Perdido Street Station Part 26

"Are there any unusual rules of the moment, amba.s.sador?" asked Rudgutter pointedly. The daemon shook his head (great hyaena tongue briefly slavering from side to side) (great hyaena tongue briefly slavering from side to side) and smiled. 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 d.a.m.n words right. b.l.o.o.d.y infantile b.l.o.o.d.y game, Got to get the d.a.m.n words right. b.l.o.o.d.y infantile b.l.o.o.d.y game, he thought fleetingly. Then he spoke quickly and levelly, gazing calmly into the amba.s.sador's eyes. he thought fleetingly. Then he spoke quickly and levelly, gazing calmly into the amba.s.sador's eyes.

"Correct escaped what's of a.s.sessment 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 amba.s.sador. They stared at each other without speaking for a moment.

"Fifteen minutes," hissed Vansetty.

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

"I don't think so, amba.s.sador. 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 amba.s.sador 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 amba.s.sador simply. Rudgutter blinked.

"We haven't even discussed terms yet, amba.s.sador. I a.s.sure you I can make a very generous offer . . ."

"I'm afraid it is out of the question. None of my kind are available." The amba.s.sador stared impa.s.sively at Rudgutter.

The mayor thought for a moment. If the amba.s.sador 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 amba.s.sador's other form. He tried again.

"I could even go up to . . . let's say . . ."

"Mayor Rudgutter, you don't understand," said the amba.s.sador. Its voice was impa.s.sive, 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 amba.s.sador 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 work to do to do to do had died down outside. The echo made his stomach pitch. had died down outside. The echo made his stomach pitch.

"Oh, yes, yes, amba.s.sador," he said. "So sorry to have kept you. We'll speak again soon, I hope."

The amba.s.sador 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 n.o.bs and depressed various b.u.t.tons, 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 amba.s.sador 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 un.o.bserved, 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 amba.s.sador perhaps a dozen times over the past ten years," said Rudgutter, "and I've never seen it behave like that. d.a.m.n that air!" he added, rubbing his eyes.

The four walked back along the little corridor, turned onto the main pa.s.sageway 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 h.e.l.lkin psyche, behaviour, whatnot. You both heard the echo 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 are extraplanar a.n.a.logues and most a.n.a.logous 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 extraplanar a.n.a.logues and most a.n.a.logous 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 first. The . . . eloquent words we heard from the amba.s.sador's mouth . . . those were the real echoes. Those Those were the twisted reflections." were the twisted reflections."

Stem-Fulcher and Rescue were silent. They thought of the screams, the tortured, maniacal tone they had heard outside, the idiot ruined gibbering that seemed to make a mockery of the amba.s.sador's devilish refinement . . .

They reflected that that might be the more genuine voice.

"I'm wondering if we were wrong to think of them having a different psychic model. Maybe they're comprehensible. Maybe they think like us. And the second second thing, bearing in mind that possibility, and bearing in mind what the 'echo' might tell us about the daemoniac state of mind, is that at the end there, when I was trying to cut a deal, the amba.s.sador was thing, bearing in mind that possibility, and bearing in mind what the 'echo' might tell us about the daemoniac state of mind, is that at the end there, when I was trying to cut a deal, the amba.s.sador was scared scared . . . That's why he wouldn't come to our aid. That's why we're on our own. . . . That's why he wouldn't come to our aid. That's why we're on our own. Because the daemons are afraid of what we're hunting. Because the daemons are afraid of what we're hunting."

Rudgutter stopped and turned to his aides. The three gazed at each other. Stem-Fulcher's face twisted for a fragment of a second, and was then composed. Rescue was as impa.s.sive as a statue, but he plucked fitfully at his scarf. Rudgutter nodded as they pondered.

There was a minute of silence.

"So . . ." Rudgutter said briskly, clasping his hands. "The Weaver it is."

CHAPTER T TWENTY-FIVE.

That night, in the swollen dark hours after a brief spew of rain had hosed the city down with dirty water, the door to Isaac's warehouse was pushed open. The street was empty. There were minutes of stillness. Night-birds and bats were all that moved. Gaslight guttered.

