Perdido Street Station - China Mieville [157]
“Shit, no! I didn’t think . . . even then I thought we could deal with it. I mean Jabber, I was pissed off with Isaac, I was completely at a loss, but I thought maybe we could find some way of tracking the damn thing down, fixing Lub . . . Well, first off there starts being more and more of these things, these stories about people’s . . . minds going . . . But the main thing was that we tracked down who got these things to ’Zaac. It’s some fucking clerk nicking them from R&D in the sodding Parliament. And I’m thinking ‘Fuck, I don’t want to muck about with the government.’ “ The man on the bed nodded at David’s judgement. “So then I’m thinking we’re way, way out of our depth . . .”
David paused. The man on the bed opened his mouth and David cut him off.
“No, listen! It doesn’t stop there! ’Cause I heard about the riot down in Kelltree, and I know you’ve banged up the editor of Runagate Rampant, right?” The man waited, flicked imaginary lint from his jacket in an automatic motion. The fact had not been advertised, but the ruined abattoir left no doubt that some pit of sedition had been raided in Dog Fenn, and rumours abounded. “So one of Isaac’s friends is a writer on the damn thing, and she’s contacted the editor—I don’t know how, some fucking thaumaturgy—and he’s told her two things. One is that the inquisitors . . . your lot . . . think he knows something he doesn’t, and the other is that they’re asking him about some story in Double-R and the contact for the story, who presumably does know whatever they think he does, is called Barbile. So get this! That’s who our clerk nicked the monster caterpillar from!”
David paused at this, waited for it to impact on the man, then continued.
“So it’s all connecting and I do not know what’s going on. And I don’t want to. I can just see that we’re . . . treading on your toes. Maybe it’s a coincidence but I can’t see it myself . . . I don’t mind chasing monsters but I am not getting on the wrong side of the fucking militia, and the secret police, and the government and everything. You have to clear this shit up.”
The man on the bed clasped his hands. David remembered something else.
“Damn, yeah, listen! I’ve been racking my brains, trying to work out what’s going on, and . . . well, I don’t know if this is right, but is it something to do with crisis energy?”
The man shook his head very slowly, his face guarded, not comprehending. “Go on,” he said.
“Well, at one point during the run-up to all this, Isaac lets slip . . . sort of hints . . . that he’s built a . . . a working crisis engine . . . d’you know what that means?”
The man’s face was set hard and his eyes were very wide.
“I am a liaison for those who report from Brock Marsh,” he hissed. “I know what it would mean . . . it cannot . . . is it . . . Wait a minute, that would make no sense . . . is it . . . is it true?” For the first time, the man seemed truly rattled.
“I don’t know,” said David hopelessly. “But he wasn’t boasting . . . he sort of mentioned it in passing . . . I just . . . have no idea. But I know that’s what he’s been working on, on and off, for years and fucking years . . .”
There was a long time of silence, when the man on the bed looked thoughtfully into the far corner of the room. His face ran a quick gamut of emotions. He looked thoughtfully at David. “How do you know all this?” he said.
“ ’Zaac trusts me,” said David (and that place inside him winced again, and he ignored it again). “At first this woman . . .”
“Name?” interrupted the man.
David hesitated.
“Derkhan Blueday,” he muttered eventually. “So Blueday, at first she’s really chary of talking in front of me, but Isaac . . . he vouches for me. He knows my politics, we’ve done demos together . . .” (again that wince: you have no politics, you fucking traitor) “It’s just that at a time like this . . .” he hesitated, unhappy. The man waved peremptorily. He had no interest in David’s guilt, or his rationalizations. “So Isaac tells her she can trust me and she tells