The Scar - China Mieville [59]
“What do you trade?”
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “Furs, wine, engines, livestock, books, labor. Whatever. Liquor for pelts in the tundra north of Jangsach, pelts for secrets in Hinter, secrets and artworks for labor and spices in High Cromlech . . .”
His voice drifted away as Bellis caught his eye.
“No one knows where High Cromlech is,” she said, but he shook his head.
“Some of us do,” he said quietly. “Now, I mean. Some of us do now. Oh it’s a damn hard journey, granted. From New Crobuzon you can’t go north through the ruins of Suroch, and south adds hundreds of miles through Vadaunk or the cacotopic stain. So it’s Penitent’s Pass to Wormseye Scrub, round Gibbing Water, skirt Kar Torrer Kingdom and over Cold Claw Sound . . .” His voice faded and Bellis hung on, eager to hear where next.
“And there are the Shatterjacks,” he said softly. “And High Cromlech.”
He took a long drink of wine.
“They’re nervous of outsiders. Live ones. But gods know we were a sorry-looking bunch. We’d been on the road for months, lost fourteen men. We went by dirigible, barge, llama, and pterabird, and miles and miles on foot. I lived there for months. I brought back a lot of . . . amazing things to New Crobuzon. I’ve seen things even stranger than this city, I tell you.”
Bellis could say nothing. She was wrestling with what he said. Some of the places he mentioned were virtually mythological. The idea that he might have visited them—lived in them, for Jabber’s sake—was extraordinary, but she did not think he was lying.
“Most people who try to get there die,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But if you can do it, if you can get to the Cold Claws, especially the far shores . . . well, you’re made. You’ve access to the Shatterjack Mines, the grasslands north of Hinter, Yanni Seckilli Island in the Cold Claw Sea—and they’re eager for business, I tell you. I spent forty days there, and the only real trade they have is with the savages from the north, who turn up in coracles once a year, carrying stuff like biltong. Of which there’s only so much you can eat.” He grinned. “But their main problem is that The Gengris cuts them off from the south, doesn’t let outsiders pass that way. Anyone who can get past that from the south, they treat like a lost brother.
“If you make it, you have access to all manner of information, places, goods, and services that no one else has. That’s why I’ve . . . an arrangement with Parliament. That’s why that pass, giving me powers to commandeer vessels, in certain circumstances; giving me certain rights. I’m in a position to provide information to the city that they can’t get from anywhere else.”
He was a spy.
“When Seemly crossed the Swollen Ocean and found Bered Kai Nev six and a half centuries ago,” he said, “what do you think he carried in his holds? The Fervent Mantis was a big ship, Bellis . . .” He paused—she had not invited him to use her first name. But she made no sign of disapproval, and he continued. “It carried booze and silk and swords and gold. Seemly was looking to trade. That’s what unlocked the eastern continent. All the explorers you’ve heard of—Seemly, Donleon, Brubenn, probably Libintos and bloody Jabber, too—they were traders.” He spoke with childish gusto.
“It’s people like me who bring back the maps and the information. We can offer insights like no one else. We can trade them with the government—that’s my commission. There’s no such thing as exploration or science—there’s only trade. It was merchants who traveled to Suroch, who brought back the maps Dagman Beyn used in the Pirate Wars.”
He saw Bellis’ expression and registered that this particular story did not cast him and his fellows in the best light.
“Bad example,” he muttered, and Bellis could not help but laugh at his contrition.
“I won’t live here,” Bellis said. It was