Perdido Street Station Part 40

"No! It had to sc.r.a.pe messages in the mould over there: it was d.a.m.n slow. That's what it uses its litter-spike for. It was the construct that told me David had turned traitor! It tried to get us out of the warehouse before the militia arrived!"

"Why?"

Isaac's urgency waned.

"I don't know. It can't explain itself. It's not . . . very articulate." Lemuel looked up, over Isaac's head. The construct sat motionless in the red-black flickering of the oil-lamp. "But listen . . . I think one of the reasons it wanted us free is because we're against the slake-moths. I don't know why, but it . . . it's violently against them. It wants them dead. And it's offering us help . . ."

Lemuel barked with unpleasant, incredulous laughter.

"Marvellous!" he wondered, derisorily. "You've got a vacuum cleaner on your side . . ."

"No, you f.u.c.king a.r.s.e a.r.s.e," yelled Isaac. "Don't you understand? It's not alone . . . It's not alone . . ."

The word alone alone echoed back and forth around the mephitic brick burrows. Lemuel and Isaac stared at each other. Yagharek drew back a little. echoed back and forth around the mephitic brick burrows. Lemuel and Isaac stared at each other. Yagharek drew back a little.

"It's not alone," Isaac repeated softly. Behind him, Derkhan nodded in mute accord. "It's given us directions directions. It can read and write-that's how it realized David sold us out, it found his discarded instructions-but it's not a sophisticated thinker. But it promises that if we go to Griss Twist tomorrow night, we'll meet something that can explain everything. And that can help us."

This time, it was us us that filled the silence with its reverberating presence. Lemuel shook his head slowly, his face set and cruel. that filled the silence with its reverberating presence. Lemuel shook his head slowly, his face set and cruel.

"d.a.m.n, Isaac," he said quietly. " 'We'? 'Us'? Who the f.u.c.k are you talking to? This is nothing to do with me . . . This is nothing to do with me . . ." Derkhan sneered in disgust and turned away. Isaac opened his mouth, dismayed. Lemuel interrupted him. "Look, man. I was in this for the money money. I'm a businessman. You paid well. You got my services. You even got a little bit of time free, with Vermishank. I did that for Mr. X. And I've got a soft spot for you, 'Zaac. You've been straight with me. That's why I came back down here. Brought a bit of grub, and I'll show you out of here. But now Vermishank's dead and your credit's run dry. I don't know what you've got planned, but I'm off. Why in f.u.c.k f.u.c.k should I go chasing these d.a.m.n things? Leave it to the militia. There's should I go chasing these d.a.m.n things? Leave it to the militia. There's nothing for me here nothing for me here . . . Why would I hang around?" . . . Why would I hang around?"

"Leave it to who who . . . ?" hissed Derkhan with contempt, but Isaac spoke over her. . . . ?" hissed Derkhan with contempt, but Isaac spoke over her.

"So," he said slowly. "What now? Hmmm? You think you can go back back? Lem, old son, whatever else you might d.a.m.n well be, you ain't a stupid man. You think you weren't seen? You think they don't know who you are? G.o.dsd.a.m.n, man . . . you're wanted."

Lemuel glared at him.

"Well, thanks for your concern 'Zaac," he said, his face twisting. "Tell you what, though-" his voice turned hard "-you may be out of your depth. may be out of your depth. I, I, however, have spent my professional life evading the law. Don't you worry about me, mate. I'll be cushty." He did not sound sure. however, have spent my professional life evading the law. Don't you worry about me, mate. I'll be cushty." He did not sound sure.

I'm not telling him anything he doesn't know, thought Isaac. thought Isaac. He just doesn't want to think about it right now. He just doesn't want to think about it right now. Isaac shook his head contemptuously. Isaac shook his head contemptuously.

