Iron Council - China Mieville [94]
A strange angst because there is such calm here now and it cannot sustain. The gendarmes have taken the guntower and one other car: the Remade have the rest of the train. The iron tower cracks in the heat, and the weapon at its top swivels.
The free men want to treat Shaun and Thick Shanks as leaders of a Remade rabble, but Ann-Hari stands with them, and with the pipe-woven man, whose name Judah learns is Uzman, and with other Remade.
—Take your boys back in. What you think they’re doing in there? the free workers’ speaker says. He points at the tower. —Getting ready is what. To take you. Now, we made our point. If you go back now, they’ll pay us up, and there’ll be no, no penalties . . .
He speaks to Shaun, but it is Uzman answers.
—You’ll get your money, and you’re telling us to give this back? The train?
He laughs, and the craziness of what the free men are asking is very evident. They want these Remade to unfree themselves. Uzman laughs. —We ain’t decided yet what we do here, he says. —But we decide.
There are shouted arguments like street meetings, out of the guntower’s lines, between Remade with Remade, layers, rust-eaters together, the tunnel-men. From the guntower come noises of industry. The strikers watch from behind blockades. The moon is split near exactly in half. It is waning. In its light and the lanterns’ and the phosphor of lux hexes, the men and women of the perpetual train gather.
—We can’t just wait, says Thick Shanks. —People are running already. Gods know how many gendarmes got out—too many horses are gone. Hand-trucks. And it ain’t just the overseers leaving, Uzman. We have to make them give in.
—Give in what? Ann-Hari speaks. The thing in Judah moves. —Give in what? What do you want from them, chaver? They’ve nothing to give us. They’re still scared—that’s why they’re in that tower—but when they start having to throw their shit out over the parapets, they’ll come out gunning.
They raise their voices. The crowd turns to them, slowly.
—We make demands, Thick Shanks says. —They’ll bring reinforcements. We have to have demands ready.
Shaun says, —Like what? You want them to free the fucking Remade? Ain’t going to happen. Recognise the new guilds? What is it we want?
—We have to link it up, Thick Shanks says. —We send our own riders back to New Crobuzon, talk to the guilds there, make joint demands. If we can get them to back us—
—You’re dreaming. You think they’ll do that? For us?
—We have to take control of this. This is ours, now, says Uzman.
Someone jeers and makes a noise about the godsdamned Remade. Ann-Hari shouts, and in her agitation her arcane hill Ragamoll asserts itself.
—Shut up, she says to the heckler. —You curse the Remade, as if it make you better. Why we here? You fought. You—she gestures at the tunnellers—you struck. Against us. Her lieutenant prostitutes nod. —But why did you fight the gendarmes? Because they, they Remade, wouldn’t scab. They wouldn’t. They took beating for you. To not break your strike. And they did it for us. For me.
Ann-Hari reaches out and grips Uzman and pulls him to her, he acquiescing with surprise. She kisses him on his mouth. He is Remade: it is a vivid transgression. There are shocks and exhalations, but Ann-Hari roars.
—These Remade strike for us, so you won’t be broken. You strike against us and we against you, but these Remade are on both our damn sides. You know it. You fought for them. You scorn them now? They won you your damn strike, and ours too, even though we strike against each other. She kisses Uzman again. Among the prostitutes, some are aghast and others are cheering. —I tell you, Ann-Hari says, —if anyone deserves service on credit, it’s the damn Remade.
The prostitutes closest to Ann-Hari