Perdido Street Station Part 25

"Mayor. Deputy." She sat and pulled a folder from under her arm. "Forgive me interrupting unannounced, Mayor Rudgutter, but I thought you should see this immediately. You too, Rescue. I'm glad you're here. It looks as if we may have . . . something of a crisis on our hands."

"We were saying much the same thing, Eliza," said the mayor. "We're talking about the dock strike?"

Stem-Fulcher glanced up at him as she drew some papers from the folder.

"No, Mr. Mayor. Something altogether different." Her voice was resonant and hard.

She threw a crime report onto the desk. Rudgutter put it sideways between himself and Rescue, and both twisted their heads to read it together. After a minute Rudgutter looked up.

"Two people in some sort of coma. Odd circ.u.mstances. I presume you are showing me more than this?"

Stem-Fulcher handed him another paper. Again, he and Rescue read together. This time, the reaction was almost immediate. Rescue hissed and bit the inside of his cheek, chewing with concentration. At almost the same time, Rudgutter gave a little sigh of comprehension, a tremulous little exhalation.

The home secretary watched them impa.s.sively.

"Obviously, our mole in Motley's offices doesn't know what's going on. She's totally confused. But the s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation she's noted down . . . see this? 'The moss moss are out . . . ?' I think we can all agree that she misheard that, and I think we can all agree on what was really said." are out . . . ?' I think we can all agree that she misheard that, and I think we can all agree on what was really said."

Rudgutter and Rescue read and reread the report wordlessly.

"I've brought the scientific report we commissioned at the very start of the SM project, the feasibility study." Stem-Fulcher was speaking quickly, without emotion. She dropped the report flat on the desk. "I've drawn your attention to a few particularly relevant phrases."

Rudgutter opened the bound report. Some words and sentences were circled in red. The mayor scanned them quickly: . . . extreme danger extreme danger . . . . . . in case of escape in case of escape . . . . . . no natural predators no natural predators . . . . . .

. . . utterly catastrophic utterly catastrophic . . . . . .

. . . breed breed . . . . . .

CHAPTER T TWENTY-FOUR.

Mayor Rudgutter reached out and unplugged his speaking tube again.

"Davinia," he said. "Cancel all appointments and meetings for today . . . no, for the next two days. Apologies wherever necessary. No disturbances unless Perdido Street Station explodes, or something of that magnitude. Understood?"

He replaced the plug and glared at Stem-Fulcher and Rescue.

"What by d.a.m.n d.a.m.n, what in Jabber's name Jabber's name, what the G.o.ds.h.i.+t G.o.ds.h.i.+t was Motley was Motley playing at playing at? I thought the man was supposed to be a professional . . ."

Stem-Fulcher nodded.

"This was something that came up when we were arranging the transfer deal," she said. "We checked his record of activity-much of it against us, it has to be pointed out-and gauged him to be at least as capable as ourselves of ensuring security. He's no fool."

"Do we know who's done this?" asked Rescue. Stem-Fulcher shrugged.

"Could be a rival, Francine or Judix or someone. If so, they've bitten off a G.o.dsd.a.m.ned sight more than they can chew . . ."

"Right." Rudgutter interrupted her with a peremptory tone. Stem-Fulcher and Rescue turned to him and waited. He clenched his fists together, put his elbows on the table and closed his eyes, concentrating so hard that his face seemed ready to splinter.

"Right," he repeated, and opened his eyes. "First thing we have to do is verify that we are faced with the situation that we think we're faced with. That might seem obvious, but we have to be a hundred per cent hundred per cent sure. Second thing is come out with some kind of strategy for containing the situation quickly and quietly. sure. Second thing is come out with some kind of strategy for containing the situation quickly and quietly.

"Now, for the second objective, we all know we can't rely on human militia or Remade-or xenians come to that. Same basic psychic type. We're all food food. I'm sure we all remember our initial attack-defence tests . . ." Rescue and Stem-Fulcher nodded quickly. Rudgutter continued. "Right. Zombies might be a possibility, but this is not Cromlech: we don't have the facilities to create them in the numbers or quality that we need. So. It seems to me that the first objective can't satisfactorily be dealt with if we're relying on our regular intelligence operations. We have to have access to different information. So for two reasons, we have to elicit a.s.sistance from agents better able to deal with the situation-different psychic models from our own are vital. Now, it seems to me there are two possible such agents, and that we have little choice but to approach at least one of them."

He was silent, taking in Stem-Fulcher and Rescue with his eyes, one by one. He waited for dissent. There was none.

"Are we agreed?" he asked quietly.

