The Scar - China Mieville [21]
There was a long silence. The two cray leaned in and whispered to each other.
“We hear many rumors . . .” King Skarakatchi said through the translator. Drood’adji looked at them both sharply. “But we have heard nothing of this. We can offer our support and sorrow to our friends of New Crobuzon—but no information.”
“I must tell you,” Captain Myzovic said after a murmured consultation with Cumbershum, “that I am deeply unhappy. New Crobuzon can no longer pay mooring rights for a rig that is not there. Our rent is hereby to be cut by a third. And I will be sending word back to the city about your inability to offer assistance. This must cast in some doubt the ability of Salkrikaltor to act as custodians of our interests. My government will wish to discuss this further. New arrangements may have to be made. Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, and drained his glass. “We will be staying one night in Salkrikaltor harbor. We’ll head off early tomorrow morning.”
“A moment, please, Captain.” The council leader raised his hand. He muttered quickly to Drood’adji, who nodded and scuttled gracefully out of the room. “There is one more matter to discuss.”
When Drood’adji returned, Bellis’ eyes widened. Behind him walked a human man.
He was so out of place it brought her up short. She stared like a fool.
The man was a little younger than she, with an open, cheerful face. He carried a large pack and wore clean but battered clothes. He smiled disarmingly at Bellis. She frowned slightly and broke eye contact.
“Captain Myzovic?” The man spoke Ragamoll with a New Crobuzon accent. “Lieutenant Commander Cumbershum?” He shook their hands. “And I’m afraid I don’t know your name, ma’am,” he said, his hand outstretched.
“Miss Coldwine is our translator, sir,” said the captain before Bellis could respond. “Your business is with me. Who are you?”
From his jacket the man pulled an official-looking scroll.
“That should explain everything, Captain,” he said.
The captain scrutinized it carefully. After half a minute he looked up sharply, waving the scroll disdainfully.
“What, by damn, is this idiocy?” he hissed suddenly, making Bellis start. He jabbed the scroll at Cumbershum.
“I think it makes matters reasonably clear, Captain,” said the man. “I have other copies, in case your anger overwhelms you. I’m afraid I’m going to have to commandeer your ship.”
The captain gave a hard bark of laughter. “Oh really?” He sounded dangerously tense. “Is that right, Mr. . . .” He leaned over and read the paper in his lieutenant’s hands. “Mr. Fennec? Is that right?”
Glancing at Cumbershum, Bellis realized that he was staring at the newcomer with astonishment and alarm. He interrupted the captain.
“Sir,” he said urgently. “Might I suggest that we thank our hosts and let them return to their business?” He looked meaningfully at the cray. The translator was listening carefully.
The captain hesitated and gave a curt nod. “Please inform our hosts that their hospitality is excellent,” he ordered Bellis brusquely. “Thank them for their time. We can find our own way out.”
As Bellis spoke, the cray bowed gracefully. The two councilors came forward and shook hands again, to the captain’s barely concealed fury. They left the way Mr. Fennec had come in.
“Miss Coldwine?” The captain indicated the door that led back to the submersible. “Wait for us outside, please. This is government business.”
Bellis lingered in the corridor, silently cursing. She could hear the captain’s bellicose roaring through the door. However she strained, though, she could not make out what was being said.
“Godsdammit,” she muttered, and returned to the featureless concrete room where the submersible sat like some grotesque wallowing creature. The cray attendant waited idly, softly clucking.
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