The Scar - China Mieville [162]
Almost at the far end of the table was a monk-robed man: the Bask contingent. Beside him sat an unkempt man of sixty or so. Bellis recognized him from posters—he was trader-king Friedrich of Thee-And-Thine. Beside him was another man, his face grey and scarred: the general of Shaddler.
The largest assembly by far was from the Curhouse. A sizable portion of the entire Democratic Council seemed to have attended—men and women of a gaggle of races, squeezed into a tight little circle abutting the main table like a cog on a gear. They whispered constantly among themselves and watched the Garwater representatives with visible hostility.
There they were, on the far right of the table: the Lovers. Watching, not speaking. Sitting beside each other quietly, their faces mirror images of violence.
And opposite them, his eyes on them with a far more careful, a far more intelligent gaze than the defensive animosity of the Curhouse Councilors, was a pale man Bellis had never seen, dressed in dark and simple clothes. His nose was broad and his lips very full. His coiled hair was all that was unruly about him. His eyes were extraordinary. Dark and intensely clear. Mesmeric.
With a little shiver, Bellis realized that he was the leader of Dry Fall riding, the greatest rival to the Lovers. He was the reason that the meeting took place after sundown. He was the vampir—the Brucolac.
It was obvious that this meeting was a formality and that the positions of the protagonists had already been decided over a long time. The arguments and discussions were stilted, the unspoken allegiances and enmities all half visible. Bellis spoke when she was addressed, offering her brief opinion on some matter of language.
There were five ridings in favor of the Lovers’ schemes. Booktown seemed genuinely enthused by the Garwater plan; Jhour and Shaddler were in its pay and would do whatever was asked of them. Friedrich of Thee-And-Thine sold his vote to the Lovers, unashamedly, knowing that they could outpay any other riding.
Only Bask and Curhouse, who acted together, and the Brucolac of Dry Fall, who stood alone, opposed the Lovers. It was five to three. The plan could go ahead immediately.
“We weren’t informed,” said Vordakine of the Curhouse Council, a hard-faced woman who excoriated the Lovers for their dishonesty. She was trying desperately to sway Friedrich, or the khepri of Booktown. “We weren’t told of Garwater’s intentions when its raiders returned towing the Crobuzoner rig Sorghum. At that time the talk was all of increased energy and power, elyctric generation and cheap oil. Rockmilk was never mentioned then. And now it appears that all that cheap power had already been allocated to this avanc project. Who’s to say what they have in mind when the avanc is secured?”
For the first time, the Brucolac sat up. He kept his eyes on the Lovers’ party—specifically, Bellis realized, on Doul.
“Well that is the rub,” he said unexpectedly. His voice was harsh and sounded torn from his throat. “That is the question.” His long, forked tongue flickered. Bellis opened her eyes wide. “What is in mind? What could one do with an avanc? Where could one go?”
Trader-king Friedrich shifted and spat. Vordakine appealed to him, reminding him of commitments and past favors about which Bellis knew nothing. He looked away. She could not change his mind. Friedrich glanced at the Lovers, and they smiled at him, and nodded simultaneously.
We will buy you, they said with that motion, and if Curhouse and Bask or anyone else wishes to oppose us, we will simply offer more than them. Name your price.
Across the room, those opposed to the avanc’s invocation looked old and tired.
The rig, the book, Krüach Aum himself—the Lovers’ plans were always, Bellis realized, bound to go ahead.
In the night outside the windows, the storm was still visible miles away, blooming briefly