"Dammit, man, you aren't thinking straight. There's a whole G.o.dsd.a.m.n universe of difference between being a go-between and being a militia-murdering criminal militia-murdering criminal . . . Don't you get it? They don't know what you know or don't know . . . unfortunately for you, old son, you're . . . Don't you get it? They don't know what you know or don't know . . . unfortunately for you, old son, you're implicated implicated. You have to stick with us. You have to see this through. They're after you, right? And right now, you're running from them. Better to stay in front, even if you're running, than f.u.c.king well turn round and let them catch up."

Lemuel stood still in the silence, glowering at Isaac. He said nothing, but neither did he leave.

Isaac took a step towards him.

"Look," Isaac said. "The other thing is . . . we . . . I I . . . need you." Behind him Derkhan sniffed sulkily and Isaac shot her an irritated glance. "G.o.dspit, Lem . . . you're our best chance. You know everyone, you've got a finger in all the right pies . . ." Isaac raised his hands helplessly. "I can't see a way out of this. One of those . . . . . . need you." Behind him Derkhan sniffed sulkily and Isaac shot her an irritated glance. "G.o.dspit, Lem . . . you're our best chance. You know everyone, you've got a finger in all the right pies . . ." Isaac raised his hands helplessly. "I can't see a way out of this. One of those . . . things things is after is after me me, the militia can't help us, they don't know how to catch the d.a.m.n things, and anyway, I don't know if you're keeping track but those f.u.c.kers are hunting us too too . . . I can't see a way, even a.s.suming we get the slake-moths, where I don't end up dead." The words chilled him as he spoke them. He talked rapidly, pushed the thoughts away. "But if I keep at it, maybe I can figure one out. And the same goes for you. And . . . I can't see a way, even a.s.suming we get the slake-moths, where I don't end up dead." The words chilled him as he spoke them. He talked rapidly, pushed the thoughts away. "But if I keep at it, maybe I can figure one out. And the same goes for you. And without without you, Derkhan and me are dead for you, Derkhan and me are dead for sure sure." Lemuel's eyes were hard. Isaac felt a chill. Never forget who you're dealing with, Never forget who you're dealing with, he thought. he thought. You and he are not You and he are not friends . . . friends . . . don't forget that. don't forget that.

"You know my credit's good," Isaac said suddenly. "You know that. Now, I'm not going to pretend I've got a ma.s.sive bank account, I've got a bit, there's a few guineas left, all of it yours all of it yours . . . but help me, Lemuel, and . . . but help me, Lemuel, and I'm I'm yours. I'll work for you. I'll be your man. I'll be your f.u.c.king yours. I'll work for you. I'll be your man. I'll be your f.u.c.king pet pet. Any jobs you want done, I do them. Any money I make, it's yours. I'll sign my f.u.c.king life life to you, Lemuel. Just to you, Lemuel. Just help us now help us now."

There was no sound except the dripping of ordure. Behind Isaac, Derkhan hovered. Her face was a study of contempt and disgust. We don't need him, We don't need him, it said. But still, she waited to hear what he would say. Yagharek stood back. He listened to the argument dispa.s.sionately. He was bound to Isaac. He could go nowhere and do nothing without him. it said. But still, she waited to hear what he would say. Yagharek stood back. He listened to the argument dispa.s.sionately. He was bound to Isaac. He could go nowhere and do nothing without him.

Lemuel sighed.

"I am going to be keeping a running total, you realize? I'm talking about serious debt, you know? D'you have any idea of the daily rate for this sort of thing? The danger money?"

"Doesn't matter," breathed Isaac brusquely. He hid his relief. "Just keep me posted. Tell me what I'm accruing. I'll be good for it." Lemuel nodded briefly. Derkhan exhaled, very quietly and slowly.

They stood like exhausted combatants. Each waited for the other to move.

"So what now?" said Lemuel. His voice was surly.

"We go to Griss Twist tomorrow night," said Isaac. "The construct promised help. We can't risk not going. I'll meet you both there."

"Where are you going?" said Derkhan in surprise.

"I have to find Lin," said Isaac. "They'll be coming for her."

CHAPTER T THIRTY-SIX.

It was almost midnight. Skullday was becoming Shunday. The moon was one night off full.

