Un Lun Dun (50 page)

97

Regroupment

For a long time, Deeba just stood in the rubble of the factory, swaying. She dangled the UnGun at the end of her arm, cautiously. Deeba thought she could feel the weapon twitching slightly.

She staggered to an unbroken stool and sat at the remains of a table.

“That,” said the book slowly, “was great.”

Deeba had forgotten it was there. She bent and picked it up, wiped the dust off its cover.

“Are you alright?” she said.

“Okay,” the book said. “It tore out a couple of my pages and burnt them, to scare me. Worked, too. Are you alright?”

Deeba laughed tiredly.

“I think I am,” she said.

Trailing dust, Curdle emerged from a pile of rubbish. It shuffled to Deeba’s feet. She picked it up, too, and stroked it clean.

“And you,” she said, and beckoned to the rebrella. It jumped onto her lap. They listened to the noises of celebration across UnLondon.

There was a cough and a shuffle nearby. Brokkenbroll was staring at her, from the ground. He looked as terrified of her as he had of the Smog.

“It…you…it…” he whispered.

“How long have you been awake?” Deeba said.

Sending up dust, Brokkenbroll fumbled for his unbrellas. All but one were buried under bricks, or lost.

“You stay away from me!” he whined. He scrabbled backwards, his single unbrella in his hand. He stumbled to his feet. “The Smog…!” he said. “It…you…” His mouth worked a few more seconds; then he ran across the remains of the room, leapt the rubble of the wall and out into the air.

Without any others to carry him, the unbrella lurched down a long way. It opened and closed frantically, struggling to stay airborne. Brokkenbroll clung to it, swaying, with his right hand. His clothes were ragged and flapping and left a trail of powdered brick.

As he flew slowly away, Deeba heard him wail.

She got to her feet.

“Quick,” she said, and staggered. “We should…I should…” She wasn’t sure what to say next.

“Leave it,” said the book. “He saw you with the Smog, at the end. He’s too afraid to do anything but run. We can deal with him later.”

Deeba sank back onto the stool.

“If we even need to deal with him,” she said. She patted the rebrella. “We know how to free his soldiers. Without them, he’s got nothing.

“And not,” she added, looking at the UnGun, “in the good way.”

“Deeba…?” Through the remnants of the door, staring at the wreckage, came Conductor Jones, leaning wearily on makeshift crutches.

Behind him came Bling and Cauldron, holding Hemi’s hands. And behind them, bleeding, holding his wrist gingerly, but wearing a bewildered smile, was Obaday Fing.

Deeba called their names happily. She stumbled over and hugged those who weren’t too bruised to take it.

“What,” said Hemi, looking at the devastation admiringly, “did you
do
?”

“The utterlings persuaded those words to go exploring,” said Jones. “And we heard all sorts of banging and whatnot. The Hex are all tied up. We shouldn’t have left you alone.” He hobbled slowly forward. “We tried to get up here as quick as we could.”

“Look at the utterlings!” Deeba said. “They’re back.”

Bling and Cauldron weren’t quite fully solid, but they were more substantial than when she had last seen them.

“You were right,” said Jones. “It worked. Took them awhile to work out how to say themselves by signing, but they’re getting it. Bling does it by rubbing his legs together.”

“The smombies all emptied,” said Hemi. “The smoke went up. Zoomed about the sky. But…” He looked about. “You know all about that, don’t you?”

Deeba waved the UnGun vaguely.

“What?” said Jones. “Did you manage to reload?”

“Sort of,” said Deeba. “It’s a prison. It’s full of the Smog.”

They yelled and backed away, then paused as they realized there was no sign of trouble.

“What
happened
here?” said Jones.

Deeba paused a long time, then laughed.

“I’ll explain,” she said. “But basically…Nothing.
Nothing
happened.”

The sky was beginning to grow light.

