Un Lun Dun (25 page)

52

Skeptical Authorities

“I’m sorry, Deeba,” said Jones. “I still just don’t understand.”

The bus was flying low and fast, heading half-hidden through the roofscape for the Pons Absconditus.

“Like I said,” said Deeba. “Unstible’s not Unstible, he’s
Smog.
And the Unbrellissimo and the man from the MP’s office are in on it.”

“But why?” said Jones. “Why would Brokkenbroll be part of something like this? He’s
helping.
”

Hemi was pulling on his clothes, nodding vigorously at everything Deeba said.

“The Smog wants to burn everything,” he said. “Murgatroyd’s boss is putting smoke from London down
here.
Feeding it. And Brokkenbroll—”

“When you’ve all got unbrellas, Brokkenbroll runs things,” Deeba said. “You have to obey him or he can just let the Smog kill you. They’re partners. Brokkenbroll can’t force you straight off, so he has to make you think he’s on your side.”

“Deeba…” Jones looked doubtful. “Why would he do that? I don’t think he’d really do that, would he? Are you sure?”

“Unstible just tried to
burn
us!”

“Well I can’t say anything about
him,
” Jones said, “but Brokkenbroll—he seems to be fighting on the right side. Maybe he’s been taken in by this imposter, too.”

Deeba shook her head and stamped her foot in exasperation. She stared out of the back of the bus. There were birds, beasts, and clouds in the air, but nothing seemed to be following them.

“There’s the bridge,” she said. “Come on! I’ll explain it all to the Propheseers, too.”

Deeba, Hemi, and Jones descended by rope ladder, right into the office in the center of the Pons Absconditus. Deeba recognized many of the Propheseers’ voices calling to her in astonished welcome.

“Deeba!” Lectern said delightedly, reaching up to pluck her from the ladder.

“We heard a rumor that you were back,” said Mortar. “How wonderful. But…the Shwazzy’s not here? No? Ah well, we thought there might have been…miscommunication.” He tried to hide his disappointment. “And is this your friend? Hm. Well…hello. So…Jones and Murgatroyd found you? They’ve been looking—”

“Mortar!” she said. “Lectern! Where’s the book? Everyone, listen. It’s not Unstible. The man who says he’s Unstible wants to burn everything. And Brokkenbroll’s not on your side. The unbrellas…they’re part of a plan, and he’s got something up his sleeve…”

In her haste and anxiety, Deeba knew she wasn’t making much sense. Hemi’s garbled agreements and enthusiastic nodding weren’t helping. She could see the Propheseers frowning in confusion. She stamped.

“I explained to Conductor Jones!” she said. “Hemi was there, he’ll tell you.”

“She’s right,” said Hemi. “It’s a trick.”

“The Unstible-thing wants to burn the libraries,” Deeba said. “And build factories…and burn
me
…”

“You’re saying the unbrellas don’t work?” Lectern said, frowning.

“No, they
do.
But the Unbrellissimo’s giving them out for a reason—”

“Let me clarify,” Mortar said. “He’s giving us a weapon against the Smog on behalf of the Smog?”

There was a long pause. Deeba and Hemi looked at each other.

“Well…yes…” Deeba said.

“I don’t understand,” Mortar said. “Unstible’s dedicated his life to fighting for UnLondon, and now you’re saying he’s—”

“It’s not Unstible,” Deeba said.

“Who isn’t Unstible?” Mortar said.

“Unstible.”

In the silence that followed all the Propheseers stared at Deeba. She clenched her teeth in frustration.

“Where’s the book?” she said. “Get it. I know it’s not perfect, but it might have something written about this.”

“The book, ah…might not be too much help,” Lectern said. “It’s not in the best mood recently…”

“Just get it!” Mortar inclined his head, and Lectern wrestled it out of a drawer.

“Why are you bothering me?” the book said morosely. “Is that…Deeba Resham? Why are you here?” Then it asked in sudden excitement, “Is the Shwazzy back?”

“No,” said Deeba. “She don’t know anything. She don’t remember—”

“Well of
course,
” said the book, its voice sulky again.

“But listen!” Deeba said. “She’s in
danger.
I been trying to tell you. Unstible’s going
after
her, soon as it’s sorted
me
out.”

“Danger?” said the book. “Unstible? What are you talking about?”

“Just listen,” Deeba said. “I want to know if you’ve got anything about a double cross…”

“What?” the book interrupted. “Are you making fun of me now?”

“No! I just—”

“Because we’ve already established I don’t know anything.”

“That’s not true,” Deeba said. “Not everything went how it was supposed to, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing useful in you.”

“I do beg your pardon,” Lectern said. “It’s been a bit snippy.”

“Of
course
I’m snippy!” the book said. “I just found out I’m completely pointless! My prophecies are bags of nonsense!”

“This is UnLondon’s seat of knowledge?” Hemi muttered. “Deadsey help us, what a farrago.” Deeba almost stamped in frustration.

“We’re wasting time!” she said. “Wait! Look!” She held up the little slip of ghost-paper. “This is the certificate from Wraithtown that says Unstible died.” The Propheseers squinted at it.

“It’s blank,” one said.

“He burnt the rest,” she said desperately, clenching her fists in frustration.

