Iron Council - China Mieville [53]
“What’s your name, monk?” Cutter said.
“Qurabin. Eighth-ring red monk of Tekke Vogu.”
“Is that a man’s name?” There was a laugh.
“Our names don’t discriminate. Are you asking am I a man?” The voice was suddenly very close. “I don’t know.”
Every monk of Tekke Vogu was enfolded within the Moment, but it was a bargain. They would learn the hidden, and how to find the lost. But Vogu’s sacrament was sold, not given. The price for the Moment’s protection was something made lost, something hidden from the devotee, given to Vogu.
“I know monks who don’t know their names. Who had them hidden. Who lost their eyes. Their homes, or families. Me—when I submitted to Vogu it was my sex went hidden. I remember my childhood, but not if I was a boy or a girl. When I piss I look down but it’s hidden from me. My sex is lost.” Qurabin spoke without rancour.
“So you want us to clear out this thing that’s attacking?” Cutter said.
“Not me,” said Qurabin. “They want you, they want champions. There’s no point protecting this hovel.”
The party looked at each other.
“As gods go, you ain’t much by way of a protector, are you?” Elsie said.
“I didn’t say I was, did I? It’s them—they built the stupid town around me, and they keep wanting things from me. I didn’t ask this. Where was my protector? What Tesh did to me, I can do. Let the town burn.”
“That ain’t what you said before,” Cutter said, but Judah interrupted him.
“And who are you to say?”
He stepped forward and stared at the makeshift altar as if he could know that was where Qurabin hid. “Who are you to say?” His voice rose. “They come here, make what they can of this place, running from those who’d kill them because they live close to Tesh; they try to build something, and they make one mistake. To look for a god, and find one in you.
“They promised us help—promised us a guide. So tell us. We’ll find whatever it is and help them. And you can find us what we’re looking for.”
The forest wetness drip-dripped in the makeshift church.
“Tell us where it is. I don’t damn well believe you don’t care. You care. You want to tell us. You want to look after them. You know it. So tell. We got your offer. They need us to kill this thing, and then you give us what you promised.”
“I won’t take anything out of Vogu’s house for you—”
“I don’t want to hear about your damn piety, when you’ll take snippets out of your god’s house to impress the damn natives. Tell us where the beast is, and we’ll fix it, and then you tell us where the Iron Council is.”
“I don’t betray,” said Qurabin. “I buy. Everything I learn, I lose something. And it hurts. Vogu don’t give it up free. I unhid your man’s whore and daughter it stings, and I lose something. Lost and hidden by the Moment. I’m naked in front of you. I unhide this? Iron Council? It’ll cost me.”
There was silence and the dripping again.
“The beast,” Judah said. “Where is it?” There was long quiet.
“Wait,” said the voice, and again there was relief under the resentment. Tired of being a god, thought Cutter. He looked at Judah, who stood trembling and splendid. Qurabin was lost, Cutter saw. Broken. Eager for something, deserted and newly eager, before righteous Judah.
“I try,” said the voice, and gave a glottal retching. When Qurabin sounded again, it was with pain, in the voice of one used to pain.
“Damnfire. Damn. It’s unhidden. The beast.”
“What did you lose?” said Cutter.
“Someone’s name.” Someone who mattered, Cutter could hear.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was dawn when they reached the dank place. Mud and dangerous paths, and stripped white trees. The marsh sweated. Trees rustled but barely.
They came, the New Crobuzon outcasts, Susullil and Behellua, a tiny number of brave Hiddentown men.