"We're talking about the amba.s.sador, aren't we?" said Stem-Fulcher. "And what else . . . you don't mean the Weaver?" Her eyes furrowed in dismay.

"Well, hopefully it won't come to that," said Rudgutter rea.s.suringly. "But yes, those are the two . . . ah . . . agents I can think of. In that order."

"Agreed," said Stem-Fulcher quickly. "As long as it's in that order. The Weaver . . . Jabber! Let's talk to the amba.s.sador."

"MontJohn?" Rudgutter turned to his deputy.

Rescue nodded slowly, fingering his scarf.

"The amba.s.sador," he said slowly. "And I hope that will be all we need."

"As do we all, Deputy Mayor," said Rudgutter. "As do we all."

Between the eleventh and fourteenth floors of the Mandragorae Wing of Perdido Street Station, above one of the less popular commercial concourses that specialized in old fabrics and foreign batiks, below a series of long-deserted turrets, was the Diplomatic Zone.

Many of the emba.s.sies in New Crobuzon were elsewhere, of course: baroque buildings in Nigh Sump or East Gidd or Flag Hill. But several were there in the station: enough to give those floors their name and let them keep it.

The Mandragorae Wing was almost a self-contained keep. Its corridors described a huge concrete rectangle around a central s.p.a.ce, at the bottom of which was an unkempt garden, overgrown with darkwood trees and exotic woodland flowers. Children scampered along the paths and played in this sheltered park while their parents shopped or travelled or worked. The walls rose enormously around them, making the copse seem like moss at the bottom of a well.

From the corridors on the upper floors sprouted sets of interconnected rooms. Many had been ministerial offices at one time. For a short while, each had been the headquarters of some small company or other. Then they had been empty for many years, until the mould and rot had been swept away and amba.s.sadors had moved in. That was a little more than two centuries previously, when a communal understanding had swept the various governments of Rohagi that from now on diplomacy would be greatly preferable to war.

There had been emba.s.sies in New Crobuzon far longer. But after the carnage in Suroch put a b.l.o.o.d.y end to what were called the Pirate Wars or the Slow War or the False War, the number of countries and city-states seeking negotiated resolutions to disputes had multiplied enormously. Emissaries had arrived from across the continent and beyond. The deserted floors of the Mandragorae Wing had been overrun by the newcomers, and by older consulates relocating to tap the new welter of diplomatic business.

Even to leave the lifts or stairs on the floors of the Zone, a gamut of security checks had to be run. The pa.s.sages were cold and quiet, broken by a few doors and insufficiently lit by desultory gasjets. Rudgutter and Rescue and Stem-Fulcher walked the deserted corridors of the twelfth floor. They were accompanied by a short, wiry man with thick gla.s.ses who scurried along behind them, never keeping up, lugging a large suitcase.

"Eliza, MontJohn," said Mayor Rudgutter as they walked, "this is Brother Sanchem Vansetty, one of our most able karcists." Rescue and Stem-Fulcher nodded greetings. Vansetty ignored them.

Not every room in the Diplomatic Zone was occupied. But some of the doors had bra.s.s plates proclaiming them the sovereign territory of one country or other-Tesh, or Khadoh, or Gharcheltist-behind which were huge suites extending onto several floors: self-contained houses in the tower. Some of the rooms were thousands of miles from their capitals. Some of them were empty. By Tesh tradition, for example, the amba.s.sador lived as a vagrant in New Crobuzon, communicating by mail for official business. Rudgutter would never meet him. Other emba.s.sies were deserted due to lack of funds or interest.

But much of the business conducted here was immensely important. The suites containing the emba.s.sies of Myrshock and Vadaunk had been extended some years ago, due to the expansion of paperwork and office s.p.a.ce that commercial relations necessitated. The extra rooms jutted like ugly tumours from the interior walls of the eleventh floor, bulging precariously over the garden.

The mayor and his companions walked past a door marked The Cray Commonwealth of Salkrikaltor The Cray Commonwealth of Salkrikaltor. The corridor shook with the pound and whirr of huge, hidden machinery. Those were the enormous steam-pumps that worked for hours every day, sucking fresh brine fifteen miles from Iron Bay for the cray amba.s.sador and sluicing his used, dirty water into the river.

The pa.s.sageway was confusing. It seemed to go on too long when looked at from one angle, and to be all but stubby from another. Here and there short tributaries branched from it, leading to other, smaller emba.s.sies or store cupboards or boarded-up windows. At the end of the main corridor, beyond the cray emba.s.sy, Rudgutter led the way down one of these little pa.s.sages. It extended a short way, twisting, its ceiling lowering dramatically as some stairs above descended across its path, and terminated in a small unmarked door.

