of wine. She recognized this as an invitation to stay. She sat and sipped and waited, looking around his room. She had expected some hidden stronghold, but he lived in a berth like thousands of others. It was sparse: there were a desk and two chairs, a shuttered window, a chest, one small black-and-white etching on the wall. Below the window was a weapons rack, full of familiar and arcane armaments; and in the corner of the room a complex musical instrument, with strings and keys, like a harp-accordion hybrid.

When probably a minute had passed, and Uther Doul had said nothing, Bellis spoke.

"I was… very interested to hear the story of your youth," she said. "I admit that I hadn’t previously been sure of High Cromlech’s existence-until I met you. However, apart from the whispers about the land of the dead and defeating the Ghosthead Empire, I’ve lost your trail of rumors." She was not practiced at the kind of hard humor for which she was trying, but he moved his eyebrows to signify a pretense at amusement. "I’d be very pleased if you wanted to tell me more about what happened after you left High Cromlech. I doubt I’ve ever met anyone so traveled. Have you ever…?" She paused, suddenly anxious, and he replied to her.

"No. I’ve never visited New Crobuzon," he said. He seemed to be fretting, in his poised, silent way.

"You aren’t sure you believe what I told you about my sword, are you?" he said suddenly. "I don’t blame you. It isn’t nearly old enough, you were thinking. What do you know about the Ghosthead Empire, Miss Coldwine?"

"Little," she admitted.

"Of course, though, you know that they were in no way human-or khepri, vodyanoi, strider, or what have you. These were not xenian in the sense we usually mean it. Whatever prints and descriptions you may have seen are fallacious. The question What did they look like? has no straightforward answer. This weapon-" He indicated his belt. "-is so obviously shaped for human hands, you might have thought my claims about its provenance a lie."

Bellis had had no thoughts at all about the shape of the Possible Sword, as Uther Doul must have known.

"You’re not seeing the sword," he went on softly. "Only one aspect of it. It’s contextual-as was so very much for the Ghosthead. I take it you’ve read some of their Imperial Canon? Even as translations of translations of translations, even with all the additions and omissions and commentary that implies, there are some extraordinary things there. Especially the Covertiana." He sipped his wine.

"Some purport to be passages from the earliest days of the arrival of the Ghosthead in Bas-Lag, before the Empire began." He blinked at Bellis. "Certainly," he said as if she had disputed him. " Arrival. The Ghosthead were not native to this world."