The construct rolled jerkily out into the deep night. Its valves and pistons were swathed in rags and s.n.a.t.c.hes of blankets, m.u.f.fling the distinctive sound of its pa.s.sage. It moved forward quickly, turning inexactly and trundling as fast as its ageing treads would move.

It tremored through the backstreets, pa.s.sed snoring drunks still sodden and insensate. The sallow gasjets reflected secretively in its battered metal hide.

The construct made its swift, precarious way under the skyrails. Inconstant streaks of cirrus hid the lurking airships. The construct bore down like a diviner on the Tar, the river caught in an intricate whiplash shape on the timeless rocks beneath the city.

And hours after it had disappeared over Sheer Bridge into the southern city, when the dark sky became stained by dawn, the construct came reeling back to Brock Marsh. Its timing was fortuitous. It re-entered and locked the door only a little while before Isaac returned from his frantic night-long search for David, and Lin, and Yagharek and Lemuel Pigeon, and anyone who could help him.

Lublamai was lying on a couch that Isaac had rigged up on a couple of chairs. When Isaac came into the warehouse he came straight over to his still friend, whispered to him hopelessly, but there was no change. Lublamai did not sleep or wake. He gazed.

It was not long before David came hurrying back to the laboratory. He had trawled his way to one of his usual haunts to be greeted by a hurried and garbled version of one of the innumerable messages Isaac had left for him throughout New Crobuzon.

He sat as silently as Isaac, gazing at his mindless friend.

"I can't believe I let you do it," he said numbly.

"Oh Jabber and f.u.c.k, David, d'you think I'm not going over and over it . . . I let the d.a.m.n thing out . . ."

"We all should've known better," snapped David.

There was a long silence between them.

"Did you get a doctor?" said David.

"First thing I did. Phorgit, from across the road, I've dealt with him before. I cleaned up Lub a bit, wiped some of that c.r.a.p off his face . . . Phorgit didn't know what to make of it. Plugged in G.o.ds knows how many bits of equipment, took I don't f.u.c.king remember how many readings . . . boils down to 'haven't got a clue.' 'Keep him warm and feed him, but then again you might want to keep him cold and not give him anything to eat . . .' I might get one of the guys I know at the uni to take a skedge at him, but it's a forlorn f.u.c.king hope . . ."

"What did the thing do do to him?" to him?"

"Well, quite, David. Quite. That's the f.u.c.king question, isn't it?"

There was a tentative rattling at the broken window. Isaac and David looked up to see Teafortwo poking his ugly head forlornly in.

"Oh, s.h.i.t," said Isaac in exasperation. "Look, Teafortwo, now's not really the best time, capiche? Maybe we can chat later."

"Just looking in, boss . . ." Teafortwo spoke in a cowed voice utterly unlike his usual exuberant squawk. "Wanna know how the Lublub's doing."

"What?" said Isaac sharply, standing. "What about him?"

Teafortwo shied away miserably and wailed.

"Not me, squire, not my fault . . . just wondering if he's better after the big monsterf.u.c.ker ate his face . . ."

"Teafortwo, were you here here?"

The wyrman nodded morosely and shifted a little nearer, balancing in the centre of the window frame.

"What happened happened? We're not angry with you, Teafortwo . . . we just want to know what it was you saw . . ."

Teafortwo sniffed and waved its head miserably. He pouted like a child, screwed up his face and blurted out a great gob of words.

"Big f.u.c.ker comes downstairs flapping big horrible wings make your bonce woozy snapping big teeth and . . . and . . . all over claws and big f.u.c.king stinky tongue tongue . . . and I . . . Mr. Lublub's gawping in the looking-gla.s.s and then he turns to face it and goes . . . dopey . . . and I saw . . . me head went funny and when I woke up the thing's stuck its tongue right in . . . in . . . Mr. Lub's . . . and I . . . Mr. Lublub's gawping in the looking-gla.s.s and then he turns to face it and goes . . . dopey . . . and I saw . . . me head went funny and when I woke up the thing's stuck its tongue right in . . . in . . . Mr. Lub's gob gob and and slurpslurp slurpslurp noises going off in me head and I . . . I b.u.g.g.e.red off, I couldn't do nothing, I swear . . . I'm noises going off in me head and I . . . I b.u.g.g.e.red off, I couldn't do nothing, I swear . . . I'm scared scared . . ." Teafortwo began to cry like a two-year-old, dribbling snot and tears down his face. . . ." Teafortwo began to cry like a two-year-old, dribbling snot and tears down his face.

