Un Lun Dun Read online

  “He’ll be back by morning,” the book said. “He says to keep his money fresh.”

  “I have to admit he’s earning it,” Deeba said.

  The bird hopped onto the threshold of the cage and gripped it with its little claws, then took off. The instant it flew out, Cavea’s human body froze, swaying slightly on locked legs.

  The bird fluttered away, through loops of vine and under the dark shadows of trees, through the doorway, out of sight. As it went, it sang.

  When no one was looking, Deeba gave Mr. Cavea’s leg an experimental prod. It was warm and fleshy—it felt like a leg. But it didn’t move or respond. Cavea’s vehicle just stood, the door to its cage open in its hand.

  63

  The Source of the River

  Deeba woke several times to growls from nocturnal predators, but every time Hemi or whichever utterling was on watch duty would reassure her and go back to quietly chatting with the book or, in the mute utterlings’ case, listening to its murmurs. When she woke to the weak first light from the room’s bulb she realized that they had let her sleep through.

  “Why didn’t you get me up?” she said to Hemi crossly. He didn’t answer, but looked away in embarrassment.

  Cavea’s body still stood as it had when the bird left. Deeba flicked a snail from its trouser leg as they breakfasted.

  After more than an hour, the bird that was Cavea shot into the clearing. It circled them several times, adding its voice to the incessant backdrop of birdsong, then flew to the cage.

  Its feet closed on the metal rim, and the human body jerked. The bird entered the cage, and Mr. Cavea stood up straight, stretched all his human limbs, and closed the cage door. The bird sung lengthily.

  “Thought so,” said the book. “Where else would you expect a high-flying bird like Claviger to go? Upstairs.”

  It was a long and difficult climb. Each step was thick with vegetation, and the travelers had to negotiate a brook that descended the length of the stairs.

  They rested on the little mezzanine where the staircase changed direction. Mr. Cavea was at the front, carrying the book, his explorer’s suit becoming more and more filthy. The bird sang at them to hurry, and Deeba and Hemi and the utterlings did their best to obey. The three utterlings helped each other, clambering silently over each other’s bodies in a constant chain of themselves.

  “I wish I could do that,” Deeba said. Hemi raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh shut up,” she roared. “Not with you.” At the top of the stairs they stopped again. Through the thick leaf-cover they could see doorways on either side of the hall, and at its very end a window. Only a little daylight could struggle through the leaves that covered it and reach them.

  Three times they had to move fast. A sinuous green creeper emerged quietly from under a nearby door and wrapped around Hemi’s leg. It tightened and, shaking its leaves, hauled him towards the doorway, which opened onto darkness. He fell and gripped the roots around him. It was only his phantom heritage that saved him. Hemi strained, and Deeba saw the vine tighten on his trousers as the flesh beneath went semi-incorporeal. With a grunt of effort, Hemi dragged his half-ghost limb out of the thing’s grip, leaving it with only a torn patch of his trousers in its trendril.

  From the next door came a horrible slobbering roar, and a long, vicious-looking claw curled around the frame. Hemi and Deeba pulled the door closed on it as fast as they could, and heard a screeching and a bulky wet body slamming against it on the inside.

  Little raccoony-skunky things watched them as they panted. Deeba stopped to examine fat berries in the thickets over her head, only to scream in disgust as the thumb-sized nuggets squirmed and she realized they were not fruit but leeches. “Run!” she shouted as the revolting sluglike things stretched their pliable bodies towards them.

  “Quick!” said the book. They staggered as fast as they could along the first-floor hallway, Hemi and Deeba hurrying the utterlings along, just in time to avoid a shower of the bloodsucking things. Behind them was a patter of plops as the leeches landed.

  “We’ve actually got quite lucky,” the book said. Deeba and Hemi looked at it incredulously. “Given the number of things that live in this forest.”

  Mr. Cavea sang.

  “It’s not too much farther,” the book translated. “The other birds told him. All of them know where the parakeets and whatnot live. He’s had a look.”

  Cavea pointed. Through gaps between low-hanging foliage Deeba saw a door at the end of the corridor.