“There’s lots of stuff to do,” Deeba said. “We have to find Brokkenbroll. He got away. And we have to tell everyone in UnLondon what to do with the unbrellas.” She twirled her rebrella, and it did a little midair pirouette of its own.

“There’s all sorts to do. Let’s find the Propheseers. I’ve got an apology to pick up.”

“So we’ve got to get to the Pons,
now
?” said Jones, trying not to look horrified.

“Don’t worry,” said Deeba. “No more trekking. Give it a minute. The bridge’ll come to us.”

“What about Skool?” said Obaday. “And the binja, and—”

“We’ll make some stops,” said Deeba. “Trust me. Mortar’s going to do exactly what I say.”

She knew it would be awhile, and it was. It took a bit of time, in the confusion at the end of the war, while the Propheseers tried to work out what had happened, and how the abcity had won, and whether they could trust the victory. But after the UnSun had come up and shone gently on UnLondon, the end of the Propheseers’ bridge poked into the ruins of Unstible’s workshop, and Mortar beckoned them all on.

98

Fit for Heroes

“We’re putting the word out,” Mortar said. “All over UnLondon, unbrellas are being converted to rebrellas. Mostly they bounce off immediately into the Backwall Maze or somewhere and join bands of rubbish. But a few of them seem to want to stick around with us.”

“Whatever,” said Deeba. “The main point is Brokkenbroll can’t control them. Does anyone know where he is yet?”

“No. But we’re not worried. I’m sure he’ll try to break a few rebrellas and reclaim them, and unbrellas are going to keep finding their way here, but everyone knows to fix them when found. What can he do? He’s a bandit and we all know it. A nuisance, at worst, these days.”

“Still,” said Deeba. “I’ll be happier when you find him.”

“Binja are looking.”

“Among others,” said the book, tucked under Hemi’s arm.

It was only one full day after that extraordinary battle, but UnLondon was adjusting to the news and ways of postwar life impressively quickly. All over the abcity, stories of heroism and betrayal and incompetence and luck were emerging. There were plenty of champions Deeba had never heard of, who’d done amazing things, in parts of UnLondon she’d never been.

“What’ll happen to Lectern?” Deeba said.

“Oh, she’s confessed,” said Mortar. “She’ll do some time. But she’s by no means the worst of them.”

“No,” said Deeba. “She was just a coward. Although seeing as what she almost did to me…”

“Absolutely,” muttered Hemi. He had become a go-between of sorts, a proto-ambassador between Wraithtown and the Pons, and he was wearing a suit of ghost-clothes. Around the cotton was a corona of older forms of dress.

“Quite,” said Mortar. “There were quite a few people who worked hand in glove with the Smog. We don’t know who they all are.”

“The Concern. They could be trouble in the future.”

There was a lot to do. Mortar was energized, now that he had finally stopped apologizing to Deeba.

“Is the UnLondon-I ready?” Deeba said. “I have to get back over.”

“They’re finishing it up now,” Mortar said. “Don’t worry, it’ll be ready by tonight. And that still gives you a few hours in hand—you’ll be fine.”

The great waterwheel, like so much in the abcity, had been damaged in the fighting, its mechanisms clogged and banged about by rampaging stink-junkies. Nothing too serious before the Smog had dispersed, but enough that they had not been able to use it the previous day, to generate the current to poke the Pons Absconditus through the Odd into London.

A little part of Deeba had almost felt relief. Despite her eagerness to return, she’d been so battered after the showdown that a day of enforced rest and recuperation while the Propheseers worked to fix it had felt like a blessing. Now it was definitely time for her to go.

They strolled on the Pons Absconditus as Propheseers had its ends dip into various parts of UnLondon, gadding busily around the abcity. Elsewhere on the bridge were Deeba’s companions, their wounds bandaged and tended by doctors and apothecaries, whose herbs, poultices, and spells had done amazing things.

“I like your clothes,” Deeba said to Hemi.