Outside Lin's tower, in Aspic Hole itself, the few pa.s.sers-by were irritable and nervous. Market day had pa.s.sed, and its bonhomie with it. The square was haunted by the skeletons of stalls, thin wooden frames stripped of canvas. The rubbish from the market was piled in rotting heaps, waiting for the dustcrews to transport it to the dumps. The bloated moon bleached Aspic Hole like some corrosive liquid. It looked ominous, shabby and mean.

Isaac climbed the stairs of the tower warily. He had had no way of getting a message to Lin and he had not seen her for days. He had washed as best he could in water filched from a pump in Flyside, but he still stank.

He had sat in the sewers for hours the previous day. Lemuel had not allowed them to leave for a long time, decreeing that it was too dangerous during the light.

"We have to stick together," he demanded, "until we know what we're doing. And we are not the most un.o.btrusive bunch." So the four of them had sat in a room awash in faecal water, eating and trying not to vomit, bickering and failing to make plans. They had argued vehemently about whether or not Isaac should see Lin on his own. He was absolute in his insistence that he be unaccompanied. Derkhan and Lemuel denounced his stupidity, and even Yagharek's silence had seemed briefly accusatory. But Isaac was quite adamant.

Eventually, when the temperature fell and they had all forgotten the stink, they had moved. It had been a long, arduous journey through New Crobuzon's vaulted conduits. Lemuel had led, flintlocks ready. Isaac, Derkhan and Yagharek had to carry the construct, which could not move in the liquid filth. It was heavy and slippery, and it had been dropped and banged and damaged, as had they, falling into the muck and swearing, slamming hands and fingers against the concrete walls. Isaac would not let them leave it.

They had moved carefully. They were intruders in the sewer's hidden and hermetic ecosystem. They had been keen to avoid the natives. Eventually they had emerged behind Saltpetre Station, blinking and dripping in the waning light.

They had bedded down in a little deserted hut beside the railway in Griss Fell. It was an audacious hideout. Just before the Sud Line crossed the Tar by c.o.c.ks...o...b..Bridge, a collapsed building made a huge slope of half-crushed brick and concrete splinters that seemed to sh.o.r.e up the raised railway. At the top, dramatically silhouetted, they saw the wooden shack.

Its purpose was unclear: it had obviously remained untouched for years. The four of them had crawled exhausted up the industrial scree, shoving the construct before them, through the ripped-up wire that was supposed to protect the railway from intruders. In the minutes between trains, they had hauled themselves along the little fringe of scrubby gra.s.s that surrounded the tracks, and pushed open the door into the hut's dusty darkness.

There, finally, they had relaxed.

The wood of the shed was warped, its slats ill-fitting and interspersed with sky. They had watched out of the gla.s.sless windows as trains burst by them in both directions. Below them to the north, the Tar twisted in the tight S that contained Petty Coil and Griss Twist. The sky had darkened to a grubby blue-black. They could see illuminated pleasure-boats on the river. The ma.s.sive industrial pillar of Parliament loomed a little way to the east, looking down on them and on the city. A little downriver from Strack Island, the chymical lights of the old city watergates hissed and sputtered and reflected their greasy yellow glow in the dark water. Two miles to the north-east, just visible behind Parliament, were the Ribs, those antique sallow bones.

From the other side of the cabin they saw the spectacularly darkening sky, made even more astonishing by a day in the reeking dun below New Crobuzon. The sun was gone, but only just. The sky was bisected by the skyrail that threaded through Flyside militia tower. The city was a layered silhouette, an intricate fading chimneyscape, slate roofs bracing each other obliquely below the plaited towers of churches to obscure G.o.ds, the huge priapic vents of factories spewing dirty smoke and burning off excess energy, monolithic towerblocks like vast concrete gravestones, the rough down of parkland.

They had rested, cleaned the nightsoil from their clothes as much as they could. Here, finally, Isaac had tended the stub of Derkhan's ear. It had numbed, but was still painful. She bore it with heavy reserve. Isaac and Lemuel had fingered their own scarred remnants uncomfortably.