  “So…is it going to give us this feather?” Deeba said. “Can we just ask it?”

  “Doubt it,” the book said.

  “Why? Do you know it? Does it have a reputation?”

  “It’s just that’s rarely how things work out with this sort of thing,” the book said. “It’s normally trickier than that. That’s why they’re tasks.”

  Cavea’s bird trilled.

  “We’d better have a backup plan, then,” the book translated. They stood silently for some moments.

  “Bling, Diss,” Hemi said thoughtfully. “How well can you climb?”

  When they pushed the door, it opened onto a tiny room full of greenery. It was little more than a cubicle. To one side, brimming with water, tiny lilies, and water snakes, was a sink, its taps coiled with the roots of plants. The ceiling was surprisingly high, and was thick with branches above a dangling bulb. It rustled with life.

  In front of them, rising like a deserted little temple from the undergrowth, below a dangling mass of creepers, was the toilet. Clear water gurgled over the rim of its ceramic bowl, wound its way along the floor, under the door, down the corridor and the stairs.

  “We’ve found the source of the river,” whispered the book.

  Jutting from the wall of plant life, the square cistern was just visible. Among the hanging vines dangled its chain.

  “Go on then Diss, Bling,” Hemi whispered.

  “Just in case,” Deeba added. “Might not need you. But if you hear your names…” The utterlings nodded. They knew what to do.

  They crept into the foliage on opposite sides of the tiny room and began to climb, Bling with its hooked claws, Diss with its six little paws. They stayed as hidden as possible under the leaves.

  Deeba, Hemi, Cauldron, and Cavea stepped forward and stood in front of the forest toilet. Cavea hefted the book and sang, and hidden in the branches, scores of birds answered in harsher voices.

  “He’s calling the keyfeather-bearer,” the book whispered. “Really giving it some flowery stuff. ‘You most honored bird of paradise, of whom it is written in the book,’ et cetera. The other birds are laughing.”

  Cavea seemed to be having some sort of argument. His human body cupped its hands to either side of the cage, like a man shouting, and the bird sang loud. Its unseen cousins answered.

  “And they look so sweet…” said the book in a shocked tone.

  The avian bickering went on, and Cavea grew more and more agitated, until all of a sudden, scores of birds dropped out of the leaf-cover and surrounded them, perching on ledges and branches.

  They were parrots, cockatiels, macaws, and cockatoos, ruffling their feathers and calling raucously from nasty-looking beaks. They all spoke at once in ugly voices, and Deeba had to put her hands over her ears.

  “They’re telling Cavea to show proper respect in the Claviger’s court,” she could just hear the book say.

  “Um, Cavea?” said Hemi, and pointed up.

  A bird was perched on the rim of the toilet tank, watching them. It was a parrot, and it was huge. It cawed once, gratingly.

  It was absolutely beautiful, a vivid patchwork of reds, blues, and yellows. As it shuffled on its feet and eyed the travelers, several of its smaller companions swept around it in a quick aerobatic dance.

  “So where’s the…” Deeba started to ask. As she spoke, several of the birds raised crests on their necks and heads. Vivid colors swung upwards into temporary tiaras, in the center of each of which was a large, bri
ght feather shaped like a key.

  The one adorning the big parrot was huge.

  “Never mind,” Deeba whispered.

  64

  Alpha Male

  Claviger’s head-feather smoothed down again, and was invisible in his plumage. Deeba stepped forward.

  “Don’t bother,” the book said. “He doesn’t speak any Human.”

  “Cavea, could you translate?” Deeba said. The caged bird nodded. “Parakeetus Claviger, I presume,” Deeba said, and waited for Cavea to whistle. “Pleased to meet you. Sorry to crash round yours like this. I’m sure you know about the Smog, Mr. Claviger. I want to ask if you’ll help us fight it.”

  The parrot cawed, and Mr. Cavea whistled.

  “He says no,” the book said.

  “Who does?” said Deeba.

  “Parakeetus Claviger.”

  “But…why did you wait for Cavea to say it? Do you understand Bird or not?”

