I get this at 42:

"You been doing the Unterzee's work." The urchin is feeding the Prophets from her hand today, crumbling up stale bread and crackers for the crowd of raucous heralds. "I been finkin' that maybe the Prophets are sayin' fewer names the better that we do. Like there's a balance. Like if we keeps going, one day there'll be no debt left to collect." She scatters breadcrumbs at her feet, and the summit erupts in the whisper-flap of a hundred flocking birds. "That'd be nice."