Perdido Street Station - China Mieville [62]
Derkhan nodded slowly and appreciatively.
“Sounds very tasty. What are we talking? Drugs? Prostitutes?”
“Shit, sure as eggs Rudgutter’s got fingers in every fucking pie you can think of. They all have. Churn out the commodity, grab the profit, get the militia to tidy up your customers afterwards, get a new crop of Remade or slave-miners for the Arrowhead pits, keep the jails full . . . nice as you like. I don’t know what this grass has in mind particularly, and they’re fucking nervous, apparently, ready to do a bunk. But you know me, Dee. Softly softly.” He winked at her. “I won’t let this one get away.”
“Keep me posted, won’t you?” Derkhan said. Benjamin nodded.
Derkhan bundled her collection of papers into a bag, hiding them under assorted detritus. She stood.
“Right. I have my orders. That three shekels, by the way, includes fourteen copies of Double-R sold.”
“Good stuff,” said Benjamin, and found a particular notebook among the many on his desk to record the fact. He stood and gestured Derkhan through the doorway and the wardrobe. She waited in his tiny bedroom as he shut off the lights in the press.
“Is Grimwhatsisname still buying?” he asked through the hole. “That scientist geezer?”
“Yes. He’s quite good.”
“I heard a funny rumour about him the other day,” said Benjamin, emerging through the wardrobe, wiping his oily hands on a rag. “Is he the same one who’s after birds?”
“Oh, yes, he’s doing some experiment or other. You been listening to criminals, Benjamin?” Derkhan grinned. “He’s collecting wings. I think he makes it a point of principle never to buy things officially when he can go through illicit channels.”
Benjamin shook his head appreciatively.
“Well, the cove’s good at it. He knows how to get word out.”
As he spoke, he was leaning into the wardrobe and tugging the wooden rear back into position. He fastened it and turned to Derkhan.
“Righto,” he said. “We’d best get into character.”
Derkhan nodded curtly, and ruffled her white wig somewhat. She undid her intricate shoelaces. Benjamin untucked his shirt. He held his breath and swung his arms from side to side, until he went deep red. He exhaled in a sudden burst, and breathed hard. He squinted at Derkhan.
“Come on,” he said imploringly. “Cut me some slack. What of me reputation? You could at least look tired . . .”
She grinned at him and, sighing, rubbed her face and eyes.
“Oooh, Mr. B,” she squeaked absurdly. “You’re the best I ever had!”
“More like it . . .” he muttered, and winked.
They unlocked the door and stepped out into the corridor. Their preparations had been unnecessary. They were alone.
Far below, the sound of meat-grinders could be heard.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Lin woke with Isaac’s head next to hers, she stared at it for a long time. She let her antennae flutter in the wind from his breath. It had, she thought, been much too long since she had enjoyed the sight of him like this.
She rolled slightly to her side and stroked him. He muttered and his mouth set. His lips pursed and popped open as he breathed. She ran her hands over his bulk.
She was pleased with herself, pleased and proud at what she had effected last night. She had been miserable and lonely, and she had taken a risk, angering Isaac by coming unbidden to his side of town. But she had managed to make the evening work.
Lin had not intended to play on Isaac’s sympathy, but his anger had turned so quickly to concern at her demeanour. She had realized with a vague satisfaction that she was visibly exhausted and low, that she did not have to convince him of her need for mollycoddling. He was even recognizing emotions in the movement of her headbody.
There was one positive side to Isaac’s attempts not to be seen as her lover. When they walked the streets together, without touching, at a gentle pace, it mimicked the shyness of young humans courting.
There was no equivalent