Perdido Street Station Part 11

The floors of the cages had not been cleaned and the acrid smell of birds.h.i.+t was very strong. Sincerity, Isaac saw, was wobbling up and down the room shaking her striped head. David saw where Isaac was looking.

"Yeah," he shouted. "See? The stink's making her miserable."

"Fellows," said Isaac, "I appreciate your forbearance, I really do. It's give and take, isn't it? Lub, remember when you were doing those experiments in sonar and you had that chap in banging that huge drum for two days?"

"Isaac, it's already been nearly a week! How long's it going to be? What's the schedule? At the very least clean their mess up!"

Isaac looked down at the irate faces below him. They were very p.i.s.sed off, he realized. He thought quickly for a compromise.

"Fine, look," he eventually said, "I'll clean them out tonight-I promise. And I'll work flat f.u.c.king out . . . I know! I'll work hard on the loud loud ones first. I'll try and get rid of them within . . . two weeks?" he finished lamely. David and Lublamai expostulated, but he interrupted their jeers and catcalls. "I'll pay a little extra rent for the next month! How's that?" ones first. I'll try and get rid of them within . . . two weeks?" he finished lamely. David and Lublamai expostulated, but he interrupted their jeers and catcalls. "I'll pay a little extra rent for the next month! How's that?"

The rude noises died down instantly. The two men stared at him calculatedly. They were scientific comrades, the Brock Marsh bad boys, friends; but their existence was precarious, and there was limited room for sentimentality where money was concerned. Knowing that, Isaac tried to forestall any temptation they might have to seek alternative s.p.a.ce. He, after all, couldn't afford the rent here alone.

"What are we talking?" asked David.

Isaac pondered.

"Two extra guineas?"

David and Lublamai looked at each other. It was generous.

"And," said Isaac casually, "while we're on the subject, I'd appreciate a hand. I don't know how to manage some of these . . . uh . . . scientific subjects. Didn't you do some ornithological theory once, David?"

"No," said David tartly. "I was an a.s.sistant to someone who did. I was bored s.h.i.+tless. And stop being so transparent, 'Zaac. I'm not going to resent your pestilential pets any less if you involve me in your projects involve me in your projects . . ." He laughed with a trace of genuine humour. "Have you been taking Introductory Empathic Theory, or something?" . . ." He laughed with a trace of genuine humour. "Have you been taking Introductory Empathic Theory, or something?"

But despite his scorn, David was ascending the stairs, with Lublamai behind him.

He paused at the top and took in all the jabbering captives.

"Devil's Tail, Isaac!" he whispered, grinning. "How much has this lot set you back?"

"Haven't entirely settled with Lemuel yet," said Isaac dryly. "But my new boss should see me all right."

Lublamai had joined David on the top step. He gesticulated at a collection of variegated cages in the far corner of the walkway.

"What's over there?"

"That's where I keep the exotica," said Isaac. "Aspises, lasifly . . ."

"You've got a lasifly?" exclaimed Lublamai. Isaac nodded and grinned.

"Don't have the heart to do any experiments with the beautiful thing," he said.

"Can I see it?"

" 'Course, Lub. It's over there behind the cage with the batkin in it."

As Lublamai trooped over between the tightly packed cases, David looked briskly about him.

"So where's your ornithological problem, then?" he asked and rubbed his hands.

"On the desk." Isaac indicated the miserable, trussed pigeon. "How do I make that thing stop wriggling. I wanted it to at first, to see the musculature, but now I want to move the wings myself."

David stared levelly at him as if at a halfwit.

"Kill it."

Isaac shrugged hugely.

"I tried. It wouldn't die."

"Oh for f.u.c.k's f.u.c.k's sake . . ." David laughed exasperatedly, and strode over to the desk. He wrung the pigeon's neck. sake . . ." David laughed exasperatedly, and strode over to the desk. He wrung the pigeon's neck.

Isaac winced ostentatiously and held up his ma.s.sive hands.

"They're just not subtle enough for that sort of work. My hands are too clumsy, my sensibilities too d.a.m.ned delicate," he declared airily.

"Right," agreed David sceptically. "What are you working on?"

Isaac was instantly enthusiastic.

"Well . . ." He strode over to the desk. "I've had f.u.c.k-all luck with the garuda in the city. I heard rumours about a couple living in St. Jabber's Mound and Syriac, and I sent word that I was willing to pay good moolah for a couple of hours' time and some heliotypes. I've had absolutely nil response. I've whacked a couple of posters up in the university as well, asking for any garuda student ready and willing to drop by here, but my sources sources tell me there's been no intake this year." tell me there's been no intake this year."

" 'Garuda aren't . . . adept adept at abstract thought.' " David imitated the sneering tone of the speaker from the sinister Three Quills party, which had held a disastrous rally in Brock Marsh the previous year. Isaac and David and Derkhan had gone along to disrupt proceedings, hurling abuse and rotten oranges at the man on stage to the delight of the xenian demonstration outside. Isaac barked in recollection. at abstract thought.' " David imitated the sneering tone of the speaker from the sinister Three Quills party, which had held a disastrous rally in Brock Marsh the previous year. Isaac and David and Derkhan had gone along to disrupt proceedings, hurling abuse and rotten oranges at the man on stage to the delight of the xenian demonstration outside. Isaac barked in recollection.

