And coming from her, from someone without any illusions about New Crobuzon’s brutality, or squalor, or repression, the declamation was far more powerful than if it came from any Parliamentarian.

"And you’re telling me," she said finally, "that I’ve been exiled from my city-for life -because of you?"

Johannes was looking at her, stricken.

"Bellis," he said slowly, "I don’t know what to say. I can only say that… that I’m sorry. This wasn’t my choice. The Lovers knew I was on the passenger list, and… That’s not the only reason. They need more guns, so they might have taken her anyway, but…"

His voice broke off. "But probably not. Mostly they came for me. But Bellis, please!" He leaned toward her urgently. "It wasn’t my choice. I didn’t make this happen. I had no idea."

"But you’ve made your peace with it, Johannes," said Bellis. She stood at last. "You’ve made peace. You’re lucky you’ve found something that makes you happy here, Johannes. I understand that it wasn’t your choice, but I hope you’ll understand that I can’t just sit here as if nothing is wrong, making jolly conversation, when it’s down to you that I’m without a home.

"And don’t call them the fucking Lovers, like it’s a title, like those two perverts are a celestial constellation or something. Look at you all agog at them. They’re like us; they have names. You could have said no, Johannes. You could have refused."

As she turned to go, he said her name. She had never heard him use such a tone, stony and fierce. It shocked her.

He looked up at her, his hands clenched on the table. "Bellis," he said, in the same voice. "I’m sorry-I’m truly sorry-that you feel kidnapped. I had no idea. But what is it you object to? Living in a parasitic city? I doubt that. New Crobuzon may be more subtle than Armada day to day, but try telling those in the ruins of Suroch that New Crobuzon’s not a pirate.

"Culture? Science? Art? Bellis, do you even understand where you are? This city is the sum of hundreds of cultures. Every maritime nation has lost vessels to war, press-ganging, desertion. And they are here. They’re what built Armada. This city is the sum of history’s lost ships. There are vagabonds and pariahs and their descendants in this place from cultures that New Crobuzon has never so much as heard of. Do you realize that? Do you understand what that means? Their renegades meet here and overlap like scales, and make something new. Armada’s been plowing the Swollen Ocean for damn near ever, picking up outcasts and escapees from everywhere. Godspit, Bellis, do you know a bloody thing?

"History? There’ve been legends and rumors about this place among all the seafaring nations for centuries; did you know that? Do you know any sailors’ tales? The oldest vessel here is more than a thousand years old. The ships may change, but the city traces its history back to the Flesh-Eater Wars, at least, and some say back to the godsdamned Ghosthead Empire… A village? Nobody knows the population of Armada, but it’s hundreds of thousands at least. Count all the layers and layers of decks; there are probably as many miles of street here as in New Crobuzon.