The Scar - China Mieville [228]
“You must write carefully,” said Doul, “only about yourself. No shared jokes. It must be a cold kind of letter.”
Yes, thought Bellis, looking at him. I suppose it must.
“You exiles,” he said. “You exiles and your writing. Silas Fennec is the same. You look in there now, he’s trying to scribble in his notebook, with his left hand.”
“You let him keep it?” Bellis said, wondering what had happened to Fennec’s right hand and suspecting that she knew. Uther Doul looked ostentatiously around her room: at the clothes, the notebooks, the letter.
“You see how we treat our prisoners,” he said slowly, and Bellis remembered that she was a prisoner, just like Tanner Sack, just like Fennec.
“Why didn’t you tell the Lovers,” said Doul suddenly, “when Fennec told you that New Crobuzon was in danger? Why didn’t you try to get a message back that way?”
“They wouldn’t have cared,” she said. “They might even have been glad: one less rival on the sea. And think of the bones to be picked over. They would’ve done nothing.”
She was right, and she could sense that he knew it. Still, the maggot stirred in her again.
“Look in the letter,” she said suddenly. “It proves I knew nothing.”
For a long time, he did not respond.
“You’ve been judged,” he said at last. She felt blood cold in her stomach. Her hands trembled, and she swallowed several times and clenched her lips closed.
“The Senate’s met,” he continued, “after we’d questioned Fennec. It’s generally believed that Sack and you had no deliberate part in calling New Crobuzon here. Your story’s been accepted. You don’t need to show me your letter.”
Bellis nodded and felt her heart beat quickly.
“You gave yourselves up,” he said in a dead tone. “You told us what you know. I know you. I’ve watched you—both of you. I’ve watched you carefully.”
She nodded again.
“So you’re believed. So that’s that. You’ll be allowed to go free, if you want.” He paused then, for just a tiny second. And later Bellis remembered that pause, and could not forgive him. “You get to choose your sentence.”
Bellis looked away and smoothed her letter and breathed deeply for a while, then looked back at him.
“Sentence?” she said. “You said you believed me . . .”
“I do,” he said. “I was the main reason you were believed.” He did not say this as if he expected gratitude. “Which is why your prospective sentences are as they are. Why you’re not dead, as Silas Fennec will be dead, once we get what we need from him.
“But you knew you’d not go unpunished. Since when did intent determine judgment? Whatever you thought, or convinced yourself you thought you were doing, you’re responsible for unleashing a war that killed thousands of my people.” His voice hardened.
“You should consider yourself fortunate,” he continued, “that we want to keep the details of all this quiet. If the citizens ever heard what you’d done, you’d definitely be dead. Secrecy allows us a degree of leniency. You should be glad I’ve testified as to your character. I fought hard to have you both freed.” His beautiful voice was frightening her.
“Tell me,” she heard herself ask, and Doul met her eyes as he answered.
“I’m here representing the Senate, to see Tanner Sack and Bellis Coldwine,” he said clearly. “To sentence you both. Ten years, here, alone. Or time already served, plus lashes.
“It’s your choice.”
Doul left soon after that, leaving Bellis very alone.
Fennec had betrayed her. There would be no pamphlets from Simon Fench. No one would listen to her. The city would not turn back.
Doul had not even asked to see her letter. He did not take it from her; he did not peer over her shoulder as she held it; he did not show any interest in it at all.
Don’t you understand what I’ve told you? Bellis thought. You know what revelations are in this. This isn’t any normal kind of communication, all personal secrets and details and nods and references meaningless