Aurorarama - Jean-Christophe Valtat [60]
The Scavengers did not answer, but one of them turned and went back into the Fisheries, while the other stood by, looking indifferent. They were working hard at their own myth, Gabriel could tell, but then, as much could be said about everyone in New Venice.
A third “plague doctor” came out and examined Gabriel for a long time through the glass beads that hid his eyes.
“Pocketful of posies,” the Scavenger eventually grumbled in a cavernous voice, while he gestured for Gabriel to come inside. The place was known to be harder to get into than the trendiest club in town, and it was almost with an insider’s pride that the not quite clubbable Gabriel followed the square, faintly smelly black oilcloth silhouette.
“Mr. Orsini’s friends are our friends,” said the man in a strong, hoarse accent, leading Gabriel through the entrance. “My people call me Blankbate.”
The name was well known to Gabriel. Brentford had described the man, whose face he had never seen, as the “ganger” of the Scavengers: not quite the chief, as they professed to have none of that, but an elected, especially trusted member, who solved whatever problems came up regarding the outer world. If this was the same man that Gabriel had once seen crushing Delwit Faber in a trash compactor, he not only solved problems, he dissolved them.
“I’m Gabriel Lancelot d’Allier,” Gabriel answered.
The mask nodded under its wide-brimmed black hat.
“We’ve met before. You may be the man we are, or the dead lady was, looking for.”
He stopped in front of a door and faced Gabriel.
“But before we go there, I have something to tell you. When you arrived, we were helping someone who needs a hiding place. You are now going to meet that person, but it would be better if you kept it secret.”
“You have my word of honour,” said Gabriel, who was rather happy to give it sincerely for once.
Blankbate led Gabriel into a wide circular room that was decorated with a disgusting trash-made mosaic of the Fisher-King on a raft, fishing garbage with his mouth. But the most astonishing sight was that of a blonde, bony woman in a fur coat drinking coffee from a crude mug, accompanied by another Scavenger. Gabriel recognized her instantly, in spite of the thousands of days and nights that had passed “like zebras in a haze,” as one of her songs put it, since he had last seen her.
“Sandy Lake?”
“I’m known as Lilian Lenton now.”
He could see she was straining to put a name to his face. He helped her.
“Of course,” she said pleasantly and almost convincingly. “I’m sorry. I have had a rather hard day.”
“I’ve heard that, yes. You are … escaping the law?” he asked, recalling what Wynne had told him about the riot.
“I was rescued from the hospital before I had to. Thanks to these men.”
She turned toward the other Scavenger.
“You are sure Vera will not have any problems because of me?” she asked him.
“I tied her up. She won’t be suspected,” answered the other Scavenger, who spoke even more laconically than Blankbate. As for Nurse Vera, thought Gabriel, she was, decidedly, quite a useful character.
It was now Blankbate who spoke to the rescuer.
“You haven’t been seen?”
“We did this while collecting the Garbage. This lady here just slid down the chute into a bag. All anyone would have seen was just us picking up the trash.”
“I’m flattered,” said Lilian, with a bow.
“This man comes to see your finding,” said Blankbate to the other Scavenger, casually switching subjects, as if this kind of rescue operation against the Council were just part of their normal job and demanded no further comment. “Which means we are all going in the same direction. This is Chipp, by the way,” he added for Gabriel’s benefit, “the man who found the dead lady.”
“Enchanted,” Gabriel said. He knew the name as well. Chipp had been part of Brentford’s own gang during the duke’s brief sub rosa stint as a Scavenger. He felt like saying he had heard about him, but given the Scavengers’ obsession with secrecy, this might not have come across as the most endearing approach.