The Scar - China Mieville [24]
“Enough!” the captain shouted. “As I said, I do not take this decision lightly.” He raised his voice over shouted protests. “Within the week we’ll be back in Iron Bay, where alternative arrangements will be made for paying passengers. You may have to sail with another ship. I’m aware that this will add a month to your voyage, and I can only offer apologies.”
Grim-faced and livid, he looked totally unapologetic. “Nova Esperium will have to survive a few more weeks without you. Passengers are confined to the poop deck until three o’clock. Crew remain for new orders.” He put down the speaking trumpet and descended toward the deck.
For a moment he was the only thing moving. Then the stillness broke and there was a surge as several passengers strode forward, against his orders, demanding that he change his mind. The captain’s barks of outrage could be heard as they reached him.
Bellis was staring at Silas Fennec. Piecing it together.
His face was immobile as he observed the agitation. He noticed Bellis watching him, held her eyes for a moment, then walked unhurriedly away.
Johannes Tearfly looked absolutely stricken. He gaped in an almost comical show of dismay.
“What’s he doing?” he said. “What’s he talking about? I can’t wait another fortnight in the rain of Iron Bay! Godspit! And why are we heading south? He’s taking the long route past the Fins again . . . What is going on?”
“He’s looking for something,” said Bellis, just loud enough for him to hear. She took his elbow and gently led him away from the crowd. “And I wouldn’t waste your breath on the captain. You won’t hear him admit it, but I don’t think he has the slightest choice.”
The captain strode from rail to rail on deck, snapping out a telescope and scouring the horizon. Officers shouted instructions to the men in the crow’s nests. Bellis watched the bewilderment and rumor-mongering of the passengers.
“The man’s a disgrace,” she overheard, “screaming at paying passengers like that.”
“I was standing outside the captain’s office, and I heard someone accuse him of wasting time—of disobeying orders,” Miss Cardomium reported, bewildered. “How can that be?”
It’s Fennec, thought Bellis. He’s angry because we’re not going directly back. Myzovic is . . . what? Looking for evidence of the Sorghum, on the way.
The sea beyond the Fins was darker, more powerful, and cold—unbroken by rocks. The sky was wan. They were beyond Basilisk Channel. This was the edge of the Swollen Ocean. Bellis stared at the endless green waves with distaste. She felt vertiginous. She imagined three, four, five thousand miles of brine yawning away eastward, and closed her eyes. The wind butted her insistently.
Bellis realized she was thinking again about the river, the slow stretch of water that connected New Crobuzon to the sea like an umbilicus.
When Fennec reappeared, walking quickly across the poop deck, Bellis intercepted him. “Mr. Fennec,” she said.
His face opened as he saw her. “Bellis Coldwine,” he said. “I hope you’re not too put out by the detour.”
She indicated for him to follow her out of earshot of the few passengers and crew around them. She stopped in the shadow of the ship’s enormous chimney.
“I’m afraid I am, Mr. Fennec,” she said. “My plans are quite specific. This is a serious problem for me. I have no idea when I’ll be able to find another ship that wants my services.” Silas Fennec inclined his head in vague sympathy. He was clearly distracted.
Bellis spoke again. “I wonder if you’d shed light on the forced change of plans that has our captain so angry.” She hesitated. “Will you tell me what is happening, please?”
Fennec raised his eyebrows. “I can’t, Miss Coldwine,” he said, his voice mild.
“Mr. Fennec,” she muttered coldly, “you’ve seen the reaction of our passengers; you know how unpopular this diversion is. Don’t you think I—all of us, but