The Scar - China Mieville [240]
Bellis glimpsed weird flesh under his shirt. It looked necrotic, speckled with amphibian markings. It pulsed, and Fennec pulled his shirt closed.
Her eyes widening, Bellis turned her back on him and paced.
“Don’t,” Fennec said to her suddenly. He sounded almost kind.
“What the fuck do you mean?” she said, and was pleased to hear her voice was cold.
He looked at her with an infuriating, knowing look.
“Don’t do this,” he said. “Don’t come here; don’t ask me; don’t do this. What are you here for, Bellis? You’re not here to rail at me—that’s not your style. You’re not going to crow. They caught me; so what? They fucking caught you, too. How’s the back?”
That so stunned her that for a moment she could not breathe. She blinked rapidly, bringing him back into focus. He watched her without any particular cruelty or maliciousness in his face.
“You’re not going to learn anything from me, Bellis,” he said, his voice unchanging. “You’re not going to get anything out of this. This won’t be catharsis, and you won’t feel better when you leave. Yes, do you understand? Yes, I lied to you; I used you. And a lot of other people. I did it without thinking twice. I’d do it again. I wanted to go home. If you’d been there and it was easy, I’d have taken you with me, but if you weren’t, I wouldn’t. Bellis . . .” He leaned forward on his bench and rubbed his wrist stump. “Bellis, you have nothing to confront me with.” He shook his head slowly, utterly unabashed by her.
She was shaking with hatred. He had been right not to tell her the truth about what he was doing. She would never have helped him then, even desperate as she was to get home.
“There’s nothing special about you, Bellis: you were one of many. I treated you no differently from anyone else. I thought of you no more and no less. The only difference between you and any of the others is that you’re here now. And you think there’s some point to you being here. That you had to . . . what? Have it out?” Silas Fennec, procurator for New Crobuzon, shook his head, pitying.
“There is no it, Bellis,” he said. “Go away.” He lay down and gazed at the ceiling. “Go away. I wanted to get home, and you were useful. You know what I did, and you know why. There’s no mystery, no resolution to be had.
“Go away.”
Bellis stayed a few seconds longer, but managed to leave before speaking again. She had said only six words. She felt her stomach churn with a strong feeling to which she could not put a name.
They won’t kill him, she thought bleakly. They won’t even punish him. He’s not even been flogged. He’s too valuable, too scary. They think he can teach them things, that they can get information out of him. Maybe they can.
As she left, she could not help realizing that Fennec was right about at least one thing.
She felt no better at all.
Bellis was surprised to discover Johannes remaining in her life. There had been a time when he had seemed disgusted with her, not concerned ever to see her again.
She still found him spineless. Even when her own loyalty to New Crobuzon was such an odd, unsystematic thing, she could not help thinking of Johannes as a kind of turncoat. The speed of his accommodation with Armada disgusted her.
But now there was something plaintive in him. His rediscovered eagerness to be her friend was a little pathetic. And though Bellis spent what time she could with Carrianne, whose irreverence and affection were genuine pleasures, and though Carrianne did not much like Johannes, there were times when Bellis let him stay a while. She felt pity for him.
With the avanc caught, trapped, and tethered, and with Tintinnabulum’s crew gone, Johannes’ job was done. Now, after all Johannes’ work, Krüach Aum was working with the Lovers’ thaumaturges and Uther Doul, ushered into the new inner circle to discover the secrets of possibility mining. Johannes had realized, Bellis supposed, that there were very many years ahead of him as a captive in