Perdido Street Station Part 39

He remembered, suddenly, the explosive pain and blood he had suffered the previous night. He gasped and reached up with trepidation. As his fingers fumbled, he exhaled explosively. His left ear was gone.

He gingerly prodded for ruined tissue, expecting to meet wet, ripped flesh or crusting scabs. Instead, unlike Derkhan, he found a well-healed scar, covered in skin. There was no pain at all. It was as if he had lost his ear years before. He frowned and clicked his fingers experimentally beside his wound. He could still hear, though doubtless his ability to pinpoint sounds would be reduced.

Derkhan shook slightly as she watched him.

"This Weaver saw fit to heal your ear, along with Lemuel's. Not mine . . ." Her voice was subdued and miserable. "Although," she added, "it did stop the bleeding on the wounds from that . . . d.a.m.ned stingbox." She watched him for a moment. "So Lemuel wasn't mad, or lying, or dreaming," she said quietly. "You're telling me that a Weaver Weaver appeared and rescued us?" appeared and rescued us?"

Isaac nodded slowly.

"I don't know why . . . I have no idea idea why . . . but it's true." He thought back. "I heard Rudgutter outside, yelling something at it. It sounded like he wasn't completely surprised it was there . . . he was trying to why . . . but it's true." He thought back. "I heard Rudgutter outside, yelling something at it. It sounded like he wasn't completely surprised it was there . . . he was trying to bribe bribe it, I think. Maybe the d.a.m.n fool's been trying to do deals with it . . . Where are the others?" it, I think. Maybe the d.a.m.n fool's been trying to do deals with it . . . Where are the others?"

Isaac looked around. There was nowhere to hide in the alcove, but across the little room was another just like it, completely swathed in darkness. Anything crouching within it would have been invisible in the shadow.

"We all woke up here," said Derkhan. "All of us except Lemuel had these weird clothes on. Yagharek was . . ." She shook her head in confusion and touched her b.l.o.o.d.y wound gently. She winced. "Yagharek was shoehorned into some dollymop's dress. There were a couple of lamps, lit and waiting for us when we woke. Lemuel and Yagharek told me what happened . . . Yagharek was talking . . . he was being very weird, talking about a web web . . ." She shook her head. . . ." She shook her head.

"I understand that," said Isaac heavily. He paused and felt his mind scurry in awe away from the vague memories he had. "You were unconscious when the Weaver hauled us out. You wouldn't have seen what we saw . . . where he took us . . ."

Derkhan frowned. She had tears in her eyes.

"My d.a.m.n . . . my d.a.m.n ear hurts so much, 'Zaac," she said. Isaac rubbed her shoulder clumsily, his face creasing, until she continued. "Anyway, you were out, so Lemuel took off, and Yagharek went with him."

"What?" shouted Isaac, but Derkhan shushed him with her hands. shouted Isaac, but Derkhan shushed him with her hands.

"You know Lemuel, you know the sort of work he does. It turns out he knows the sewers well. Apparently they can be a useful bolthole. He did a little reconnaissance trip into the tunnels, and came back actually knowing where we are."

"Which is?"

"Murkside. He left and Yagharek demanded to go with him. They swore they'd be back within three hours. They've gone to get some food, some clothes for me and Yagharek, and to see the lay of the land. They left about an hour ago."

"Well G.o.dsd.a.m.n, let's go and join them join them . . ." . . ."

Derkhan shook her head.

"Don't be an idiot, 'Zaac," she said, sounding exhausted. "We can't afford to get separated. Lemuel knows the sewers . . . they're dangerous dangerous. He told us to stay put. There's all manner of things down here . . . ghuls, trows, G.o.ds know what. That's why I stayed with you while you were out. We have have to wait for them here. to wait for them here.

"And besides which, you're probably the most wanted person in New Crobuzon right now. Lemuel's a successful criminal: he knows how not to be seen. He's at much less risk than you."

"But what about Yag?" howled Isaac.

"Lemuel gave him his cloak. With the hood up and that dress torn up and wrapped round his feet, he just looked like a weird old man. Isaac, they'll be back soon. We have have to wait for them. We have to make plans. And you have to to wait for them. We have to make plans. And you have to listen listen." He looked up at her, concerned at her miserable tone.

