The ambassador bowed his head in polite demur.

“You’re such a modernist, Mayor Rudgutter,” he said. “I won’t argue with you. Please remember my offer stands.”

Rudgutter waved his hands impatiently. He was composed. He did not flinch at the pitiable screams which shadowed the ambassador’s words. And he did not allow himself to experience any disquiet when, as he stared at the ambassador, the image of the man in the chair flickered for a tiny sliver of a second, to be replaced by…something else.

He had experienced this before. Whenever Rudgutter blinked, for that infinitesimal moment, he saw the room and its occupant in very different forms. Through his eyelids, Rudgutter saw the inside of a slatted cage; iron bars moving like snakes; arcs of unthinkable force, a jagged, rippling maelstrom of heat. Where the ambassador sat, Rudgutter caught glimpses of a monstrous form. A hyaena’s head stared at him, tongue lolling. Breasts with gnashing teeth. Hooves and claws.

The stale air in the room would not allow him to keep his eyes open: he had to blink. He ignored the brief visions. He treated the ambassador with wary respect. Such was also the dsemon’s attitude to him.

“Ambassador, I’m here for two reasons. One is to extend to your master, Its Diabolic Majesty, the Czar of Hell, the respectful greetings of New Crobuzon’s citizens. In their ignorance.” The ambassador nodded graciously in response. “The other is to ask your advice.”

“It is always our great pleasure to aid our neighbours, Mayor Rudgutter. Especially those such as yourself, with whom Its Majesty has such good relations.” The ambassador rubbed its chin absently, waiting.

“Twenty minutes, Mayor,” hissed Vansetty into Rudgutter’s ear.

Rudgutter pressed his hands together as if in prayer, and looked at the ambassador thoughtfully. He felt little gusts of force.

“You see, ambassador, we have something of a problem. We have reason to believe that there has been a…an escape, shall we say. Something that we are very concerned to recapture. We’d like to ask your help, if we may.”

“What are we talking about, Mayor Rudgutter? True Answers?” asked the ambassador. “Usual terms?”

“True Answers…and perhaps more. We’ll see.”

“Payment now, or later?”

“Ambassador,” said Rudgutter politely. “Your memory momentarily falters. I am in credit two questions.”

The ambassador stared at him a moment and laughed. “So you are, Mayor Rudgutter. My deepest apologies. Proceed.”

“Are there any unusual rules of the moment, ambassador?” asked Rudgutter pointedly. The daemon shook his head (great hyaena tongue briefly slavering from side to side) and smiled.

“It is Melluary, Mayor Rudgutter,” it explained simply. “Usual rules in Melluary. Seven words, inverted.”

Rudgutter nodded. He composed himself, concentrating hard. Got to get the damn words right. Bloody infantile bloody game, he thought fleetingly. Then he spoke quickly and levelly, gazing calmly into the ambassador’s eyes.

“Correct escaped what’s of assessment our is?”

“Yes,” replied the daemon instantly.

Rudgutter turned briefly, gazed meaningfully at Stem-Fulcher and Rescue. They were nodding, their faces set and grim.

The mayor turned back to the daemon ambassador. They stared at each other without speaking for a moment.

“Fifteen minutes,” hissed Vansetty.

“Some of my more…fusty colleagues would look very askance at me allowing you to count ‘what’s’ as one word, you know,” said the ambassador. “But I’m a liberal.” He smiled. “Do you wish to ask your final question?”

“I don’t think so, ambassador. I’ll save that for another time. I have a proposition.”

“Go on, Mayor Rudgutter.”

“Well, you know the manner of thing that has escaped, and you can understand our concern to remedy the situation as quickly as possible.” The ambassador nodded. “You can also understand that it will be difficult for us to proceed, and that time is of the essence…I propose that we hire some of your…ah…troops, to help us round up our escapees.”

“No,” said the ambassador simply. Rudgutter blinked.

“We haven’t even discussed terms yet, ambassador. I assure you I can make a very generous offer…”

“I’m afraid it is out of the question. None of my kind are available.” The ambassador stared impassively at Rudgutter.

The mayor thought for a moment. If the ambassador was bargaining, he was doing so in a way he had never done before. Rudgutter forgot himself, closed his eyes to think, snapping them immediately open as he saw that monstrous vista, caught a glimmer of the ambassador’s other form. He tried again.

“I could even go up to…let’s say…”

“Mayor Rudgutter, you don’t understand,” said the ambassador. Its voice was impassive, but it seemed agitated. “I don’t care how many units of merchandise you can offer, or in what condition. We are not available for this job. It is not suitable.”

There was a long silence. Rudgutter gazed with incredulity at the daemon opposite him. It was beginning to dawn on him what was happening. In the bleeding rays of light, he saw the ambassador open a drawer and bring out a sheaf of papers.

“If you are finished, Mayor Rudgutter,” he continued smoothly, “I have work to do.”

Rudgutter waited until the miserable, pitiless resonance of work to do to do to do had died down outside. The echo made his stomach pitch.

“Oh, yes, yes, ambassador,” he said. “So sorry to have kept you. We’ll speak again soon, I hope.”

The ambassador inclined its head in a polite nod, then drew out a pen from its inner pocket and began to mark the papers. Behind Rudgutter, Vansetty twiddled at nobs and depressed various buttons, and the wooden floor began to tremble as if in some aetherquake. A hum built up around the cramped humans, wobbling in their little energy field. The foul air vibrated up and down their bodies.

The ambassador bulged and split and disappeared in an instant, like a heliotype in a fire. The moiling carmine light bubbled and evaporated, as if it seeped out through a thousand cracks in the dusty office walls. The darkness of the room closed in around them like a trap. Vansetty’s tiny candle guttered and went out.

Checking that they were unobserved, Vansetty, Rudgutter, Stem-Fulcher and Rescue stumbled from the room. The air felt deliciously chill. They spent a minute wiping sweat from their faces, rearranging the clothes that had been buffeted by winds from other planes.

Rudgutter was shaking his head in rueful astonishment.

His ministers composed themselves and turned to him.

“I’ve met with the ambassador perhaps a dozen times over the past ten years,” said Rudgutter, “and I’ve never seen it behave like that. Damn that air!” he added, rubbing his eyes.

The four walked back along the little corridor, turned onto the main passageway and began to retrace their steps towards the lift.

“Behave like what?” asked Stem-Fulcher. “I’ve only ever dealt with it once before. Not used to it.”

Rudgutter mused as he walked, tugging thoughtfully at his lower lip and his beard. His eyes were very bloodshot. He did not answer Stem-Fulcher for some seconds.

“There are two things to be said: one daemonological, one practical and immediate.” Rudgutter spoke in a level, exact tone, demanding the attention of his ministers. Vansetty was wandering quickly ahead, his job done. “The first might give a certain insight into the Hellkin psyche, behaviour, whatnot. You both heard the echo, I presume? I thought he did that to intimidate me, for a while. Well, bear in mind the immense distance that sound had to travel. I know,” he said quickly, holding up his hands, “that it’s not literally sound, nor literally distance, but they are extraplanar analogues and most analogous rules hold in some more or less mutated way. So bear in mind how far it had to travel, from the base of the Pit to that chamber. The fact is, it takes a little while to get there…That ‘echo,’ I believe, was actually spoken first. The…eloquent words we heard from the ambassador’s mouth…those were the real echoes. Those were the twisted reflections.”