Perdido Street Station - China Mieville [66]
But most of them are here. And when you’re here, it must be difficult to get out . . .
“I’d suppose so. Bit of an understatement, in fact . . .”
They crossed a brook and slowed as they approached the outlands of Spatters. Lin crossed her arms and shook her headbody.
What am I doing here? she signed sardonically.
“You’re expanding your mind,” said Isaac cheerfully. “Important to learn how other races live in our fair city.”
He tugged at her arm until, mock-protesting, Lin allowed him to drag her out of the shade of the trees and into Spatters.
To get into Spatters, Isaac and Lin had to cross rickety bridges, planks thrown across the eight-foot ditch that separated the township from Vaudois Hill park. They walked in single file, their arms sometimes outstretched for balance.
Five feet below them, the trench was filled with a noisome gelatinous soup of shit and pollutants and acid rain. The surface was broken with bubbles of fell gas and bloated animal corpses. Here and there bobbed rusting tins and knots of fleshy tissue like tumours or aborted foetuses. The liquid undulated rather than rippled, contained by a thick surface tension so oily and strong that it would not break: the pebbles that fell from the bridge were swallowed without the slightest splash.
Even with one hand clapped over his mouth and nose against the stench, Isaac could not contain himself. Halfway across the plank he let out a bark of revulsion that turned into a retch. He controlled himself before he puked. To stagger on that bridge, to lose one’s balance and fall, was too utterly vile a thought to consider.
The taste of the slurry in the air made Lin feel nearly as queasy as Isaac. By the time they stepped onto the other side of the wooden slats, both Lin’s and Isaac’s good humour had entirely worn off. They trudged in silence into the maze.
Lin found it easy to orient herself with such low buildings: the copse of blocks they sought was clearly visible just before the station. Sometimes she walked ahead of Isaac, sometimes he ahead of her. They picked their way over channels of sewage that ran between houses. They were unmoved. They were beyond disgust.
The inhabitants of Spatters came to stare.
Sour-faced men and women, and hundreds of children, all dressed in bizarre combinations of rescued clothes and sewn sackcloth. Little hands and fingers clutched at Lin as she passed. She slapped at them, walked in front of Isaac. Voices all around them started murmuring, and then a clamouring for money started up. No one made any attempt to stop them.
Isaac and Lin trudged stolidly through the twisted streets, keeping the towerblocks in their sights. They trailed a crowd. As they grew closer, the shapes of the garuda fleeting through the air above became clear.
A fat man nearly as large as Isaac stepped out in front of them.
“Squire, bugger,” he shouted curtly, nodding at both of them. His eyes were quick. Isaac nudged Lin, indicated her to stop.
“What d’you want?” said Isaac impatiently.
The man spoke very quickly.
“Well, visitors being unco down the Spatters I was chewing on whether you’d fancy a little helpster, like.”
“Don’t be an arse, man,” Isaac roared. “I’m not a visitor. Last time I was here I was the guest of Savage Peter,” he continued ostentatiously. He paused for the whispers that the name invoked. “Now, at the present I’m after a little chinwag with them.” He jerked his finger at the garuda. The fat man recoiled slightly.
“You’re for conflabbing with the bird-boys? What’s that about, squire?”
“None of your sodding business! Question is, do you want to take me to their mansion?”
The man held up his hands, conciliatory.
“Shouldn’t have pried, squire, none of my concerns. Smiley to take you to the bird-boxes, for a measly little recompo.”
“Oh, for Jabber’s sake. Don’t worry, you’ll be taken care of. Just don’t,” yelled Isaac at everyone in the staring