When Lemuel Pigeon arrived, Teafortwo was still sobbing. No amount of cajoling or threatening or bribes could calm the wyrman down. Eventually he went to sleep, curled up in a quilt ruined with his mucus, exactly like an exhausted human baby.

"I'm here on false pretences, Isaac. The message I got was that it'd be worth my while to drop over to your gaff." Lemuel looked at Isaac with a speculative air.

"G.o.dsdammit, Lemuel, you f.u.c.king spiv," exploded Isaac. "Is that what's bothering you? Jabber and f.u.c.k, I'll make sure you get yours, all right? Is that better? Now f.u.c.king listen to me . . . Someone has been attacked attacked by something that hatched out of one of the grubs by something that hatched out of one of the grubs you obtained for me you obtained for me, and we need to stop the thing before it does someone else else, and we need to know about it know about it, so we need to track down whatever cove it was got it in the first place first place, and we need to do it sharpish sharpish. Are you with me, old son old son?"

Lemuel was quite unintimidated by this outburst.

"Look, you can't d.a.m.n well blame me . . ." he began, before Isaac interrupted with a howl of irritation.

"Devil's Tail, Lemuel, no one's blaming you, you cretin! Quite the opposite! What I'm saying is that you are by far too good a businessman not to keep careful records, and I need you to check 'em out. We both know everything goes through you . . . you've got to get me the name of whoever originally got the big fat caterpillar. The enormous one with really weird colours. You know?"

"Vaguely remember it, yes."

"Well, that is good good." Isaac calmed a little. He ran his hands over his face and sighed enormously. "Lemuel, I need your help," he said simply. "I'll pay you . . . But I'm also begging. I really need you to help me here. Look." He opened his eyes and glared at Lemuel. "The d.a.m.n thing may have keeled over and died, right? Maybe it's like a mayfly: one glorious day. Maybe Lub'll wake up tomorrow happy as a sandboy. But maybe not. But maybe not. Now, I want to know: one-" he counted off on fat fingers "-how to snap Lublamai out of this; two, what this d.a.m.n thing is-the one description we have is a little garbled." He glanced at the wyrman sleeping in the corner. "And three, how we catch the f.u.c.ker." Now, I want to know: one-" he counted off on fat fingers "-how to snap Lublamai out of this; two, what this d.a.m.n thing is-the one description we have is a little garbled." He glanced at the wyrman sleeping in the corner. "And three, how we catch the f.u.c.ker."

Lemuel stared at him, his face immobile. Slowly and ostentatiously, he pulled a snuff-box from his pocket and took a sniff. Isaac's fists clenched and unclenched.

"Fine, 'Zaac," Lemuel said quietly, replacing his little jewelled box. He nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do. I'll be in touch. But I'm not a charity, Isaac, I'm a businessman and you're a customer. I get something for this. I'll bill bill you, all right?" you, all right?"

Isaac nodded wearily. There was no rancour in Lemuel's voice, no viciousness, no spite. He was simply stating the truth that underlay his bonhomie. Isaac knew that if it paid better not to uncover the purveyor of the peculiar grub, Lemuel would simply do that.

"Mayor." Eliza Stem-Fulcher swaggered into the Lemquist Room. Rudgutter looked up at her questioningly. She threw a thin newspaper onto the table before him. "We've got a lead."

Teafortwo left quickly when he woke, with David and Isaac trying to rea.s.sure him that no one held him responsible. By the evening, a horrible kind of drab calm had arrived at the warehouse on Paddler Way.

David was spooning a thick compote of fruit puree into Lublamai's mouth, ma.s.saging it down his throat. Isaac was pacing listlessly across the floor. He was hoping that Lin would return home, find the note he had pinned on her door last night and come to him. If it had not been in his writing, he reflected, she would have thought it was a bad joke. To have Isaac invite her to his laboratory-house was unprecedented. But he needed to see her, and he was worried that if he left, he would miss some vital change in Lublamai, or some nugget of indispensable information.

The door was pushed open. Isaac and David looked up sharply.