Perdido Street Station (10 page)

"I just feel
sorry
for them," he tittered. "They’re so...
intense"

Ged was generally held
to be the most anomolously good-humoured vodyanoi anyone had ever
met. He had absolutely none of the glowering snappiness typical of
that cantankerous race.

"Anyway," he
continued, calming down a little, "I don’t mind the Cogs
nearly as much as some. They don’t have half the rigour they
think they do, of course, but at least they’re taking things
seriously. And at least they’re not...I don’t
know...Compline or Codling Brood, or something."

**

Palgolak was a god of
knowledge. He was depicted either as a fat, squat human reading in a
bath, or a svelte vodyanoi doing the same, or, mystically, both at
once. His congregation were human and vodyanoi in roughly equal
proportions. He was an amiable, pleasant deity, a sage whose
existence was entirely devoted to the collection, categorization, and
dissemination of information.

Isaac worshipped no
gods. He did not believe in the omniscience or omnipotence claimed
for a few, or even the existence of many. Certainly there were
creatures and essences that inhabited different aspects of existence,
and certainly some of them were powerful, in human terms. But
worshipping them seemed to him rather a craven activity. Even he,
though, had a soft spot for Palgolak. He rather hoped the fat bastard
did
exist, in some form or other. Isaac liked the idea of an
inter-aspectual entity so enamoured with knowledge that it just
roamed from realm to realm in a bath, murmuring with interest at
everything it came across.

Palgolak’s
library was at least the equal to that of the New Crobuzon
University. It did not lend books, but it did allow readers in at any
time of the day or the night, and there were very, very few books it
did not allow access to. The Palgolaki were proselytizers, holding
that everything known by a worshipper was immediately known by
Palgolak, which was why they were religiously charged to read
voraciously. But their mission was only secondarily for the glory of
Palgolak, and primarily for the glory of knowledge, which was why
they were sworn to admit all who wished to enter into their library.

Which was what Ged was
gently complaining about. The New Crobuzon Palgolak Library had the
best collection of religious manuscripts known in the world of
Bas-Lag, and it attracted pilgrims from a huge variety of religious
traditions and factions. They thronged the northern ends of Brock
Marsh and Spit Hearth, all the worshipping races of the world, in
robes and masks, sporting whips, leashes, magnifying glasses, the
whole gamut of religious paraphernalia.

Some of the pilgrims
were less than pleasant. The viciously anti-xenian Codling Brood, for
example, was growing in the city, and Ged saw it as his unfortunate
sacred duty to assist these racists who spat and called him "toad"
and "riverpig" in between tracing passages from their
texts.

Compared to them, the
egalitarian Godmech Cogs were a harmless sect, even if their belief
in the mechanicity of One True God was aggressively asserted.

Isaac and Ged had had
many long arguments over the years, mostly theological, but also over
literature and art and politics. Isaac respected the friendly
vodyanoi. He knew him to be fervent in his religious duty of reading
and, accordingly, hugely knowledgeable about any subject Isaac could
think of. He was always at first a little circumspect with
opinions
about the information he shared—"Only Palgolak has enough
knowledge to offer
analysis"
Ged would proclaim piously
at the start of an argument—until three or so drinks had
obscured his religious non-dogmaticism and he would hold forth at the
top of his voice.

"Ged," Isaac
asked. "What can you tell me about the garuda?"

Ged shrugged, and he
grinned with pleasure at imparting what he knew.

"Not very much.
Bird-people. Live in the Cymek, and the north of Shotek, and the west
of Mordiga, reputedly. Maybe also on some of the other continents.
Hollow bones." Ged’s eyes were fixed, focused on the
remembered pages of whatever xenthropological work he was quoting.
"Cymek garuda are egalitarian...
completely
egalitarian,
and completely individualistic. Hunters and gatherers, no sexual
division of labour. No money, no rank, although they do have sort of
uninstitutional
ranks. Just means you’re worthy of more
respect, that sort of thing. Don’t worship any gods, although
they do have a devil-figure, which may or may not be a real eidolon.
Dahnesch, it’s called. Hunt and fight with whips, bows, spears,
light blades. Don’t use shields: too heavy to fly with. So they
sometimes use two weapons at once. Have the occasional rumble with
other bands or species, probably over resources. You know about their
library?"

