Traction City (2011)
““That’s where you’re headed for,” Nutter tells the girl with a leer. “All sorts of toys they’ve got in there for loosening Anti-Tractionist tongues. Literally, sometimes.”
Luckily the streets are almost deserted. The only people they pass are harried engine-minders hurrying from one emergency to another, with no time to wonder where two policemen are going, or why the girl they have with them is handcuffed. They pass down Shallow Street, which isn’t shallow at all tonight but canted at an angle that makes them shuffle and stagger like comedy drunks. At the street’s end, litter that has slid down from higher districts near the city’s prow has collected in drifts against the plinth of the statue of Charles Shallow himself, one of London’s first and least-favourite Lord Mayors.
At Sternstacks they step out of the iron shadow of the tiers above into air that’s cold and almost fresh. Fang tilts her face up hoping to see stars, but she’s out of luck.
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