  “Yes. But Claviger has a strong parrot accent I can’t make out.”

  Deeba rolled her eyes.

  “And…he says no? Claviger?”

  The parrot called again, and Cavea twittered.

  “Yes, he says no. He says he knows what you’re going to ask for, and we can’t have it. He says we should be ashamed of ourselves, wanting to take his crest. The males all use them to show off, and when they’re being aggressive. He says without it he won’t be a hit with the ladies. He says, uh…that the chicks dig his threads. Don’t look at me like that, Deeba, that’s what he says.”

  Deeba had been feeling guilty about having to take Parakeetus Claviger’s feather. Now she felt considerably less so.

  “He says that? Aggressive? Well…” She paused. She saw climbing motions in the foliage on the water tank, and looked quickly away. “We don’t want Mr. Claviger’s headgear. Is he stupid? What sort of idiots does he think we are?”

  Cavea twittered.

  “What?” said Hemi.

  “What are you doing?” said the book.

  “Why you getting angry?” said Hemi.

  “Shut up,” whispered Deeba. Then, more loudly, she said, “Maybe we aren’t the idiots.”

  Cavea hesitated and translated.

  All the birds were squawking angrily. Claviger jumped up and down in outrage, and screeched.

  Deeba didn’t wait for Cavea to translate. “Easy to say things like that from up there,” she said. “Who wants your minging feathers anyway?”

  “Oh, I get it,” murmured Hemi.

  Claviger must have understood from the tone of her voice. He screeched, and leapt down from the top of the tank to swing from the toilet chain, close to Deeba’s face—and below the cistern.

  “Up yours,” Deeba said, and jerked her hand in a rude motion. Outraged, Parakeetus Claviger ruffled his feathers into a fight-posture. The featherkey stood up on his head.

  “Alright,” Deeba said loudly. “I admit it. I’m sorry I had to diss you, but actually I do want your bling.”

  The utterlings hidden in the leaves heard themselves spoken, and they burst out. They dropped on vines and flung themselves at Claviger’s head.

  The birds of Claviger’s court filled the air, screaming in rage, raising their own featherkeys. Before Parakeetus Claviger could fly, Diss, the six-legged bear, grabbed him and clung on. With the sudden extra weight, the two bodies pulled the chain.

  Even as they descended, Diss was pulling out the featherkey still raised on the bird’s head. Parakeetus Claviger’s cry turned into one of pain as the utterling yanked his plume.

  Claviger was beating his big wings as the chain jerked at its full length, and the toilet started to flush. Diss lost its grip.

  Hemi, Deeba, and Cauldron couldn’t reach the tumbling bear through the barrage of enraged birds. As Deeba raised her hands to defend herself from beaks and claws, she saw Bling the locust reaching with its foreleg for Diss. The two utterlings clung to each other for a moment, but Diss couldn’t hold on, and plummeted into the bubbling bowl, leaving the featherkey in Bling’s grip.

  Deeba’s cry of triumph turned immediately into one of concern. She reached to plunge her hand after Diss, but the toilet was swirling madly, the water foaming, the level suddenly rising. The toilet overflowed violently, and the little brook that bubbled from it gushed and became a river.

  “Where’s Diss? Where’s Diss?” Deeba shouted, but the little utterling was gone, lost in the clear water.

  Parakeetus Claviger and several of his followers were dive-bombing Bling, and Deeba grabbed the terrified utterling and the featherkey.

  She tried to fight her way through the increasing current. The water took her feet from under her and sent her sprawling.

  “Come on!” shouted the book. Cavea’s human hands swatted birds. “We can’t help the utterling. We have to go!”

  “Ow!” Deeba crawled out of the water. A fish with a vicious jutting jaw was attached to her leg, biting her even through her trousers. The explorers got out of the toilet, shielding themselves from parakeet attack and trying to stay out of the water.

  They stumbled along the side of the new rising river, which tore down the corridor and to the stairs.

  Its waters bubbled with more than just its current.

  “Don’t fall in,” yelled the book. “It’s teeming with piranhas!”