Isaac nodded. Ged’s
eyes glazed with an almost obscene look of hunger.

"Godspit, I’d
love to get to that. It’ll never happen." He looked glum.
"Desert’s not really vodyanoi territory. Bit dry..."

"Well, seeing as
you know so arsing little about them, I might as well just stop
talking to you," said Isaac.

To Isaac’s
astonishment, Ged’s face fell.

"Joke, Ged! Irony!
Sarcasm! You know fucking
loads
about them. At least compared
to me. I’ve been browsing Shacrestialchit, and you’ve
just exceeded the sum of my knowledge. Do you know anything
about...uh...their criminal code?"

Ged stared at him. His
huge eyes narrowed.

"What you up to,
Isaac? They’re so egalitarian...well...Their society’s
all based on maximizing choice for the individual, which is why
they’re communistic. Grants the most uninhibited choice to
everyone. And as far as I remember the
only
crime they have is
depriving another garuda of choice. And then it’s exacerbated
or mollified depending on whether they do it with or without respect,
which they absolutely
love...
"

"How do you steal
someone’s choice?"

"No idea. I
suppose if you nick someone’s spear, they don’t have the
choice of using it...What about if you lie about where some tasty
lichen is, so you deprive others of the choice of going for it...?"

"Maybe some
choice-thefts are analogies of stuff we’d consider crimes and
some have absolutely no equivalent," said Isaac.

"I’d imagine
so."

"What’s an
abstract individual and a concrete individual?"

Ged was gazing at Isaac
in wonder.

"My good arse,
Isaac...you’ve made friends with some garuda, haven’t
you?"

Isaac raised one
eyebrow, and nodded quickly.

"Damn!" Ged
shouted. People at the surrounding tables turned to him with brief
surprise. "And a Cymek garuda...! Isaac, you
have
to make
him—him? her?—come and talk to me about the Cymek!"

"I don’t
know, Ged. He’s a bit...taciturn..."

"Oh please oh
please..."

"All right, all
right, I’ll
ask
him. But don’t get your hopes up.
Now tell me what the difference is between a fucking abstract and
concrete individual."

"Oh, this is
fascinating.
I suppose you aren’t allowed to tell me
what the job is...? No, didn’t think so. Well, put simply, and
as far as I understand it, they’re egalitarian because they
respect the individual so much, right? And you can’t respect
other people’s individuality if you focus on your own
individuality in a kind of abstract, isolated way. The point is that
you
are
an individual inasmuch as you exist in a social matrix
of others who respect your individuality and your right to make
choices. That’s concrete individuality: an individuality that
recognizes that it owes its existence to a kind of communal respect
on the part of all the other individualities, and that it had better
therefore respect them similarly.

"So an abstract
individual is a garuda who forgot, for some time, that he or she is
part of a larger unit, and owes respect to all the other
choosing
individuals."

There was a long pause.

"Are you any
wiser, Isaac?" asked Ged gently, and broke off into giggles.

Isaac wasn’t sure
if he was or not.

"So look, Ged, if
I said to you ‘second-degree choice-theft with disrespect,’
would you know what a garuda had done?"

"No..." Ged
looked thoughtful. "No, I wouldn’t. Sounds bad...I think
there are some books in the library that might explain, though..."

At that moment, Lemuel
Pigeon strode into Isaac’s view.

"Ged, look,"
Isaac interrupted hurriedly. "Beg pardon and all that, I really
have to have a word with Lemuel. Can I talk to you later?"

Ged grinned without
rancour and waved Isaac away.

"Lemuel...a word
in your ear. Could be profitable."

"Isaac! Always a
pleasure to deal with a man of science. How’s the life of the
mind?"

Lemuel leant back in
his chair. He was dressed foppishly. His jacket was burgundy, his
waistcoat yellow. He wore a small top hat. A mass of yellow curls
burst out from under it in a ponytail they clearly resented.

"The life of the
mind, Lemuel, has reached something of an impasse. And that, my
friend, is where
you
come in."

