The Scar - China Mieville [219]
It is ten miles from New Crobuzon to the estuary, to the edge of Iron Bay.
I keep finding myself in that place, in my memories, beyond the city, poised between the land and the sea.
I have lost my seasons. I left when autumn became winter, and that is the last strong sense I have of time. Since then the heat and cool and cold and heat again have been chaotic, ill-mannered, random, to me.
Perhaps it is autumn again in Nova Esperium.
In New Crobuzon, it is spring.
I have knowledge that I cannot use, on a journey I cannot control, the aims of which I do not share or understand, and I am longing for a home I fled, and for a place I have never seen.
There are birds beyond these walls, sounding to each other, violent and stupid, wrestling with the wind, and with my eyes closed I can pretend to watch them; I can pretend to be on any ship, anywhere in the world.
But I open my eyes (I must), and I am still here, in this Senate chamber again, standing beside Tanner Sack, and my head is lowered, and I am in chains.
A few feet in front of Bellis and Tanner, Uther Doul was concluding his address to the city’s rulers: the Lovers, Dynich, the new Curhouse Council, and all the others. It was after dark. The Brucolac was also attending. He was the only ruler not marked by the war—all the others bore scars or blasted expressions. The rulers listened to Uther Doul. Now and then they glanced at the prisoners.
Bellis watched them watching her and saw the anger in their eyes. Tanner Sack could not look up. He was wrapped very tight in misery and shame.
“We’re agreed,” said Uther Doul. “We must move quickly. We can assume that what we’ve been told is correct. We must bring Silas Fennec in, immediately. And we can also assume that if he hasn’t yet worked out that we’re hunting him, he will do so soon.”
“But how did he fucking do it?” shouted King Friedrich. “I mean, I understand about this fucking package, this fucking message . . .” He glared at Bellis and Tanner. “But how did Fennec get hold of a fucking lodestone? The compass factory, for fuck’s sake . . . it’s guarded tighter than my fucking treasury. How did he get in?”
“That we don’t yet know,” said Uther Doul, “and it is one of the very first things we’ll ask him. As far as possible, we have to keep this business quiet. As Simon Fench, Fennec . . . is . . . not without supporters,” Doul went on. The Lovers did not look at each other. “We shouldn’t risk . . . angering any citizens. We need to move now. Does anyone know how we might start?”
Dynich coughed and raised his hand. “I have heard rumors,” he began hesitantly, “that Fench operates out of certain drinking holes—“
“King, let me speak,” the Brucolac interrupted in his scraped-up voice. Everyone looked at him in surprise. The vampir seemed unusually hesitant. He sighed and unrolled his flickering tongue, then continued.
“It’s no secret that Dry Fall riding has strong differences with the rulers of Garwater over the summoning of the avanc, and the city’s trajectory—which is still undisclosed,” he added with a brief flash of anger. “However—“ His tan eyes took in the room like a challenge. “—I hope it would never be alleged that the Brucolac, or any of my cadre, are less than absolutely loyal to this city. It’s a matter of deep regret to us that we weren’t able to fight for Armada in the war that’s just passed.
“I know,” he went on quickly, “that my citizens fought. We have our share of the dead—but not me and mine. And we feel that. We owe you a debt.
“I know where Silas Fennec is.”
There was a quick chorus of gasps.
“How do you know?” said the Lover. “How long have you known?”
“Not long,” said the Brucolac. He met her eyes, but he did not look proud. “We found out where Simon Fench rested his head and printed his works. But you know . . .” he said with sudden fervor. “You