Iron Council - China Mieville [205]
“You’ll die. I’m here to tell you that.” He said it not like a warning, but as part of a conversation. He’ll not intercede again. This fucker helped for some religious craziness, some mercantile madness. Even against the government. But now we’re back he’s done with that. We’re home, we’ve done what’s needed, he has the way. He can do what he’s always wanted. It’s in Drogon’s head, the bastard, in the tracks we left.
“I want you to know you are magnificent. Such a brave thing, so strong. Like nothing I’d imagined. Well done, well done. You can end now.
“I tell you why I tell you this.
“It wouldn’t be seemly for you not to know. You should know what you’ve become. When you turn those last curves, and see the trainyard, and the militia.”
Cutter shook. Drogon watched him.
“Or you could go.”
Cutter’s heart beat faster as if it were only with the saying of it that Wrightby made it possible. As if he were giving him permission to escape. “You could go. Drogon wanted you to have that choice. That’s why I’m here.”
Drogon? Did you? Cutter had the strength, just, to move his eyes and look at his erstwhile companion. The ranch-hand hatted killer did not look up. Such attenuated camaraderie. What was this? Some last chance, granted to Cutter. I always had a chance, he thought, though he felt as if Drogon had given him a present.
“You’ve ridden history across the Rohagi steppes. You’ve made the TRT a truth though its name was always a lie before. It did—it crossed a continent. You can go now.
“Or. Or you could help us. You could help us cross back again. Once more. Leave the tracks behind us this time.” Wrightby looked at him and Drogon did not. “Drogon’s told me your facility, how you’ve learnt to travel, to grade, to scout. And you were always your own man. We know that. You could help us.”
Gods, Jabber, Jabber and shit, godspit, godshit, you ain’t saying that. You ain’t. The true of it. A revelation. So. Even through Drogon’s disabling hex, Cutter sneered.
That’s it? He tried to talk but could not. The expression he dragged across his face said it. You think what, you think what?
What do you think I am? Think I’m so cut off from them as I’ve fought and travelled and fucked with that I’d go, leave them for you? For your money crusade? All your religiose dung comes to this? This was a recruitment speech? You want me on your team? Because I know the way? Because I’ve done this? You want me on your team? What do you think I am?
He was melted with disgust, standing in his whisper-hexed stillness, his hands by his side.
“What do you say?” Wrightby said.
Deep in Cutter’s ear came Drogon’s voice: “Speak.”
“Fuck you,” said Cutter instantly. Wrightby nodded, waited.
“Get away from my fucking train. You bastards, you turncoat bastard, Drogon, you’ll never get away from us—” He breathed in to scream and Drogon silenced him again.
“We’ll not get past you?” Wrightby said. He looked quizzical. “I’m not sure. Really, I think we will. We’ll go now. I will be in the yard. When the train comes in. I’ll be there, waiting. Come if you want to, if you change your opinions.”
Drogon whispered again. Cutter was agonied by cramp. The whispersmith indicated a way through the hills, led Weather Wrightby away. He looked back and whispered to Cutter again.
“Just so you know,” he said. “I can’t see as it’ll make a spit of difference. But just in case. Because it has to finish now. Your mirrors are broken. Just to be sure.”
Weather Wrightby looked Cutter in the eyes. “You know where to find me.”
And they were gone, and Cutter was straining. Why didn’t you kill me, you fuckers?
His arm came up. It did not matter. He was no threat. What they had told him did not matter. The militia are waiting—he had said that for weeks. Everyone knew he thought that. However suddenly certain he was, it was what he had always said. Why would this change the Iron Council’s messianic plans?
There was another reason Drogon and Wrightby had left him alive. They still thought he might turn. They thought he might get out, leave the Council as it steamed