Rudgutter looked behind him, ensuring that his companions and he were not watched. Only a short distance of pa.s.sageway was visible, and they were quite alone.

Vansetty was pulling chalk and pastels of various colours from his pockets. He pulled what looked like a watch from his fob pocket and opened it. Its face was divided into innumerable complicated sections. It had seven hands of various lengths.

"Got to take account of the variables, Mayor," Vansetty murmured, studying the thing's intricate working. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Rudgutter or anyone else. "Outlook for today's pretty grotty . . . High-pressure front moving in the aether. Could push powerstorms anywhere from the abyss through null-s.p.a.ce up. f.u.c.king poxy outlook on the borderlands as well. Hmmm . . ." Vansetty scrawled some calculations on the back of a notebook. "Right," he snapped, and looked up at the three ministers.

He began to scribble intricate, stylized markings on thick pieces of paper, tearing out each one as it was finished and handing it to Stem-Fulcher, Rudgutter, Rescue, and finally one for himself.

"Whack those over your hearts," he said cursorily, stuffing his into his s.h.i.+rt. "Symbol facing out."

He opened his battered suitcase and brought out a set of bulky ceramic diodes. He stood at the centre of the group and handed one to each of his companions-"Left hand and don't drop it . . ."-then wound copper wire around them tightly and attached it to a handheld clockwork motor he pulled from his case. He took readings from his peculiar gauge, adjusted dials and nodules on the motor. hand and don't drop it . . ."-then wound copper wire around them tightly and attached it to a handheld clockwork motor he pulled from his case. He took readings from his peculiar gauge, adjusted dials and nodules on the motor.

"Righto, everyone, brace yourselves," he said, and flipped the switch that released the clockwork engine.

Little arcs of energy sputtered into multicoloured existence along the wires and between the grubby diodes. The four of them were enclosed in a little triangle of current. All their hair stood visibly on end. Rudgutter swore under his breath.

"Got about half an hour before that runs out," said Vansetty quickly. "Best be quick, eh?"

Rudgutter reached out with his right hand and opened the door. The four of them shuffled forward, maintaining their positions relative to each other, keeping the triangle in place around them. Stem-Fulcher pushed the door closed again behind them.

They were in an absolutely dark room. They could see only by the faint ambient glow of the lines of power, until Vansetty hung the clockwork motor around his neck on a strap and lit a candle. In its inadequate light they saw that the room was perhaps twelve feet by ten, dusty and absolutely empty apart from an old desk and chair by the far wall, a gently humming boiler by the door. There were no windows, no shelves, nothing else at all. The air was very close.

From his bag Vansetty extracted an unusual hand-held machine. Its twists of wire and metal, its knots of multicoloured gla.s.s were intricate and lovingly crafted. Its use was quite opaque. Vansetty leaned briefly out of the circle and plugged an input valve into the boiler beside the door. He pulled a lever on the top of the little machine, which began to hum and blink with lights.

" 'Course, in your old days, before I came into the profession, you had to use a live offering," he explained as he unwound a tight coil of wire from the underside of the machine. "But we're not savages, are we? Science is a wonderful thing. This little darling-" he patted the machine proudly "-is an amplifier. Increases the output from that engine by a factor of two hundred, two hundred and ten, and transforms it into an aetherial energy form. Bleed that through the wires so so . . ." Vansetty slung the uncoiled wire into the far corner of the tiny room, behind the desk. "And there you go! The victimless sacrifice!" . . ." Vansetty slung the uncoiled wire into the far corner of the tiny room, behind the desk. "And there you go! The victimless sacrifice!"

He grinned with triumph, then turned his attention to the dials and k.n.o.bs of the little engine, and began to twist and prod them with intense attention. "No more learning stupid languages, neither," he muttered quietly. "Invocation's automatic now and all. We're not actually going going anywhere, you understand?" He spoke louder, suddenly. "We ain't abyssonauts, and we ain't playing with anywhere, you understand?" He spoke louder, suddenly. "We ain't abyssonauts, and we ain't playing with nearly nearly enough power to do an actual transplantropic leap. All we're doing is peering through a little window, letting the h.e.l.lkin come to us. But the dimensionality of this room is going to be just a d.a.m.n touch unstable for a while, so stick within the protection and don't muck about. Got it?" enough power to do an actual transplantropic leap. All we're doing is peering through a little window, letting the h.e.l.lkin come to us. But the dimensionality of this room is going to be just a d.a.m.n touch unstable for a while, so stick within the protection and don't muck about. Got it?"