"
Me?"
Lemuel Pigeon smiled lopsidedly.

"Yes, Lemuel,"
said Isaac portentously. "You too can forward the cause of
science."

Isaac enjoyed bantering
with Lemuel, although the younger man made him a little uneasy.
Lemuel was a chancer, a snitch, a fence...the quintessential
go-between. He had carved a profitable little niche for himself out
of being a most efficient middle-man. Packages, information, offers,
messages, refugees, goods: anything that two people wanted to
exchange without actually meeting, Lemuel would courier. He was
invaluable to those like Isaac who wanted to dredge the New Crobuzon
underworld without getting their feet wet or their hands dirty.
Similarly, the denizens of that other city could use Lemuel to reach
into the realm of the more-or-less legal without beaching, flopping
helplessly at the militia’s door. Not that all of Lemuel’s
work involved both worlds: some was entirely legal or entirely
illegal. It was just that crossing the border was his speciality.

Lemuel’s
existence was precarious. He was unscrupulous and brutal—vicious
when necessary. If the going ever got dangerous, he would leave
anyone with him in a trail of his dust. Everyone knew that. Lemuel
never hid it. There was a certain honesty about him. He never
pretended that you could trust him.

"Lemuel, you young
science fiend, you..." Isaac said. "I’m conducting a
little research. Now, I need to get hold of some specimens. I’m
talking anything that flies. And that is where you come in. See, a
man in my position can’t be trogging around New Crobuzon
looking for fucking
wrens
...a man in my position should be
able to put the word out and have winged things fall into his lap."

"Put an ad in the
newspapers, Isaac old chum. Why’re you talking to me?"

"Because I’m
talking
plenty plenty,
and I don’t want to know where it
comes from. And I’m talking
variety.
I want to see as
many different little flying things as I can, and some of them ain’t
easy to come by. Example...if I wanted to get hold of, say, an
aspis...I could pay some buccaneer of a ship’s captain top
dollar for a mange-ridden half-dead specimen of same...or I can pay
you to arrange for one of your honourable associates to liberate some
poor stifled little aspis from some fucking gilded cage up in East
Gidd or Rim. Capiche?"

"Isaac old son...I
begin to understand you."

"Of course you do,
Lemuel. You’re a businessman. I’m looking for
rare
flying things. I want things I’ve never seen before. I want
inventive flying things. I will not be paying top whack for a basket
full of blackbirds—although please don’t take that to
mean that blackbirds aren’t wanted. Blackbirds are welcome,
along with thrushes, jackdaws and what have you. Pigeons, Lemuel,
your very own namesake. But what’s even
more
welcome
are, say, dragonfly-snakes."

"Rare," said
Lemuel, looking intently at his pint.

"Very rare,"
agreed Isaac. "Which is why serious amounts of dosh would change
hands for a good specimen. You get the idea, Lemuel? I want birds,
insects, bats...also eggs, also cocoons, also grubs, anything which
is going to turn
into
a flying thing. That could be even more
useful, actually. Anything which looks set to be up to dog-sized.
Nothing too much bigger, and nothing dangerous. Impressive as it
would be to catch a drud or a wind-rhino, I don’t want it."

"Who would,
Isaac?" agreed Lemuel.

Isaac stuffed a
five-guinea note into Lemuel’s top pocket. The two men raised
their glasses and drank together.

**

That had been yesterday
evening. Isaac sat back and imagined his request worming its way
through New Crobuzon’s criminal alleys.

Isaac had used Lemuel’s
services before, when he had needed a rare or forbidden compound, or
a manuscript of which there were only a few copies in New Crobuzon,
or information on the synthesis of illegal substances. It appealed to
Isaac’s sense of humour to think of the hardest elements of the
city’s underworld earnestly scrabbling for birds and
butterflies in between their gangfights and drugs deals.

It was Shunday the next
day, Isaac realized. It had been several days since he had seen Lin.
She didn’t even
know
about his commission. They had a
date, he remembered. They were meeting for dinner. He could put his
research aside for a little while and tell his lover everything that
had happened. It was something he enjoyed, emptying his mind of all
its accumulated odds and ends, and offering them to Lin.