Perdido Street Station - China Mieville [129]
“I don’t think so, ambassador. I’ll save that for another time. I have a proposition.”
“Go on, Mayor Rudgutter.”
“Well, you know the manner of thing that has escaped, and you can understand our concern to remedy the situation as quickly as possible.” The ambassador nodded. “You can also understand that it will be difficult for us to proceed, and that time is of the essence . . . I propose that we hire some of your . . . ah . . . troops, to help us round up our escapees.”
“No,” said the ambassador simply. Rudgutter blinked.
“We haven’t even discussed terms yet, ambassador. I assure you I can make a very generous offer . . .”
“I’m afraid it is out of the question. None of my kind are available.” The ambassador stared impassively at Rudgutter.
The mayor thought for a moment. If the ambassador was bargaining, he was doing so in a way he had never done before. Rudgutter forgot himself, closed his eyes to think, snapping them immediately open as he saw that monstrous vista, caught a glimmer of the ambassador’s other form. He tried again.
“I could even go up to . . . let’s say . . .”
“Mayor Rudgutter, you don’t understand,” said the ambassador. Its voice was impassive, but it seemed agitated. “I don’t care how many units of merchandise you can offer, or in what condition. We are not available for this job. It is not suitable.”
There was a long silence. Rudgutter gazed with incredulity at the dæmon opposite him. It was beginning to dawn on him what was happening. In the bleeding rays of light, he saw the ambassador open a drawer and bring out a sheaf of papers.
“If you are finished, Mayor Rudgutter,” he continued smoothly, “I have work to do.”
Rudgutter waited until the miserable, pitiless resonance of work to do to do to do had died down outside. The echo made his stomach pitch.
“Oh, yes, yes, ambassador,” he said. “So sorry to have kept you. We’ll speak again soon, I hope.”
The ambassador inclined its head in a polite nod, then drew out a pen from its inner pocket and began to mark the papers. Behind Rudgutter, Vansetty twiddled at nobs and depressed various buttons, and the wooden floor began to tremble as if in some ætherquake. A hum built up around the cramped humans, wobbling in their little energy field. The foul air vibrated up and down their bodies.
The ambassador bulged and split and disappeared in an instant, like a heliotype in a fire. The moiling carmine light bubbled and evaporated, as if it seeped out through a thousand cracks in the dusty office walls. The darkness of the room closed in around them like a trap. Vansetty’s tiny candle guttered and went out.
Checking that they were unobserved, Vansetty, Rudgutter, Stem-Fulcher and Rescue stumbled from the room. The air felt deliciously chill. They spent a minute wiping sweat from their faces, rearranging the clothes that had been buffeted by winds from other planes.
Rudgutter was shaking his head in rueful astonishment.
His ministers composed themselves and turned to him.
“I’ve met with the ambassador perhaps a dozen times over the past ten years,” said Rudgutter, “and I’ve never seen it behave like that. Damn that air!” he added, rubbing his eyes.
The four walked back along the little corridor, turned onto the main passageway and began to retrace their steps towards the lift.
“Behave like what?” asked Stem-Fulcher. “I’ve only ever dealt with it once before. Not used to it.”
Rudgutter mused as he walked, tugging thoughtfully at his lower lip and his beard. His eyes were very bloodshot. He did not answer Stem-Fulcher for some seconds.
“There are two things to be said: one dæmonological, one practical and immediate.” Rudgutter spoke in a level, exact tone, demanding the attention of his ministers. Vansetty was wandering quickly ahead, his job done. “The first might give a certain insight into the Hellkin psyche, behaviour, whatnot. You both heard the echo, I presume? I thought he did that to intimidate me, for a while. Well, bear in mind the