Vansetty's fingers skittered over the box. For two or three minutes, nothing happened. There was nothing but the heat and pounding from the boiler, the drumming and whining of the little machine in Vansetty's hands. Beneath it all, Rudgutter's foot tapped impatiently.

And then the little room began to grow perceptibly warmer.

There was a deep, subsonic tremor. An insinuation of russet light and oily smoke. Sound became muted and then suddenly sharp.

There was a disorientating moment of tugging, and a red marbling of light flickered onto every surface, moving constantly as if through b.l.o.o.d.y water.

Something fluttered. Rudgutter looked up, his eyes smarting in air that seemed suddenly clotted and very dry.

A heavy man in an immaculate dark suit had appeared behind the desk.

He leaned forward slowly, his elbows resting on the papers that suddenly littered the desk. He waited.

Vansetty peered over Rescue's shoulder and jerked his thumb at the apparition.

"His Infernal Excellency," he declared, "the amba.s.sador of h.e.l.l."

"Mayor Rudgutter," the daemon said, in a pleasant, low voice. "How nice to see you again. I was just doing some paperwork." The humans looked up with a flicker of unease.

The amba.s.sador had an echo: half a second after he spoke his words were repeated in the appalling shriek of one undergoing torture. The screamed words were not loud. They were audible just beyond the walls of the room, as if they had soared up through miles of unearthly heat from some trench in h.e.l.l's floor.

"What can I do for you?" he continued (What can I do for you? came the soulless howl of misery). "Still trying to find out if you'll be joining us when you pa.s.s on?" The amba.s.sador smiled slightly. came the soulless howl of misery). "Still trying to find out if you'll be joining us when you pa.s.s on?" The amba.s.sador smiled slightly.

Rudgutter smiled back and shook his head.

"You know my views on that, amba.s.sador," he replied levelly. "I'll not be drawn, I'm afraid. You can't provoke me into existential fear, you know." He gave a polite little laugh, to which the amba.s.sador responded in kind. As did his horrendous echo. "My soul, if such exists, is my own. It is not yours to punish or covet. The universe is a much more capricious place than that . . . I asked you before, what do you suppose happens to daemons when you you die? As we both know you can." die? As we both know you can."

The amba.s.sador bowed his head in polite demur.

"You're such a modernist modernist, Mayor Rudgutter," he said. "I won't argue with you. Please remember my offer stands."

Rudgutter waved his hands impatiently. He was composed. He did not flinch at the pitiable screams which shadowed the amba.s.sador's words. And he did not allow himself to experience any disquiet when, as he stared at the amba.s.sador, the image of the man in the chair flickered for a tiny sliver of a second, to be replaced by . . . something else.

He had experienced this before. Whenever Rudgutter blinked, for that infinitesimal moment, he saw the room and its occupant in very different forms. Through his eyelids, Rudgutter saw the inside of a slatted cage; iron bars moving like snakes; arcs of unthinkable force, a jagged, rippling maelstrom of heat. Where the amba.s.sador sat, Rudgutter caught glimpses of a monstrous form. A hyaena's head stared at him, tongue lolling. b.r.e.a.s.t.s with gnas.h.i.+ng teeth. Hooves and claws.

The stale air in the room would not allow him to keep his eyes open: he had to blink. He ignored the brief visions. He treated the amba.s.sador with wary respect. Such was also the daemon's att.i.tude to him.

"Amba.s.sador, I'm here for two reasons. One is to extend to your master, Its Diabolic Majesty, the Czar of h.e.l.l, the respectful greetings of New Crobuzon's citizens. In their ignorance." The amba.s.sador nodded graciously in response. "The other is to ask your advice."

"It is always our great pleasure to aid our neighbours, Mayor Rudgutter. Especially those such as yourself, with whom Its Majesty has such good relations." The amba.s.sador rubbed its chin absently, waiting.

"Twenty minutes, Mayor," hissed Vansetty into Rudgutter's ear.

Rudgutter pressed his hands together as if in prayer, and looked at the amba.s.sador thoughtfully. He felt little gusts of force.

"You see, amba.s.sador, we have something of a problem. We have reason to believe that there has been a . . . an escape, shall we say. Something that we are very concerned to recapture. We'd like to ask your help, if we may."

"What are we talking about, Mayor Rudgutter? True Answers?" asked the amba.s.sador. "Usual terms?"

"True Answers . . . and perhaps more. We'll see."

"Payment now, or later?"

"Amba.s.sador," said Rudgutter politely. "Your memory momentarily falters. I am in credit two questions."

The amba.s.sador stared at him a moment and laughed.

"So you are, Mayor Rudgutter. My deepest apologies. Proceed."