"Absolutely. So anyway, short of going to Spatters, at the moment I can't work with actual garuda, so I'm looking at the various flight mechanisms you . . . uh . . . see around you. Amazing variation, actually."

Isaac sheafed through piles of notes, holding up diagrams of finches' and bluebottles' wings. He untied the dead pigeon and delicately traced the movement of its wings through a rolling arc. He pointed wordlessly at the wall around his desk. It was covered with carefully rendered diagrams of wings. Close-up sections of the rotating joint at the shoulder, pared-down representations of forces, beautifully shaded studies of feather patterns. Here too were heliotypes of dirigibles, with arrows and question marks scrawled on them in dark ink. There were suggestive sketches of the mindless men-o'-war, and hugely enlarged pictures of wasps' wings. Each was carefully labelled. David moved his eyes slowly over the hours and hours of work, the comparative studies of the engines of flight.

"I don't think my client's too fussy about what his wings-or whatever-look like, as long as he can get airbound as and when." David and Lublamai knew about Yagharek. Isaac had asked them for secrecy. He trusted them. He had told them in case Yagharek visited when they were in the warehouse, although so far the garuda had managed to avoid them on his fleeting visits.

"Have you thought about just, y'know, sticking some wings back on?" said David. "Remaking him?"

"Well, absolutely, that's my main line of enquiry, but there're two problems. One is what wings? I'll have to build them. Second is, do you you know any Remakers prepared to do that on the quiet? The best bio-thaumaturge I know is the despised Vermishank. I'll go to him if I f.u.c.king know any Remakers prepared to do that on the quiet? The best bio-thaumaturge I know is the despised Vermishank. I'll go to him if I f.u.c.king have have to, but I'll be sorely desperate before I do that . . . So at the moment I'm doing preliminary stuff, trying to work out the size and shape and power-source of something that would hold him up at all. If I go that way, eventually." to, but I'll be sorely desperate before I do that . . . So at the moment I'm doing preliminary stuff, trying to work out the size and shape and power-source of something that would hold him up at all. If I go that way, eventually."

"What else have you got in mind? Physico-thaumaturgy?"

"Well, you know, UFT, my old favourite . . ." Isaac grinned and shrugged self-deprecatingly. "I have a feeling his back's too messed up for easy Remaking, even if I could get the wings sorted out. I'm wondering about combining two different energy fields . . . s.h.i.+t, David, I don't know. I've got the beginnings of an idea . . ." He pointed vaguely at a roughly labelled drawing of a triangle.

"Isaac?" Lublamai's yell sailed over the relentless squawks and screeches. Isaac and David looked over at him. He had wandered on past the lasifly and the pair of gild-parakeets. He was pointing at a smaller set of boxes and cases and vats. "What's all this?"

"Oh, that's my nursery," shouted Isaac with a grin. He strode towards Lublamai, pulling David with him. "I thought it might be interesting to see how you progress from something that can't fly to something that can, so I managed to get hold of a bunch of neonates and unborns and baby things."

He stopped by the collection. Lublamai was peering into a small hutch at a clutch of vivid cobalt eggs.

"Don't know what they are," said Isaac. "Hope it's something pretty."

The hutch was on the top of a pile of similar open-fronted boxes, in each of which a clumsy little hand-made nest contained between one and four eggs. Some were astonis.h.i.+ng colours, some a drab beige. A little pipe coiled away behind the hutches and disappeared over the railings into the boiler below. Isaac nudged it with his foot.

"I think they prefer it warm . . ." he muttered. "Don't really know . . ."

Lublamai was bending down to peer into a gla.s.s-fronted tank.

"Wow . . ." he breathed. "I feel like I'm ten again! Trade you these for six marbles."

The tank's floor writhed with little green caterpillars. They munched voraciously and systematically on the leaves stuffed rudely around them. The stems were crawling with little bodies.

"Yeah, that's quite interesting. Any day now they should go into their coc.o.o.ns, and then I think I'm going to ruthlessly cut them open at various stages to see how they transmogrify themselves."

"Life as a lab a.s.sistant is cruel, isn't it?" murmured Lublamai into the tank. "What other disgusting grubs do you have?"

"Bunch of maggots. Easy to feed. That's probably the smell that's got Sincerity upset." Isaac laughed. "Some other grubs that promise to turn into b.u.t.terflies and moths, horribly aggressive water-things that I am told I am told turn into damask-flies and what have you . . ." Isaac pointed at a tank full of dirty water, behind the others. turn into damask-flies and what have you . . ." Isaac pointed at a tank full of dirty water, behind the others.

"And," he said, swaggering over to a little mesh cage some feet away, "something rather rather special . . ." He jabbed his thumb at the container. special . . ." He jabbed his thumb at the container.

David and Lublamai crowded round. They gazed with open mouths.

"Oh, now that is splendid splendid . . ." whispered David, after a while. . . ." whispered David, after a while.