As the night had crept up faster, Isaac had readied himself to go. The argument had erupted again. Isaac was resolute. He needed to see Lin alone.

He had to tell her that she was in danger as soon as the militia connected her to him. He had to tell her that her life as she had lived it was over, and that it was his fault. He needed to ask her to come with him, to run with him. He needed her forgiveness and her affection.

One night with her, alone. That was all.

Lemuel would not acquiesce. "It's our f.u.c.king heads too, 'Zaac," he had hissed. "Every militiaman in the city is after your hide. Your helio's probably pasted up in every tower and strut and floor of the Spike. You don't know how to get around. Me, I've been wanted all my working life. If you go for your ladybird, I come."

Isaac had had to give in.

At half past ten, the four companions had wrapped themselves in their ruined clothes, obscuring their faces. After much coaxing, Isaac had finally been able to goad the construct into communication. Reluctantly and torturously slowly, it had scratched out its message.

Griss Twist Dump number 2, it had written. it had written. Tomorrow night 10. Leave me below arches now. Tomorrow night 10. Leave me below arches now.

With the darkness, they had realized, came the nightmares. Even though they did not sleep. The mental nausea, as the slake-moth dung polluted the city's sleep. Each of them grew tetchy and nervous.

Isaac had stashed his carpet bag, containing the components of his crisis engine, under a pile of wooden slats in the shack. Then they had descended, carrying the construct for the last time. Isaac hid it in an alcove created where the structure of the railway bridge had crumbled.

"Are you going to be all right?" he asked it tentatively, still feeling absurd talking to a machine. The construct did not answer him, and eventually he had left it. "See you tomorrow," he said as he left.

The criminal foursome skulked and stalked their clandestine way through New Crobuzon's burgeoning night. Lemuel had taken his companions into the alternative city of hidden byways and strange cartography. They had evaded streets wherever there were alleys and alleys wherever there were broken channels in the concrete. They had crept through deserted yards and over flat roofs, waking the vagrants who grumbled and huddled together in their wake.

Lemuel was confident. He swung his primed and loaded pistol easily as he climbed and ran, keeping them covered. Yagharek had adapted to his body without the weight of wings. His hollow bones and tight muscles moved efficiently. He swung lithely over the architectural landscape, leaping obstacles in the slate. Derkhan was dogged. She would not let herself fail to keep up.

Isaac was the only one whose suffering showed. He wheezed and coughed and retched. He hauled his excess flesh along the thieves' trails, breaking slates with his heavy slapping footfall, cradling his belly miserably. He swore constantly, every time he exhaled.

They cut a trail deeper into the night, as if it were a forest. With every step, the air grew heavier. A sense of wrongness, of fraught unease, as if long nails sc.r.a.ped the surface of the moon, raising the hackles of the soul. From all around them came the cries of miserable, disturbed sleep.

They stopped in Flyside, a few streets from the militia tower, and took water from a pump to wash and drink. Then south through the mora.s.s of alleys between Shadrach Street and Selchit Pa.s.s, bearing down on Aspic Hole.

And there in that near-deserted and unearthly place, Isaac had bade his companions wait. Between sobs of desperate breath, he begged them to wait, to give him half an hour with her.

"You've got to give me a little while to explain to her what's going on . . ." he pleaded.

They acquiesced, and hunkered down in the darkness at the base of the building.

"Half an hour, 'Zaac," said Lemuel clearly. "Then we're coming up. Understand?"

And so Isaac had begun slowly to climb the stairs.

The tower was cool and quite silent. On the seventh floor, Isaac heard sound for the first time. It was the sleepy murmur and unceasing flutter of jackdaws. Up again, through the breezes that pa.s.sed through the ruined and unsafe eighth floor, and on to the building's crest.

He stood before Lin's familiar door. She may not be there, She may not be there, he reasoned. he reasoned. She's probably still with that guy, her patron, doing her work. In which case I'll just have to . . . leave a message for her. She's probably still with that guy, her patron, doing her work. In which case I'll just have to . . . leave a message for her.