“Oh yeah,” he said, embarrassed. “I haven’t often worn ghost togs. Too busy trying
not
to have that side of me noticed. Extreme shopping.” He grinned. “But the good thing is with these things I don’t end up in the nude if I go through something—they come with me.”

“It’s all going well,” Deeba said, looking around. “Be good to see what happens.”

“The first thing,” said the book, “is that I’m making this lot change their name. Now that we know things don’t go as written at all.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” said Deeba. “You’re talking to the Unchosen One.”

“Yeah, but where’s the skill in being a hero if you were always destined to do it?” said Hemi. He hesitated, and said, “You impress me a lot more.”

“Destiny’s bunk,” said the book. “That’s why this lot aren’t the Propheseers anymore.”

“From here on in,” said Mortar, “we’re the Order of Suggesters.”

“And what
about
all those prophecies?” said Deeba. She poked the book gently. “In you.”

“Oh…who knows? Who
cares
what’s in me, frankly,” it said loftily. “Maybe in a few years we’ll open me up and read out what was supposed to happen and we can all have a good laugh. What Zanna was supposed to be doing. Whether you’re even
mentioned.
Yes, maybe I’ll end up a comedy. A joke book. There are worse things.”

“You never know,” Deeba said. “One or two of them might be true.”

“Well,” said the book. “Coincidence is an amazing thing.”

“After all,” Deeba said. “The only thing in your pages you thought definitely
was
wrong turned out to be right. Nothing
and
the UnGun?” There was a moment’s silence.

“That,” said the book with cautious pleasure, “is true.”

Curdle and the rebrella bounded towards Deeba, as she approached them.

“Have you decided what to do with the UnGun, yet?” said Deeba.

“Well, we’re ready for the first step at least,” Mortar said. “If you’d do the honors?”

In the middle of the bridge was a huge mold, a cube five or more feet on each side, into which mixers were pouring liquid concrete. Jones, Obaday, and the others were gathered around it.

“Ready?” said Hemi.

Skool stood beside him. They’d rescued the little colony before the patch of seawater in the canal had ebbed away. The fish were still mourning the loss of several of their companions, but they’d come to say good-bye to Deeba. They were poured into a new suit. This one was smaller, and more up-to-date: a little wetsuit, complete with ungainly flippers. This time the mask was clear, and Deeba smiled at the seahorse and clown fish staring at her from the brine inside.

“I’m not making a big thing of this,” Deeba said. “No speech.” She chucked the UnGun, the Smog’s prison, into the cement.

It splashed thickly and disappeared. They watched brief, thick ripples.

“When it’s set, what then?” she said. “Got to make sure no one can open it.”

“Opinion’s divided,” Mortar said. “Some people want to put it back among the Black Windows. It must have been one of our predecessors did that, yonks ago, so there’s history. Some want to bury it. Some want to tip it in the river. Or the sea. We haven’t decided yet.”

“We might put it to a vote,” said Jones.

“We’ll see,” said Deeba.

“Well,” said Mortar, “
you
might not.

“You’re talking as if you’ll be back again, Deeba,” he said gently. “But it isn’t easy to cross between the worlds. Every time you breach the Odd, the membrane between two whole
universes
is strained. Think what that means.

“You have,” he said, “to make a choice. You know we want you here. You…well, you saved UnLondon. We owe you our abcity and our lives. You’re a Suggester, whether you join us officially or not. It would be an
honor
if you’d stay.

“But your family. Your life. All of these things…we understand. We’ll miss you if you go, Deeba. But you have to choose.”

There was a long silence.

“I can’t stay,” Deeba said at last. “I can’t let my family forget me. Forget I even
exist.
Can you imagine? I’m going back. You know I have to.”

She looked at each of them in turn.

“You know that,” she said. Hemi looked away.

They all looked sad. Obaday sniffed. Jones dabbed surreptitiously at his eyes.

“The stuff that happened here,” Deeba said, “I’ll never forget. What we did. I’ll never forget
you.
Any of you.” She paused, looked at each of them in turn.