"Why's it taken us here, 'Zaac?" she said. Her face creased in pain. "Why did it hurt us hurt us, why did it dress us like this . . . ? Why didn't it heal heal me . . . ?" She wiped tears of pain away angrily. me . . . ?" She wiped tears of pain away angrily.

"Derkhan," Isaac said gently. "I could never know . . ."

"You should see this," she said, sniffing quickly. She handed him a crumpled and stinking sheet of newspaper. He took it slowly, his face curling with distaste as he touched the sodden, filthy thing.

"What is it?" he said, unfolding it.

"When we woke up, all disorientated and confused, it came bobbing down one of the little tunnels there, folded into a little boat." She looked at him askance. "It was coming against against the current. We fished it out." the current. We fished it out."

Isaac opened it out and looked at it. It was the centre pages from The Digest The Digest, one of New Crobuzon's weekly papers. He saw from the date at the top of the page-9th Tathis 1779-that it had come out that same morning.

Isaac scanned his eyes over the little collection of stories. He shook his head in incomprehension.

"What am I missing?" he asked.

"Look at the letters to the editor," said Derkhan.

He turned the sheet over. There it was, second letter down. It was written in the same formal, stilted fashion as the others, but its content was wildly different.

Isaac's eyes widened as he read.

Sirs and Madam- Sirs and Madam- Please accept my compliments on your exquisite tapestry skills. For the furtherment of your craftwork I have taken it upon myself to extricate you from an unfortunate situation. My efforts are urgently required elsewhere and I am unable to accompany you. Doubtless we will meet again before much time has elapsed. In the meantime please note that he of your number whose inadvertent animal husbandry has led to the city's present unfortunate predicament may find himself the victim of unwanted attentions from his escaped charge. Please accept my compliments on your exquisite tapestry skills. For the furtherment of your craftwork I have taken it upon myself to extricate you from an unfortunate situation. My efforts are urgently required elsewhere and I am unable to accompany you. Doubtless we will meet again before much time has elapsed. In the meantime please note that he of your number whose inadvertent animal husbandry has led to the city's present unfortunate predicament may find himself the victim of unwanted attentions from his escaped charge. I urge you to continue your fabric work, of which I find myself a devotee. I urge you to continue your fabric work, of which I find myself a devotee. Most faithfully yours, Most faithfully yours, W. W.

Isaac looked up slowly at Derkhan.

"G.o.ds only knows what the rest of The Digest The Digest's readers will think of that . . ." he said in a hushed voice. " 'Stail, that d.a.m.n spider's powerful!"

Derkhan nodded slowly. She sighed.

"I just wish," she said unhappily, "I understood what it was doing doing . . ." . . ."

"You never could, Dee," said Isaac. "Never."

"You're a scientist, 'Zaac," she said sharply. She sounded desperate. "You have to know something about these d.a.m.n things. Now please try try to tell us what it's saying . . ." to tell us what it's saying . . ."

Isaac did not argue. He reread the note and rummaged inside his head for whatever sc.r.a.ps of information he could find.

"It just does whatever it has to to . . . to make the web prettier," he said unhappily. He caught sight of Derkhan's ragged wound, and looked away again. "You can't understand it, it doesn't think like us at all at all." As he spoke, something occurred to Isaac. "Maybe . . . maybe that's why Rudgutter's been dealing with it," he said. "If it doesn't think like us, maybe it's immune to the moths . . . Maybe it's like a . . . a hunting dog . . ."

He's lost control of it, he thought, remembering the mayor's shouts from outside. he thought, remembering the mayor's shouts from outside. It's not doing what he wants. It's not doing what he wants.

He turned his attention back down to the letter in The Digest The Digest.

"This bit about tapestry-work . . ." Isaac mused, chewing his lips. "That's the worldweb, isn't it? So I think it's saying it likes what we were . . . um . . . doing in the world. How we were 'weaving.' I think that's why it got us out. And this later section . . ." His expression became more and more fearful as he read.

"Oh G.o.ds," he breathed. "It's like what happened to Barbile . . ." Derkhan's mouth was set. She nodded reluctantly. "What was it she said? 'It's tasted me . . .' The grub I had, I must've been tantalizing it with my mind all the time . . . It's tasted me already . . . It must be hunting me . . ."

Derkhan stared at him.

"You won't get it off your tail, Isaac," she said quietly. "We'll have to kill it."

