Perdido Street Station - China Mieville [109]
Yagharek’s interest in the creature was short-lived. He replaced the wooden framework which hid his deformity onto his shoulders, and covered it with his cloak.
“I will take my leave, Grimnebulin,” he said. Isaac looked up from where the caterpillar held his attention.
“Right! Righto, Yag. I’ll get a move on with the . . . uh . . . engine. I know by now not to ask when I’ll see you, right? You’ll drop in when the time’s right.” He shook his head.
Yagharek was already at the bottom of the stairs. He turned once, briefly, and saluted Isaac, and then he left.
Isaac waved back. He was lost in thought, his hand remaining in the air for several seconds after Yagharek had gone. Eventually, he closed it with a soft clap and turned back to the caterpillar’s cage.
Its coat of wet threads was drying fast. The tail end was already stiff and immobile. It constrained the grub’s undulations, forcing it to perform more and more claustrophobic acrobatics in its attempt to cover itself. Isaac pulled his chair over in front of the cage to watch its efforts. He took notes.
A part of him told him that he was being intellectually dissolute, that he should compose himself and focus on the matter in hand. But it was a small part, and it whispered to him without confidence. Almost dutifully. There was, after all, nothing that was going to stop Isaac from taking the opportunity to watch this extraordinary phenomenon. He settled into his chair comfortably, pulled over a magnifying lens.
It took a little over two hours for the caterpillar to cover itself completely in a moist chrysalis. The most complicated manoeuvre was at the head itself. The grub had to spit itself a kind of collar, then allow it to dry a little before bunching itself up within its swaddling, making itself shorter and fatter for a few moments while it wove a lid, closing itself in. It pushed against it slowly, ensuring its strength, then exuded more of the cement-filaments until its head was completely covered, invisible.
For a few minutes the organic shroud quivered, expanding and contracting in response to the movements within. The white covering became brittle as he watched, changed colour to a drab nacre. It pendulumed very gently as minute air currents disturbed it, but its substance had hardened, and the motion of the grub within could no longer be discerned.
Isaac sat back and scrawled on the paper. Yagharek was almost certainly right about the thing having wings, he thought. The gently moving organic sac was like a textbook drawing of a butterfly or moth chrysalis, only vastly bigger.
Outside the light became thicker as the shadows lengthened.
The suspended cocoon had been motionless for more than half an hour when the door opened, startling Isaac to his feet.
“Anyone up there?” yelled David.
Isaac leaned over the railings and greeted him.
“Some chap came and dealt with the construct, David. Said you just had to stoke it up a bit and switch it on, said it should work.”
“Good stuff. I’m sick of the rubbish. We get all yours, as well. Would that be deliberate?” David grinned.
“Why no,” replied Isaac, ostentatiously shovelling dust and crumbs through the gaps in the railings with his foot. David laughed and wandered out of his sight. Isaac heard a metallic thud as David gave the construct an affectionate clout.
“I am also to tell you that your cleaner is a ‘lovely old thing,’ “ said Isaac formally. They both laughed. Isaac came and sat halfway down the stairs. He saw David shovelling some pellets of concentrated coke into the construct’s little boiler, an efficient triple-exchange model. David slammed shut and bolted the