The Scar - China Mieville [97]
“It’s not like I don’t know you, Uther,” the Brucolac said. “It’s not like we haven’t stood together. I trust you, sincerely. I trust your instincts. I know how you think. And we both know it’s just a matter of . . . of fucking chance that you’re their man . . . rather than mine.” There was regret in his voice, a small note of regret.
The Brucolac stared at Uther Doul with his pale eyes. His long, forked tongue tasted the air, and he spoke again.
“Tell me, man. Tell me what’s happening. Moon’s Tits, you can’t support this idiotic idea. Are you feeling guilty? Is that it? That it was you who gave them the notion? That they’d never have thought of this if it weren’t for what you told them?” He leaned in a little as he spoke.
“It’s not the power, Uther. You know that. I don’t give a sailor’s toss who runs Armada. Dry Fall’s all I want. Garwater’s always been the strongest, and that’s fine by me. And it’s not the fucking avanc, either. Shit, if I thought that would work, I’d be with you. I’m not one of those Curhouse arseholes jabbering on about what’s ‘against nature,’ and ‘tampering with deadly forces’ and crap like that. Shit, Uther, if I thought doing deals with daemons would strengthen the city, don’t you think I’d do it?”
Uther Doul glanced at him, and for the first time his face moved, twitching in contained amusement.
“You’re ab-dead, Brucolac,” he said in his singer’s voice. “You know there are plenty who think you’ve already done deals with the Hellkin.”
The Brucolac ignored him and continued. “I’m against this because we both know this won’t stop with the avanc.” His voice was cold. Doul looked away. The night was without stars or horizon: the sea and sky bled ink into each other. “And it’s not going to take long for others to clock that. Shaddler might do whatever it’s told till the fucking sea boils, but do you think Jhour and Booktown will stick with the Lovers when they realize what the plan really is? Uther, you’re heading for mutiny.”
“Deadman . . .” began Doul, and paused heavily. Doul was the only man in the city who used the foreign honorific. It came from his homeland. “Deadman Brucolac. I’m the Lovers’ man. You know it, and you know why. And maybe it could have been another way, but it isn’t. I’m a soldier, Brucolac. A good soldier. If I didn’t think they could do it—if I didn’t think it would work—then I wouldn’t support it.”
“Bullshit.” The Brucolac’s voice came hard and throaty. “Gods fuck and damn it, Uther, that . . . is a lie. Do you remember, do you even remember how I found out what they want to do with the avanc?”
“Spies,” said Doul levelly, meeting his eyes again.
The Brucolac was dismissive. “Spies could only ever get insinuations and hints. Don’t lie to yourself. I know because you told me.”
Doul’s eyes went quite cold and sharp.
“That is slander and I will not have you repeat it—“ he said, but the Brucolac broke him off with laughter.
“Look at yourself,” he urged, incredulous. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Stop being so fucking pompous. You know what I mean. Of course you didn’t volunteer the information, or even damn well admit it. But shit, Uther, I came to you and confronted you with what I’d worked out, and you . . . Well, you’re too professional to give away anything that could come back to bite you, but if you’d wanted to mislead me or leave me thinking I was wrong you
could have.
“You didn’t. And I’m grateful. And fair enough, if you want to play this stupid game where you’ll not admit what we both know to be the case, and you won’t confirm my suspicions but you damn well won’t deny them either, then that’s . . . that’s fine. Just keep on being silent.
“The facts remain, Uther.” The Brucolac absently picked splinters of wood from the guardrail and let them drift down into the dark. “The fact remains that you let me know. And you know the other riding leaders won’t trust me if I tell them. You’ve given me something I have to carry alone. And I think that’s because you know it’s a stupid, dangerous plan, and you