London

“Pah!” snorted Pomeroy, wincing as the glass in the display cases started to whine and shiver in
sympathy with the beat of the engines. Above his head the biggest of the models—a thing called a blue whale that had become extinct thousands of years ago—was jerking back and forth on its
hawsers like a plank-swing. “That’s as may be, Natsworthy,” he said. “I just wish the Guild of
Engineers would fit some decent shock-absorbers in this building. Some of these specimens are very delicate. It won’t do. It won’t do at all.” He tugged a spotted handkerchief out of the folds of his long black robes and dabbed his face with it.

Chapter 1: The great Hunting Ground, Mortal Engines, pg 8/152,