“And part of the reason I won’t forget you,” she said, “is ’cause I’ll be back all the time.”

Mortar and the Propheseers—the Suggesters—looked up, startled.

“Come
on,
” she said, smiling. “What you even
talking
about, Mortar? It’s
easy
to get from London to here. I got here by
turning a tap,
then by
climbing shelves.
Jones is here, Rosa got here, all the conductors got here. The police came in a digging machine. For God’s sake, Unstible and Murgatroyd put an elevator in. People are
always
going between, and you don’t see either universe collapsing, do you?

“You just think it’s hard to go between the two ’cause you’ve always thought it must be. You’re just saying that ’cause you sort of think you should.”

Deeba’s friends stared at her, and at each other. “She has a point,” Mortar said eventually.

“You’ve spent all your time wanting to go!” said Jones.

“’Cause I
couldn’t get back,
” she said. “Now that I
can,
I’ll go back and forth all the time. You seriously think I’m not coming to see you again? Not coming to see this place?”

“But such methods,” Mortar said, “they aren’t reliable. They may not always work; the rules aren’t always clear—”

“Well then, I’ll try others. Till one of them does. Look, I’m not even making plans. I’m just saying there’s no
way
I’m not coming back. There’s things I want to do here.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Jones said. “I’m going to take a trip back to Webminster Abbey. I’m going to find Rosa, and get her out. And I’d be delighted if you’d join me.”

“Of course,” said Deeba. “
Yes.
Speaking of which, there’s someone called Ptolemy Yes I was told about who went missing, and I want to find him. And I’d like to go back to the Wordhoard Pit, climb down, see what the libraries are like in other places.”

“There’s people in Wraithtown I’d like you to meet,” said Hemi, still not meeting her eye. “And also, I wondered if maybe you want to go to Manifest Station? We could get a train. See another abcity together…”

There was a pause, and Deeba smiled at him.

“Absolutely,” Deeba said. “
Yeah.
And loads of other things. I’m
blatantly
coming back. And you can come visit me.” She smiled at Hemi again.

He, and then the others, began cautiously smiling back.

“You called it
our
abcity,” Jones said. “Before the fight. And it is. It’s your home too.”

“And anyway,” Deeba said, “Curdle and the rebrella are coming with me, and they might get homesick.”

“You can’t let feral rubbish cross into London,” Mortar said anxiously. “It belongs in another world.” Deeba looked at him and raised an eyebrow, and his voice dried up. “I suppose one or two can’t hurt,” he mumbled.

“So listen,” Deeba said. “I’m not saying good-bye to any of you. I’ll say ‘See you soon.’ And I mean
really
soon. Let me explain.

“I told you one reason the Smog grew so strong: ’cause it was getting help. There’s one thing we haven’t dealt with. Mortar, you said the police burrower was gone?”

“Yes. We checked where you said it had been. The officers must have got out and fixed it, gone home yesterday.”

“Right. They threatened my family. It might have been only to scare me—there’s nothing in it for them to actually do anything now. But I don’t like it. And I don’t like who they ally with. For the sake of me, and my mate Zanna, and my family, and London and UnLondon, it needs sorting. So I wanted to make a suggestion. An arrangement. It’s going to involve clearing some rubble in Unstible’s old place, but I think it’s worth it.”

Deeba looked at them all. Jones cracked his knuckles and raised an eyebrow. Hemi pursed his lips thoughtfully. Deeba smiled.

When evening fell, with a huge grinding, the UnLondon-I spun once more. With focus and effort, Mortar and the Suggesters directed the bridge.

Deeba hugged every one of her friends good-bye.

“Oh,” she said to Hemi. She fumbled in her pocket.

“Tell me you ain’t reaching for that money,” he said. She grinned.

“It’s no good to
me,
” she said, and held it out. “You might as well…” He took her hand gently, and closed her fingers back over it.

“This way you still owe me,” he muttered. “So this way you
got
to come back, to pay up.”