The Scar - China Mieville [82]
“But why?” said Bellis, finally. “What do they want? Do you think they can do it?”
“I don’t godsdamned know. No one knows a thing about them. I suspect the New Crobuzon government has more plans about what to do if fucking Tesh invades than if the grindylow do. We’ve never had any reason to be scared of them. But they have their
own . . . methods, their own sciences and thaumaturgies. Yes,” he said. “I think they have a chance.
“They want New Crobuzon for the same reason every other state or savage on Ragamoll does. It’s the richest, the biggest, the most powerful. Our industries, our resources, our militia—look at everything we have. But unlike Shankell or Dreer Samher or Neovadan or Yoraketche, The Gengris . . . The Gengris has a chance.
“They can come with surprise . . . Poison the water, come into the sewers. Every godsdamn crevice and crack and water tank in the city would be a fucking encampment. They can storm us with weapons we’d never understand, in an endless guerrilla war.
“I’ve seen what the grindylow can do, Bellis.” Silas sounded exhausted. “I’ve seen it, and I’m scared.”
From outside came the far-off sound of monkeys squabbling sleepily.
“That’s why you left,” said Bellis in the quiet that followed.
“That’s why I left. I couldn’t believe what I’d found out. But I dithered . . . I fucking farted time away.” His anger welled up suddenly. “And when I realized that there was no fucking mistake, that this wasn’t a confusion, that they really did intend to unleash some godsforsaken unthinkable apocalypse on my hometown . . . then I left. I stole the sub, and left.”
“Do they know that . . . you know?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I took some stuff with me, so that it looks like I stole and ran.”
Bellis could see that he was tight with tension. She could remember some of the heliotypes she had seen in his notebook. Her heart lurched, and slow alarm crept through her with her blood, like a sickness. Bellis struggled to grasp what he was telling her. It was too big for her; it made no sense. She could not contain it. New Crobuzon . . . How could it be threatened?
“Do you know how long?” she whispered.
“They have to wait till Chet to harvest their weapons,” he said. “So maybe six months. We have to find out what Armada’s planning to do, because we have to know where we’re going, with this fucking rockmilk and all. Because we . . . we have to get a message back to New Crobuzon.”
“Why,” Bellis breathed, “didn’t you tell me before?”
Silas laughed hollowly. “I didn’t know who on this place to trust. I was trying to get away from here myself, trying to find some way home. It took me a long time to believe that . . . that there
wasn’t any. I thought I could just take the message to New Crobuzon myself. What if you didn’t believe me? Or what if you were a spy? What if you told our new fucking rulers—“
“Well, what about that?” Bellis interrupted. “Isn’t it worth thinking about? Maybe they’d help us get a message . . .”
Silas stared at her with nasty incredulity.
“Are you mad?” he said. “You think they’d help us? They don’t give spit what happens to New Crobuzon. They’d most likely welcome its fucking destruction—one less competitor nation on the sea. You think they’d let us ride to the rescue? You think they’d care? The bastards would probably do everything they could to hold us back, to let the grindylow do their worst. And, besides, you’ve seen how they treat . . . Crobuzoner officials and agents. They’d search my notes, my papers, and it would come out that I have a commission. That I work for New Crobuzon. Jabber Almighty, Bellis, you saw what they did to the captain. What do you think they’d do to me?”
There was a long silence at that.
“I needed . . . I need someone to work with me. We have no friends in this city. We have no allies. And thousands of miles away, our home’s in danger, and we can’t trust anyone to help us. So it’s up to us to get a message back.”