“Deeba,” said Mortar in a kindly voice. “I’ve known Benjamin Hue Unstible for years. I’m sure you think you’ve found something, but it makes no sense. That’s just a scrap of paper. The thing is, it’s no surprise if you make a mistake. I mean, you’re not the Shwazzy. You don’t have any destiny here. Perhaps you got the wrong end of the stick.”

Deeba gaped at him.

“Give me that.” It was the book. Deeba looked at it in surprise. “The paper. We all know I don’t know UnLondon like I thought I did, blah blah, but I do know paper.”

Deeba held out her hands for the book. Lectern hesitated.

“Get on with it, it’s fine,” the book said testily. “Hand me over.” Deeba took it, slipped the paper between its pages, and closed it. The book made a sound like chewing.

“Mmm…” it said. It sounded surprised. “Well…it’s definitely genuine Wraithtown—”

“Wait!”
A voice interrupted them. Everyone looked up.

Swooping down in a shadowy cloud of broken umbrellas, Mr. Brokkenbroll was dropping towards them out of the sky.

“Hold on!” he shouted as he careered for them. “There’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

“Ah, Unbrellissimo,” Mortar shouted up. “Perhaps you can clear things up.”

“What?”
Deeba said. “He’s in on it! You have to stop him! How come he can get on the bridge?”

“Of course we showed him how,” Mortar said. “He’s an ally in the battle.”

“Calm down, Deeba,” said Lectern. “There’s no need to worry.”

“Actually, you know, I think we should hear her out,” the book said, but the Propheseers weren’t listening. Hemi edged towards Deeba.

“Unstible frightened the girl,” Brokkenbroll said. He landed on the Pons in a swirl of steel and cloth, and walked briskly towards them. The unbrellas fluttered about him. “He’s not used to dealing with children. He was trying to explain that she was in danger, and she misunderstood.”

“That’s not true!” Deeba said, backing away, clutching the book like a shield. Everyone on the bridge was staring at her.

“It’s a lie,” Hemi shouted.

“It’s not her fault,” Brokkenbroll said. “Unstible feels terrible about what happened. I had to come quickly to explain, because she’s still in danger. The fact is, she
has
been tricked. By
him.
” The Unbrellissimo pointed at Hemi.

There were expostulations all over the bridge.

“Oh
what
?” gasped Hemi. “Here we go.” He backed away.

“I’m not sure about this,” the book said, in Deeba’s arms. “Something funny’s going on.”

“This is lies,” Deeba said. “He’s lying.” But Deeba could see the Propheseers listening to the man they knew, blaming the ghost they had never trusted, for misleading her, the girl who was not the Shwazzy.

“Surely this can’t be right…” said Jones, but he was drowned out.

“That ghost has been filling her head with nonsense, trying to drive a wedge between us, trying to stir up trouble, at a very delicate time in the war. The Smog’s redoubled its attacks, and we really have to pull together. And he’s misleading our honored guest in this disgraceful way, for his own nefarious purposes.”

Brokkenbroll came threateningly on, his unbrellas bounding towards Deeba and Hemi on their points. The Propheseers looked accusingly at Hemi.

“…disgraceful…” Deeba heard.

“…comes causing trouble…”

“…what’s he planning?”

“I
told
you this was a bad idea,” Hemi said, backing away.

“Are you crazy?” she wailed. “This is stupid! He’s lying! He just knows you’ll blame Hemi and not listen!”

“Give me back the book, Deeba, and come away from that boy,” Lectern said.

“Deeba,” said Brokkenbroll. “We can help you.”

Deeba tried desperately to think of some way she could persuade them to listen, that Hemi wasn’t the problem, that Brokkenbroll was lying. She looked into the Propheseers’ faces and realized she could not.

“We’ll sort out that little troublemaker,” Mortar said.

Deeba turned, still clutching the book, and yelled at Hemi, “Run!”

“Where are you going?” shouted the book. “Stop! Let me go!”

But Deeba did not let it go. Pursued by frantic Propheseers, commanded unbrellas, and the trench-coated Mr. Brokkenbroll reaching out with long fingers like an unbrella’s tines, Deeba and Curdle and Hemi the half-ghost ran.

53

A Hasty Leave-Taking

Deeba and her companions sped along the bridge that crossed from somewhere to somewhere else.

The Unbrellissimo and the Propheseers ran after them, shouting various things ranging from “Please wait!” to “Let’s sort this out,” to “Just you wait, ghost!”

“What are you doing?” the book screeched. “Put me down.”

Deeba did not slow. She didn’t have a plan: she just ran to get off the bridge as fast as she could, before Brokkenbroll reached her.

“Stop them!” she heard Mortar shout. “Before they get off!”

With a start, Deeba realized that the streets at the end of the bridge were unclear. They flickered between several configurations. She kept going.

“What’s happening?” Hemi shouted.

“I dunno,” said Deeba. “Just run!”

They were only a few feet from the end of the bridge, and the streets ahead were changing so fast they were a blur of architecture. The bridge was strobing between destinations.

“No!” shouted Mortar. “Stop it! There are too many!”

Deeba glanced over her shoulder. The general of the broken umbrellas was only a few paces behind, his unbrella hordes bearing down. He caught Deeba’s eye. An unbrella lurched out and snagged her rear pocket, and with a little cry Deeba pulled free, ripping her trousers.

“Come on!” Deeba sped straight at the rush of images. “Together!” She tucked the book under her arm, grabbed Hemi’s hand and held tight to Curdle. Hemi cried out, the book wailed, and they leapt off the end of the bridge—