She had said we we. He looked up at her gratefully.

"Before we formulate any plans," she said, "there's another thing. A mystery. Something I want explained." She gestured at the other alcove across the dark room. Isaac peered curiously into the filthy obscurity. He could just make out a lumpy, motionless shape.

He knew what it was instantly. He remembered its extraordinary intervention in the warehouse. His breath sped up.

"It wouldn't speak or write to anyone else," Derkhan said. "When we realized it was here with us, we tried to talk to it, we wanted to know what it had done, but it completely ignored us. I think it's been waiting for you."

Isaac slid over to the lip of the ledge.

"It's shallow," Derkhan said behind him. He slipped off into the cool watery muck of the sewers. It came up to his knees. He pushed through it unthinkingly, ignoring the thick stench he raised as it sluiced through his legs. He waded through the noisome excremental stew towards the other little shelf.

As he drew closer, the dull inhabitant of that unlit s.p.a.ce whirred slightly and pushed its battered body as near upright as it could. It was crammed into the little s.p.a.ce.

Isaac sat next to it, shook his fouled shoes as clean as he could. He turned to it with an intent, hungry expression.

"So," he said. "Tell me what you know. Tell me why you warned me. Tell me what's going on."

The cleaning construct hissed.

CHAPTER T THIRTY-FIVE.

Under a damp hollow of bricks by Trauka Station, Yagharek waited.

He gnawed a hunk of bread and meat that he had begged wordlessly from a butcher. He had not been unmasked. He had simply thrust his tremulous hand out from under his cloak and the food had been given to him. His head had remained hidden. He had shuffled away, his feet cramped and hidden by rags. His gait was of an old, tired man.

It was much easier to hide as a human than as an unwounded garuda.

He waited in the darkness where Lemuel had left him. From the shadows which hid him, he could watch the comings and goings at the church of the clock G.o.ds. It was an ugly little building, the facade of which was still painted with the advertising slogans of the furniture shop it had once been. Above the door was an intricate bra.s.s timepiece, each hour intertwined with the symbols of its a.s.sociate G.o.d.

Yagharek knew the religion. It was strong among the humans of Shankell. He had visited its temples when his band had come to the city to trade, in the years before his crime.

The clock struck one, and Yagharek heard the ululating hymn to Sanshad, the sun G.o.d, come belting through the broken windows. It was sung with more gusto than in Shankell but considerably less finesse. It was less than three decades since the religion had crossed the Meagre Sea with any success. Obviously its subtleties had been lost in the water between Shankell and Myrshock.

Before he was conscious of it, his hunter's ears had realized that one of the sets of footsteps approaching his hideaway was familiar. He finished his food quickly and waited.

Lemuel appeared framed in the entrance of the little cave. Pa.s.sers-by came and went in the light s.p.a.ces above his shoulders.

"Yag," he whispered, gazing sightlessly into the grubby hole. The garuda shuffled forward into the light. Lemuel was carrying two bags stuffed with clothes and food. "Come on," he whispered. "We should get back."

They retraced their steps through the winding streets of Murkside. It was Skullday, a shopping day, and elsewhere in the city the crowds would be thick. But in Murkside the shops were mean and poor. Those locals for whom Skullday was a day off would make their way to Griss Fell or the Aspic Hole market. Lemuel and Yagharek were not watched by many.

Yagharek sped up, hobbling on bound feet with a weird, crippled gait to keep up with Lemuel. They made their way south-east, staying in the shadow of the raised railway lines, moving towards Syriac.

This is how I came to the city, thought Yagharek, thought Yagharek, tracking the great iron pathways of the trains. tracking the great iron pathways of the trains.

They pa.s.sed under the brick arches, retracing their way into a little enclosed s.p.a.ce overlooked on three sides by featureless brick. Storm drains channelled down the walls, along concrete ruts and into a man-sized grille in the centre of the yard.

On the fourth side, the south-facing side, the courtyard looked out onto a drab alley. The land fell away before it. Syriac sat in a depression in the underlying clay. Yagharek looked out over a tumbledown roofscape of twisted roofs and mouldering slate, curlicues of brick and forgotten, warped weathervanes.

Lemuel glanced around to ensure their privacy, then tugged the grille free. Fingers of fell-gas curled out and tugged at them. The heat made the stink rich. Lemuel gave his bags to Yagharek and pulled a primed pistol from his belt. Yagharek looked at him from under the hood.