"What is is it?" hissed Lublamai. it?" hissed Lublamai.

Isaac peered over their heads at his star caterpillar.

"Frankly, my friends, I have not an arsing clue. All I know is that it's huge, pretty, and not very happy."

The grub waved its thick head blindly. It s.h.i.+fted its ma.s.sive body sluggishly around the wire prison. It was at least four inches long and one inch thick, with bright colours slapped randomly around its chubby cylindrical body. Spiky hairs sprouted from its rump. It shared its cage with browning lettuce leaves, little snips of meat, slices of fruit, paper strips.

"See," said Isaac, "I've tried to feed the thing everything. I've put in as many herbs and plants as exist, and it doesn't want any of them. So I tried it on fish and fruit and cake, bread, meat, paper, glue, cotton, silk . . . it just roots aimlessly around being hungry, staring at me accusingly."

Isaac leaned in, planting his face between David's and Lublamai's.

"It obviously wants to eat," he said. "Its colour's fading, which is worrying, both aesthetically and physiologically . . . I'm at a loss. I think the beautiful thing's going to sit there and die on me." Isaac sniffed matter-of-factly.

"Where did you get it from?" asked David.

"Oh, you know how this stuff works," said Isaac. "I got it from a cove who got it from a man who got it from a woman who got it . . . and so on. I've no idea where it came from."

"You're not going to cut this open, are you?"

" 'Stail, no. If it lives to build a coc.o.o.n, which I'm afraid I doubt, I'll be very interested to see what comes out. I might even donate it to the Science Museum. You know me. Public-spirited . . . So anyway, this thing's not really much use to me for research. Can't even make it eat, let alone metamorphose, let alone fly fly. So everything else you see around you-" he spread his arms wide, wriggled his wrists to take in the room "-is grist to my counter-gravitational mill. But this little geezer-" he pointed at the listless caterpillar "-this is social work." He grinned widely.

There was a creaking from below. The door was being pushed open. All three men lurched dangerously over the side of the walkway and peered down, expecting to see Yagharek the garuda, with his false wings under his cloak.

Lin peered up at them.

David and Lublamai started in confusion. They were embarra.s.sed at Isaac's sudden cry of irritated welcome. They found something else to look at.

Isaac was scurrying down the stairs.

"Lin," he bellowed. "Good to see you." When he reached her he spoke quietly.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing doing here? I thought I was going to see you later in the week." here? I thought I was going to see you later in the week."

As he spoke he saw her antennae quivering miserably, tried to temper his nervous irritation. It was clear that Lub and David understood what was going on-they'd known him a long time: he did not doubt that his evasion and hints about his love life had left them guessing reasonably close to the truth. But this was not Salacus Fields. This was too close to home. He might be seen.

But then, Lin was clearly miserable.

Look, she signed rapidly, she signed rapidly, want you to come home with me, don't say no. Miss you. Tired. Difficult job. Sorry for coming here. Needed to see you. want you to come home with me, don't say no. Miss you. Tired. Difficult job. Sorry for coming here. Needed to see you.

Isaac felt anger and affection jostle. This is a dangerous precedent, This is a dangerous precedent, he thought. he thought. f.u.c.k! f.u.c.k!

"Hang on," he whispered. "Give me a minute."

He raced up the stairs.

"Lub, David, I'd forgotten I'm supposed to be out with friends this evening, so someone's been sent to fetch me. I promise promise I'll muck out all my little charges tomorrow. On my honour. They're all fed, that's taken care of . . ." He was looking around him rapidly. He forced himself to meet their eyes. I'll muck out all my little charges tomorrow. On my honour. They're all fed, that's taken care of . . ." He was looking around him rapidly. He forced himself to meet their eyes.

"Right," said David. "Have a nice evening."

Lublamai waved him away.

"Right," said Isaac heavily, looking around him. "If Yagharek comes back . . . uh . . ." He realized he had nothing to say. He grabbed a notebook from the desk and bounced downstairs without looking behind him. Lublamai and David studiously did not watch him go.

He seemed to carry Lin with him as if he was a gale, billowing her helplessly with him through the door and into the darkening streets. It was only as they left the warehouse, when he looked at her clearly, that he felt his own irritation diminish to a low burn. He saw her in all her exhausted dejection.

Isaac hesitated a moment, then took her arm. He slipped his notebook into her bag, which he snapped closed.

"Let's have us a night," he whispered.

She nodded and leaned her headbody against him, briefly, held him tight.

They disengaged, then, for fear of being watched. They walked to Sly Station together slowly, at a lovers' pace, a few careful feet apart.

CHAPTER T TWELVE.

If a murderer stalked the mansions of Flag Hill or Canker Wedge, would the militia waste any time or spare resources? Why, no! The hunt for Jack Half-a-Prayer proves it! And yet, when the Eyespy Killer strikes in Smog Bend Smog Bend, nothing happens! Another eyeless victim was fished from the Tar last week-bringing the number killed to five-and not a word from the blue-clad bullies in the Spike. We say: it's one law for the rich, another for the poor! it's one law for the rich, another for the poor!