  They retraced their steps as fast as they could, hurrying under a new crop of leeches, leaping over predatory creepers. The birds followed them, scratching, through several layers of trees, but gradually began to leave them alone. Deeba heard harsh cawing. Cavea whistled.

  “It’s the beta males,” the book said, jostling under Mr. Cavea’s arm. “We’ve done them a favor. Now they get to fight to become the alpha, the main key-carrier.”

  “Less talking…” said Hemi. “More getting out.”

  It took them some time, even traveling as fast as they could, to get all the way down the stairs. No one said very much.

  “I…I’m so sorry about Diss,” Deeba said to Bling.

  “It’s not your fault, Deeba,” the book said. She didn’t answer.

  They were descending beside what was a dangerous river, now, rather than the trickle it had been. Every so often a particularly voracious piranha would hurl itself from the water and at them. They dodged and climbed and slipped down muddy slopes, clinging to roots and stumps.

  They paused at the bottom of the stairs to catch their breath. There were only a few meters—though they were those oddly behaved meters, Deeba remembered—to the front door.

  “It’s not far,” Hemi said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Can you hear something?” Deeba said. They listened. “There it is again.”

  Coming towards them, faint at first, but growing quickly louder, was a hacking, whacking sound. The leaves and trunks of the corridor were shaking with each stroke.

  “What the…?” Hemi said.

  Cavea whistled.

  “He says he’ll go and look,” the book said. But even as Cavea reached up to undo his cage door, the sound was suddenly right up close to them, and the curtain of leaves beside them was violently split open.

  Standing before them was a man swinging a big blade. There was a hacked path behind him. He stared at the travelers, who were momentarily frozen.

  His skin was wrinkled and mottled. His face was slack, his jaw hanging. He leaked dark smoke from the corners of his mouth and from his empty eye sockets.

  The man had obviously been dead for some time. He raised his machete and stumbled towards them.

  65

  The Smoky Dead

  Deeba stumbled. She heard Curdle squeak in her bag. Cauldron leapt at the attacker, but the dead man backhanded him away.

  An awful stink of old meat and burning sulfur filled the air. Deeba tried to crawl away, but the man bore down on her with his fast shambling step and raised his blade.

  Deeba screamed as it swung down.

  But the blow stopped descending. The man looked up
with smoke eyes. His weapon had caught on a vine. He struggled clumsily to free it.

  “Come on, come on!” Hemi hauled Deeba up.

  “What is it?” she shouted.

  “A smombie,” Hemi said.

  The aggressive corpse lurched at Hemi, who ducked wildly.

  The travelers backed onto the banks of a pool where the river’s waters had collected. The horrible smelly attacker blocked their path and came at them. With each blow it devastated a huge swath of forest: it was terrifyingly strong.

  Bling flew at it, scratching with hard insect claws. Where it tore skin, wisps of smoke rose. The dead man ignored the injuries and headbutted a tree trunk, stunning and dislodging the utterling on his face.

  Mr. Cavea sang and stepped in front of him. He threw the book to Deeba, put up his hands, and dropped into an odd crouch, like an antique photograph of those old boxers wearing what looked like women’s swimming costumes. He waggled his fists.

  “He says, ‘I must warn you, sir…’” the book translated, but got no further, as the dead man swung the machete and Cavea had to dance away.

  “Don’t try it!” Hemi shouted. “Smombies are strong!”

  Mr. Cavea skipped nimbly over the roots, jabbing swiftly and punching. His blows didn’t seem to do any real damage, but they were obviously annoyances. The smombie shambled, following Mr. Cavea at the water’s edge.

  He’s turning him round! Deeba realized. He’s giving us a way out! She gestured at Hemi and the utterlings, and they began to creep behind the smombie’s back.

  But while the man was dead, he wasn’t stupid. He saw them moving and turned. Mr. Cavea punched and shoved him, tried and failed to knock him down. The man ignored him, and raised his machete again.

  The bird in the cage whistled once.

  “He says, ‘Oh, dammit!’” the book said.