Lemuel turned with a hard smile and said: "I've been pulling in favours. Got us kitted out." He waggled the gun to ill.u.s.trate his point. He checked it, hefted it expertly. He pulled the oil-lamp from a bag, lit it and lifted it with his left hand.

"Stay behind me," he said. "Keep your ears open. Move quietly. Watch your back."

With that, Lemuel and Yagharek descended into the dirt and the dark.

There was an indeterminable time wading through the warm, rank darkness. The sounds of scuttling and swimming were all around them. Once they heard vicious laughter from a tunnel parallel to theirs. Twice Lemuel swung round, aiming the torch and his pistol at a patch of filth still rippling from where some unseen thing had been. He did not have to shoot. They were unmolested.

"You know how lucky we were?" said Lemuel conversationally. His voice bobbed slowly back to Yagharek on the foetid air. "I don't know if it was deliberate, where the Weaver left us, but we're in one of the safest places in the New Crobuzon sewers." His voice stiffened now and then with effort or disgust. "Murkside's such a backwater, you don't have much food down here, you've got no thaumaturgic residues, there aren't any ma.s.sive old chambers to support a whole brood . . . It's not very busy."

He was silent for a moment, then continued.

"Brock Marsh sewers, for example. All the unstable runoff from all those labs and experiments, acc.u.mulating over the years . . . makes for a very unpredictable population of vermin. Rats the size of pigs, speaking in tongues. Blind pygmy crocodiles, whose great-great-great-grandparents escaped from the zoo. Crossbreeds of all sorts.

"Over in Gross Coil and Skulkford the city's sitting on layers of older buildings. For hundreds of years they sunk into the mire, and they'd just build new ones on top of them. The pavement's only been solid there for a hundred and fifty years. Over there, the sewers feed into old bas.e.m.e.nts and bedrooms. The tunnels like this one lead into submerged streets. You can still see the road-names. Rotten houses under a brick sky. Straight up. The s.h.i.t flows along channels and then through windows and doors.

"That's where the undergangs live. They used to be human, or their parents did, but they've spent too long down here. They aren't a pretty sight."

He hawked and spat noisily into the slow ooze.

"Still. Rather the undergangs than the ghuls. Or the trow." He laughed, but it was without any humour. Yagharek could not tell if Lemuel was mocking him.

Lemuel lapsed into silence. For some minutes, there was no sound except the slosh of their legs through the thick effluvia. Then Yagharek heard voices. He stiffened and gripped Lemuel's shirt, but a moment later he heard them clearly, and they were Isaac's and Derkhan's.

The excremental water seemed to carry light with it, from around a corner.

Bent-backed and swearing with effort, Yagharek and Lemuel wound through the twisting brick junctions and turned into the little room under Murkside's heart.

Isaac and Derkhan were yelling at each other. Isaac saw Yagharek and Lemuel over Derkhan's shoulder. He raised his arms to them.

"Dammit, there there you are!" He strode past Derkhan towards them. Yagharek held out a bag of food at him. Isaac ignored it. "Lem, Yag," he said urgently. "We have to move fast." you are!" He strode past Derkhan towards them. Yagharek held out a bag of food at him. Isaac ignored it. "Lem, Yag," he said urgently. "We have to move fast."

"Now hold on . . ." began Lemuel, but Isaac ignored him.

"Listen, dammit," Isaac shouted. "The construct's talked to me!"

Lemuel's mouth stayed open, but he was silent. No one spoke for a moment.

"All right?" said Isaac. "It's intelligent intelligent, dammit, it's sentient sentient . . . something's happened in its head. The rumours about CI are true! Some virus, some programme glitch . . . And although it won't come out and say it, I think it's hinted that that d.a.m.ned repairman may have given it a helping hand along the way. And the upshot is the . . . something's happened in its head. The rumours about CI are true! Some virus, some programme glitch . . . And although it won't come out and say it, I think it's hinted that that d.a.m.ned repairman may have given it a helping hand along the way. And the upshot is the d.a.m.n thing can think d.a.m.n thing can think. It's seen everything! It was there when the slake-moth took Lublamai. It . . ."

"Hold on!" shouted Lemuel. "It spoke to you?"