China Mieville - The Scar

Bellis breathed out and tried to relax. She composed herself and brought back to mind the vocabulary, the grammar and syntax and pronunciation and soul of Salkrikaltor Cray: everything she had learned in those intensive weeks with Marikkatch. She offered a quick, cynical, silent prayer.

Then she formed the vibrato, the cray’s clicking barks, audible in air and water, and spoke.

To her intense relief, the cray nodded and responded.

“You will be announced,” she said, carefully correcting Bellis’ tense. “Your pilot waits here. You come our way.”

Large, sealed portholes looked out onto a garden of garish sea plants. The walls were covered by tapestries showing famous moments of Salkrikaltor history. The floor was stone slabs-quite dry-warmed by some hidden fire. There were dark ornaments in the room-jet, black coral, black pearl.

Nodding, welcoming the humans, were three he-cray. One, much younger than his companions, stood a little back, just like Bellis.

They were pale. Compared to the cray of Tarmuth, they spent far more of their lives below the water, where the sun could not stain them. All that distinguished cray upper bodies from humans’ was the little ruff of gills on the neck, but there was also something alien about their submarine pallor.

Below the waist, the crays’ armored hindquarters were those of colossal rock lobsters: huge carapaces of gnarled shell and overlapping somites. Their human abdomens jutted out from above where the eyes and antennae would have been. Even in the air, an alien medium, their multitude of legs worked with intricate grace. They sounded softly as they moved, a gentle percussion of chitin.

They adorned their crustacean hindquarters with a kind of tattoo, carving designs into the shell and staining them with various extracts. The two older cray had an extraordinary array of symbols on their flanks.

One stepped forward and spoke very quickly in Salkrikaltor. There was a moment’s silence.

“Welcome,” said the young cray behind him, the translator. He spoke Ragamoll with a heavy accent. “We are glad you have come and speak with us.”

The discussion started slowly. Council Leader King Skarakatchi and Councilman King Drood’adji made expressions of polite and ritualistic delight that were matched by Myzovic and Cumbershum. Everyone agreed that it was excellent that they had all met, and that two such great cities remained on such good terms, that trade was such a healthy way of ensuring goodwill, and so on.

The conversation shifted quickly. With impressive smoothness, Bellis found herself translating specifics. The conversation had moved on to how many apples and plums the Terpsichoria would leave in Salkrikaltor, and how many bottles of unguent and liquor it would receive in return.

It was not long before matters of state were discussed, information that must come from the upper echelons of New Crobuzon’s parliament: details about when and if ambassadors would be replaced, about possible trade treaties with other powers, and how such arrangements would impact on relations with Salkrikaltor.

Bellis found it easy to close her ears to what she said, to pass such information straight through herself. Not out of patriotism or fealty to New Crobuzon’s government-of which she felt none-but out of boredom. The secret discussions were incomprehensible, the little snippets of information that Bellis spoke underwhelming and tedious. She thought instead of the tons of water above them, intrigued that she felt no panic.

She worked automatically for some time, forgetting what she said almost immediately it was out of her mouth.

Until suddenly she heard the captain’s voice change, and she discovered that she was listening.

“I have one further question, Your Excellency,” said Captain Myzovic, sipping his drink. Bellis coughed and barked the Salkrikaltor sounds. “In Qe Banssa, I was ordered to check a bizarre rumor passed on by the New Crobuzon representative. It was so preposterous I was certain there had been a misunderstanding. Nevertheless, I detoured around the Fins-which is why we are late for this meeting.

“During our diversion I discovered to my… dismay and concern that the rumors were true. I bring this up because it concerns our good friendship with Salkrikaltor.” The captain’s voice was hardening. “It is to do with our concerns in Salkrikaltor waters. At the southern edge of the Fins, as the councilors know, are the… vitally important investments for which we pay generous mooring rights. I am speaking, of course, of our platforms, our rigs.”

Bellis had never heard the word rigs used so, and she spoke it smoothly in Ragamoll. The crays seemed to understand. She kept her translation automatic and smooth, but Bellis listened in fascination to every word the captain spoke.

“We passed them after midnight. First one, then another. All was as it should be, both for the Manikin and Trashstar rigs. But, councilors…” He sat forward, put down his glass, and stared at them predatorily. “I have a very important question. Where is the other one? ”

The cray officials stared at the captain. With slow, comic simultaneity, they looked at each other, then back at Captain Myzovic.

“We confess… to confusion, Captain.” The translator spoke softly for his leaders, his voice unchanging, but for the briefest second Bellis caught his eye. Something passed between them, some shared astonishment, some camaraderie.

What are we party to, brother? Bellis thought. She was tense, and craved a cigarillo.

“We have no knowledge of what you speak,” her opposite number continued. “We are not concerned with the platforms, so long as mooring rental is paid. What has happened, Captain?”

“What has happened ,” said Captain Myzovic, his voice tight, “is that the Sorghum , our deep-sea rig, our mobile platform, is gone.” He waited for Bellis to catch up with him, and then waited some more, stretching the silence. “Along, I might add, with her retinue of five ironclads, her officers, staff, scientists, and geo-empath.

“The first word that the Sorghum was no longer at its mooring point reached Dancing Bird Island three weeks ago. The crews of the other rigs were asking why they had not been told of the Sorghum ’s orders to relocate. No such order had been given.” The captain put down his glass and stared at the two cray. “The Sorghum was to remain in situ for another six months at least. It should be where we left it. Council Leader, Councilor- what has happened to our rig? ”

When Skarakatchi spoke, the translator mimicked his soft tones. “We know nothing.”

Captain Myzovic knotted his hands. “This happened barely a hundred miles away, in Salkrikaltor waters, in a region your navy and hunters regularly patrol, and you know nothing?” His tone was controlled but threatening. “Councilors, that is extraordinary. You have no notion what happened? Whether she sank in a freak squall, if she was attacked and destroyed? Can you tell me that you have heard nothing ? That something could do this to us just off your coasts, and you are quite ignorant?”

There was a long silence. The two cray leaned in and whispered to each other.

“We hear many rumors…” King Skarakatchi said through the translator. Drood’adji looked at them both sharply. “But we have heard nothing of this. We can offer our support and sorrow to our friends of New Crobuzon-but no information.”

“I must tell you,” Captain Myzovic said after a murmured consultation with Cumbershum, “that I am deeply unhappy. New Crobuzon can no longer pay mooring rights for a rig that is not there. Our rent is hereby to be cut by a third. And I will be sending word back to the city about your inability to offer assistance. This must cast in some doubt the ability of Salkrikaltor to act as custodians of our interests. My government will wish to discuss this further. New arrangements may have to be made. Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, and drained his glass. “We will be staying one night in Salkrikaltor harbor. We’ll head off early tomorrow morning.”