Free The Scar by China Miéville

scouring the horizon. Officers shouted instructions to the men in the crow’s nests. Bellis watched the bewilderment and rumor-mongering of the passengers.
    “The man’s a disgrace,” she overheard, “screaming at paying passengers like that.”
    “I was standing outside the captain’s office, and I heard someone accuse him of wasting time—of disobeying orders,” Miss Cardomium reported, bewildered. “How can that be?”
    It’s Fennec
, thought Bellis.
He’s angry because we’re not going directly back. Myzovic is . . . what? Looking for evidence of the
Sorghum
, on the way
.
    The sea beyond the Fins was darker, more powerful, and cold—unbroken by rocks. The sky was wan. They were beyond Basilisk Channel. This was the edge of the Swollen Ocean. Bellis stared at the endless green waves with distaste. She felt vertiginous. She imagined three, four, five thousand miles of brine yawning away eastward, and closed her eyes. The wind butted her insistently.
    Bellis realized she was thinking again about the river, the slow stretch of water that connected New Crobuzon to the sea like an umbilicus.

    When Fennec reappeared, walking quickly across the poop deck, Bellis intercepted him. “Mr. Fennec,” she said.
    His face opened as he saw her. “Bellis Coldwine,” he said. “I hope you’re not too put out by the detour.”
    She indicated for him to follow her out of earshot of the few passengers and crew around them. She stopped in the shadow of the ship’s enormous chimney.
    “I’m afraid I am, Mr. Fennec,” she said. “My plans are quite specific. This is a serious problem for me. I have no idea when I’ll be able to find another ship that wants my services.” Silas Fennec inclined his head in vague sympathy. He was clearly distracted.
    Bellis spoke again. “I wonder if you’d shed light on the forced change of plans that has our captain so angry.” She hesitated. “Will you tell me what is happening, please?”
    Fennec raised his eyebrows. “I can’t, Miss Coldwine,” he said, his voice mild.
    “Mr. Fennec,” she muttered coldly, “you’ve seen the reaction of our passengers; you know how unpopular this diversion is. Don’t you think I—all of us, but I most of all—deserve some explanation? Can’t you think what would happen if I were to tell the others what I suspect—that this whole mess was instigated because of the mysterious newcomer—“ Bellis spoke quickly, trying to provoke or shame him into telling her the truth, but her voice stopped short when she saw his reaction. His face changed suddenly and utterly.
    His amiable, mildly sly expression went hard. He held up a finger to hush her. He looked quickly around, then spoke to her fast. He sounded sincere and very urgent.
    “Miss Coldwine,” he said. “I understand your anger, but you must listen to me.”
    She drew herself up, meeting his gaze.
    “You must withdraw that threat. I won’t appeal to your professional code or your bloody honor,” he whispered. “Probably you’re as cynical about such things as I am. But I will appeal to
you
. I have no idea what you’ve worked out or guessed, but let me tell you that it is
vital
—do you understand?
—
that I get back to New Crobuzon quickly, without interruption, without fuss.” There was a long pause.
    “There is . . . there is a vast amount at stake, Miss Coldwine. You cannot spread mischief. I am begging you to keep these things to yourself. I’m relying on you to be discreet.”
    He was not threatening her. His face and voice were stern but not aggressive. As he claimed, he was begging, not trying to intimidate her into submission. He spoke to her like a partner, a confidante.
    And impressed and shocked by his fervor, she realized that she
would
keep what she had heard to herself.
    He saw this decision move across her face and nodded in sharp thanks before walking away.

    In her cabin, Bellis tried to work out what she was going to do. It would not be safe for her to