Un Lun Dun Page 19
“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.”
“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—
54
Crossroads
—and tumbled onto tarmac in sudden silence.
Deeba rolled over frantically and threw up her hands. But nothing was coming. There was no bridge behind them.
They were lying in a wide road, in the late afternoon of UnLondon. They were quite alone.
“Oh now you’ve done it, now you’ve really done it,” the book moaned.
“What happened?” Hemi shouted. “Where are we?”
“There were lots of Propheseers,” the book sighed. “All trying to control the bridge. They each wanted to end it in a different part of UnLondon, where they thought it would be easier to catch you.”
“The bridge got confused?” Deeba said.
“It was trying to go everywhere at once. It’s only because you were all together that you ended up in the same place. It must have gone elsewhere instantly.”
“Brokkenbroll…” said Hemi. “He was right behind us.”
“By the time he got off the bridge it ended somewhere else,” Deeba said. She stood up slowly and looked around her. “So where are we?”
They were at a crossroads. No landmarks were visible. They were surrounded by nondescript houses, without even any moil buildings or strangely shaped dwellings evident. If it weren’t for the UnSun, it could be a scene from London.
“We could be anywhere,” the book muttered.
“We’ve got to do something,” said Deeba urgently. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
“They think I did it,” said Hemi. “The Prophs. They’re going to be after me.”
“They was just being stupid,” said Deeba. “Brokkenbroll knew what to say to stop them listening for a moment. That’s all he needed. You know, though, don’t you?” she said to the book. “I could tell. You believe us.”
There was a pause.
“I’m not sure,” the book said. “I don’t know what happened.”
“It was that paper. You could tell, couldn’t you? You know we’re right.”
“All I know is that paper’s from Wraithtown,” the book said. “That’s all. I don’t know anything about the rest of that stuff.”
“Yeah, but,” Deeba said, “I can tell. You believe me.”
“I’m not saying that,” the book said guardedly. “We need to get back to the Pons Absconditus and talk it over with Mortar.”
“Maybe,” said Deeba. “Maybe I shouldn’t have run. I was panicking. It was the Propheseers got me home last time…But…” She looked around, stricken.
“But you can’t go back now,” Hemi said. “They think we’re the ones who need stopping. Even if they don’t know it…they’re working with…that Unstible-thing. The one trying to get you.” He and Deeba stared at each other.
“Book!” said Deeba desperately. “You do know, don’t you? You did believe me.”
“You had no right to take me,” it replied. “This is booknapping!”
“Don’t change the subject. Tell me straight. You know something funny’s going on.”
There was a pause.
“Some of what you say…would explain some things,” the book said. “Maybe. At least…I think we need to do a bit more investigating. Something odd’s going on. That’s true. And Brokkenbroll’s story doesn’t make much sense. I don’t see why you’d be attacking the rest of us, young man. Besides, I don’t know how you could’ve got the wrong idea, Deeba, like Brokkenbroll said. You’re not the type. Something funny’s going on.”
Deeba sighed with relief, and kissed its cover.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Hey, I still don’t think you should’ve run like that. Now we don’t know where we are. And it just made you look guilty. We need to get back as fast as we can and talk to them.”
“But you saw what was happening,” Deeba said. “Mortar and that lot, they love Unstible. He used to be one of them. And with Brokkenbroll too, they’re not going to believe us.”
“So what do you propose we do?” the book said.
“I dunno,” Deeba said in despair.
“Brokkenbroll’s convincing everyone,” Hemi said.
“Right,” said Deeba. “So no one believes he’s working with the Smog. Against UnLondon. And Hemi, you heard him, he’s looking for me and he’s going to go after Zanna! My friend! Because I came back! I have to get out of here, warn her. Maybe I can sneak back to the Pons. Book, you know how to direct the bridge, don’t you…?”
“I can’t do it—” the book started to say, but Hemi interrupte
d.
“Wait. On the bridge you’ll get caught straightaway, and like they said, they’ll bring you to Brokkenbroll, and that means back to that…other thing. And they’ll think they’re helping.”
“Alright then,” she said. “I’ll go back to the library and climb back down. There’s got to be other ways in and out…”
“They’ll be putting the word out right now,” Hemi said. “They’re looking for you. And me. Places like the Wordhoard Pit’ll be guarded. And anyway, listen: how’s it going to help being back in London?” Deeba stared at him. “No, seriously. Like you said, the Smog’s coming after your friend—and you. If it comes at you there, how you going to fight it?”
“It got beat before…” Deeba said, but her words dried up. Whatever the circumstances of its apparent previous defeat—which the Unstible-thing had hinted might be more complicated than she thought—there was no “Klinneract” in London with which she could fight it. The instrument of the Smog’s banishment had been an act of Parliament, a weapon Deeba couldn’t possibly wield. She’d be helpless.
Seeing her face, Hemi spoke quickly.
“Remember what it said? It still isn’t easy for it to go up there. And it said it wants to…to sort you out first. It’s going to be looking for you here.”
“How’s that supposed to make me feel better?” Deeba asked in a strangled voice.
“What I mean is, it isn’t going to go after your friend. Not while you’re here. Not till…But if you went back now, it’d follow and try to sort you both at once.”
“But I have to go,” Deeba whispered. “My family’s waiting…”
In fact, the truth, she knew, was that because of the phlegm effect they were not waiting for her. And the truth was that was worse. It was that not-waiting that frightened her, made her so eager to get home.
That and the fact that a carnivorous intelligent cloud was only a few miles away, hunting her. But Hemi was right. Even if she could get back now, the Smog would still come for her—and for Zanna, too. And they’d have no defenses.
“If you go back,” Hemi said, “it’ll come for you.”