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Kell wore a very peculiar coat. It had neither one side, which would be conventional, nor two, which would be unexpected, but several, which was, of course, impossible.
time isn’t the same for the mad and the blind.”
He could smell Grey London (smoke) and White London (blood), but to him, Red London simply smelled like home.
Grey for the magic-less city. Red, for the healthy empire. White, for the starving world.
A respectable prison is still a prison, thought Kell,
The people fed on the magic and the magic fed on them until it ate their bodies and their minds and then their souls.”
men who waded into waters claiming they could swim should not need a raft.
To magic itself. The first and final element, the one that lived in all and was of none.
Blood was magic made manifest.
If red was the color of magic in balance—of harmony between power and humanity—then black was the color of magic without balance, without order, without restraint.
“Why is the language of magic so hard for my tongue to master?”
Priste ir Essen. Essen ir Priste. “Power in Balance. Balance in Power.”
“The bodies in my floor all trusted someone. Now I walk on them to tea.”