He knocked at the door, which fell open. His breath stalled in his throat. He rushed into the room.

The air stank of putrefying blood. Isaac scanned the little attic s.p.a.ce. He caught sight of what awaited him.

Lucky Gazid gazed up at him sightlessly, propped on one of Lin's chairs, sitting at the table as if at a meal. His shape was outlined in what little light crept up from the square below. Gazid's arms were flat on the table. His hands were tense and hard as bone. His mouth was open and stuffed with something that Isaac could not clearly see. Gazid's front was utterly drenched with blood. Blood had slicked on the table, seeping deep into the grain of the wood. Gazid's throat had been cut. In the summer heat it thronged with hungry little night insects.

There was a second when Isaac thought that it might be a nightmare, one of the sick dreams that afflicted the city, spewing out of his unconscious on a slick of slake-moth dung and spattering into the aether.

But Gazid did not disappear. Gazid was real, and really dead.

Isaac looked at him. He blenched at Gazid's screaming face. He looked again at the clawed hands. Gazid had been held down at the table, cut and held down until he died. Then something had been shoved into his gaping mouth.

Isaac picked his way towards the corpse. He set his face and reached up, pulled from Gazid's dry mouth a large envelope.

When he unrolled it, he saw that the name carefully written on the front was his own. He reached inside with a nauseous foreboding.

There was a moment, a tiny moment, when he did not recognize what he pulled out. Flimsy and almost weightless, it felt as he drew it out like crumbling parchment, like dead leaves. Then he held it in the faint grey light of the moonlit room and he saw it was a pair of khepri wings.

Isaac let out a sound, an exhalation of shocked misery. His eyes widened in horror.

"Oh no," he said, hyperventilating. "Oh no oh no no no . . ."

The wings had been bent and rolled, and their delicate substance was shattered. They desquamated in great clots of translucent matter. Isaac's fingers trembled as he tried to smooth them down. His fingertips brushed their battered surface. He was humming a single note, a tremulous keening. He fumbled with the envelope, brought out a single sheet of folded paper.

It was typewritten, with a chessboard or patchwork standard printed at its top. As he read it, Isaac began to cry out wordlessly.

Copy 1: Aspic Hole. Copy 1: Aspic Hole.

(Others to be delivered to Brock Marsh, Salacus Fields) Mr. Dan der Grimnebulin, Mr. Dan der Grimnebulin, Khepri cannot make sounds, but I judge by the chymicals she was exuding and the trembling of those b.u.g.g.e.r legs that Lin found the removal of these useless wings a deeply unpleasant experience. I don't doubt that her lower body would also have been fighting us had we not strapped the bug-b.i.t.c.h in a chair. Khepri cannot make sounds, but I judge by the chymicals she was exuding and the trembling of those b.u.g.g.e.r legs that Lin found the removal of these useless wings a deeply unpleasant experience. I don't doubt that her lower body would also have been fighting us had we not strapped the bug-b.i.t.c.h in a chair. Lucky Gazid can give you this message, as it is he I have to thank for your interference. Lucky Gazid can give you this message, as it is he I have to thank for your interference. I gather that you have been trying to squeeze in on the dreams.h.i.t market. At first I thought you might have wanted all that 's.h.i.t you bought from Gazid for yourself, but the idiot man's wittering eventually turned to your caterpillar in Brock Marsh, and I realized the magnitude of your scheme. I gather that you have been trying to squeeze in on the dreams.h.i.t market. At first I thought you might have wanted all that 's.h.i.t you bought from Gazid for yourself, but the idiot man's wittering eventually turned to your caterpillar in Brock Marsh, and I realized the magnitude of your scheme. You would never get top grade 's.h.i.t from a moth weaned on human-consumption dreams.h.i.t, of course, but you could have charged less for your inferior product. It is in my interest to keep all my customers connoisseurs. I will tolerate no compet.i.tion. You would never get top grade 's.h.i.t from a moth weaned on human-consumption dreams.h.i.t, of course, but you could have charged less for your inferior product. It is in my interest to keep all my customers connoisseurs. I will tolerate no compet.i.tion. As I have subsequently learnt, and as one might have expected from an amateur, you couldn't control your d.a.m.n producer. Your s.h.i.t-fed runt escaped through your incompetence, and liberated its siblings. You stupid man. As I have subsequently learnt, and as one might have expected from an amateur, you couldn't control your d.a.m.n producer. Your s.h.i.t-fed runt escaped through your incompetence, and liberated its siblings. You stupid man. Here are my demands. (i) That you give yourself up to Here are my demands. (i) That you give yourself up to me me immediately. (ii) That you return the remains of the dreams.h.i.t you stole from me through Gazid, or pay me compensation (sum to be arranged). (iii) That you pursue the task of recapturing my producers, along with your pathetic specimen, to be handed over to me immediately. After such time as this, we will discuss your continued life. immediately. (ii) That you return the remains of the dreams.h.i.t you stole from me through Gazid, or pay me compensation (sum to be arranged). (iii) That you pursue the task of recapturing my producers, along with your pathetic specimen, to be handed over to me immediately. After such time as this, we will discuss your continued life. While we wait to hear your response, I will continue my discussions with Lin. I have been enjoying her company greatly over these last weeks, and relish the chance to deal with her more closely. We have a little wager. While we wait to hear your response, I will continue my discussions with Lin. I have been enjoying her company greatly over these last weeks, and relish the chance to deal with her more closely. We have a little wager. She She bets that you will respond to this epistle while she still retains some of her headlegs. bets that you will respond to this epistle while she still retains some of her headlegs. I I remain unconvinced. The current rate is one headleg every two days we do not hear from you after today. Who will be proved right? remain unconvinced. The current rate is one headleg every two days we do not hear from you after today. Who will be proved right? I will rip them from her while she twitches and spits, do you understand? And within two weeks I will tear her carapace from her headbody and feed her living head to the rats. I will I will rip them from her while she twitches and spits, do you understand? And within two weeks I will tear her carapace from her headbody and feed her living head to the rats. I will personally personally hold her down while they lunch. hold her down while they lunch. I very much look forward to hearing from you soon. I very much look forward to hearing from you soon. Yours sincerely, Yours sincerely, Motley. Motley.

When Derkhan, Yagharek and Lemuel reached the ninth floor, they could hear Isaac's voice. He was talking slowly, in low tones. They could not make out what he was saying, but it sounded like a monologue. He was not pausing to hear or see any responses.

Derkhan knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, she pushed it tentatively open and peered inside.

She saw Isaac and another man. It was only a few seconds before she recognized Gazid, and saw that he had been butchered. She gasped and moved slowly inside, letting Yagharek and Lemuel slip in behind her.

They stood and stared at Isaac. He was sitting on the bed, holding a pair of insectile wings and a piece of paper. He looked up at them and his murmuring subsided. He was crying without a sound. He opened his mouth and Derkhan moved over to him, grasped his hands. He sobbed and hid his eyes, his face twisted with rage. Without a sound she took the letter and read it.

Her mouth quivered in horror. She emitted a mute little cry for her friend. She pa.s.sed the letter to Yagharek, shaking, controlling herself.

The garuda took it and perused it carefully. His reaction was invisible. He turned to Lemuel, who was examining Lucky Gazid's corpse.

"This one's been dead a while," he said, and accepted the letter.

His eyes widened as he read.

"Motley?" he breathed. "Lin's been dealing with he breathed. "Lin's been dealing with Motley Motley?"

"Who is he?" shouted Isaac. shouted Isaac. "Where is the f.u.c.king piece of sc.u.m . . . ?" "Where is the f.u.c.king piece of sc.u.m . . . ?"

Lemuel looked up at Isaac, his face open and aghast. Pity glimmered in his eyes as he saw Isaac's tear-stained, snotty rage.