Un Lun Dun (26 page)

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 interrupted.

“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.”

Deeba could hardly breathe, thinking of it. She struggled to think the situation through. Panic welled up in her, but she fought it down.
Stop,
she thought.
You’ve got to be clever here. You’ve got to think hard.

“Okay,” she muttered. “It’s all down to the Smog, and Brokkenbroll. I have to get out of here soon, but I can’t while everyone’s looking for me like I’m the trouble. And even if I
could,
it wouldn’t be safe with the Smog after me, ’cause it’s come for me and Zann. And I can’t persuade the Propheseers to go against it: they think they already are. So…” There was a long silence. “We have to stop it ourselves.”

“What are you talking about?” the book said. “Who’s ‘we’? What do you think you can do?”

“Leave her alone,” said Hemi. “We’re all in a mess here. She’s smart, though.” The area they were in was no longer deserted. Going about their business, a variety of figures had appeared. Many were carrying unbrellas. Deeba saw a robot made of glass, and a figure with a vegetable face, and men and women and other things in rags and elegant gowns, in tuxedos made of plastic and suits of armor made of china, and several in the strangely simple uniforms that London trades had copied.

Some of the UnLondoners were walking their way, and were looking at Deeba and Hemi with curiosity.

“Oh, I just want to get out of here and go home,” Hemi moaned.

“Yeah but they’re looking for you, too,” Deeba said. “We’re both being hunted.”

“We have to be careful,” Hemi said. “We don’t know who’s on what side. And now the Propheseers…”

“He’s right,” the book said. “They’ll put out word. People will start looking for us.”

“Shut up and listen,” Deeba said. “
Something
has to stop the Smog, or I can’t go, and I…we’re the only ones that can.” She waited, but neither Hemi nor, this time, the book raised any objections to her plural. “And there’s nothing in London I could use against it. But there
must
be stuff here. That’s why it didn’t want Zanna here. So. Book, we know you got it wrong about the Shwazzy. That prophecy went wrong, right? But you still must have all the details of what it was she was
supposed
to do, right? To stop UnLondon’s enemies, right?

“Okay then. The destiny didn’t work with the Chosen One. So I’ll do it instead.”

55

Insulting Classification

“You’ll what?” the book said after a flabbergasted silence.

“I’ll do it,” Deeba said. “Whatever it is that needs doing.”

“Can we please talk about this privately?” said Hemi, ushering them into an alley.

“There’s no choice,” Deeba said to the book. “Why’s it a bad idea? You might not be wrong about
what
needs doing. Just about
who.
I bet there’s some choice stuff in you about what’ll knock out the Smog.”

“Well…Certainly there are references to a weapon that the Smog’s afraid of, the implication that it might be for UnLondon what the Klinneract was for London…” The book sounded thoughtful.

“Not that there was a Klinneract,” Deeba whispered.

“What?” whispered Hemi. “Don’t tell it that; you can see how it hates being wrong.”

“But you’re forgetting two things,” the book went on. “One, I have no idea what’s right and what’s not, anymore. Might be nothing in these stupid things—” Its pages riffled. “—is any use at all. And two, you’re not the Shwazzy! You can’t do this.”

“How do you know?” Deeba said. “You don’t know nothing about me. Except…wait a minute. You said I
was
mentioned, didn’t you? You said there was something about me in there somewhere. So what does it say? What do you know?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the book said. “That’s not important. Let’s just—”

“Yes, it is important,” Deeba interrupted. She yanked open the book’s cover and started turning over pages.

It was the first time she’d seen what was inside. It was chaotic and confusing, different page to page, an extraordinary patchwork of columns, pictures, and writing, in all sizes and colors and countless scripts, including English. Deeba could hardly imagine how anyone would learn to make sense of it.

“Stop it!” the book said. “Get your hands off me!”

Deeba turned to the back and found a very long index. She scanned through all the entries, running her finger down the columns.

“You’re tickling,” the book said. “Stop.” But Deeba kept reading.

The list of entries went straight from “Regal Garb” to “Restitution”—there was no “Resham.” She flicked over some pages and looked for “Deeba,” but the list went straight from “Decalcomania” to “Defcon Scale.”

“There’s nothing,” she said.

“Good,” the book said. “So close me and let’s talk.” But Deeba thought of one more thing.

She looked up “Shwazzy.” There it was, with hundreds of pages listed. Underneath, slightly indented, was a long list of subheadings. Deeba skimmed the story of what Zanna had been supposed to do, chopped up out of sequence and laid out in alphabetically ordered episodes.

“‘Shwazzy…Bramble-Dogs Attack the,’” she murmured, reading entries out loud. “‘Enters the Bathysphere’…‘In the Court of Vegetables’…‘Laments and Tasks’…” Deeba stopped. Read and reread.

“What is it?” Hemi said, seeing her face.

“‘Sidekicks’?” Deeba said.

There it was, in the index. “Shwazzy, Sidekicks of the.” Below that were sub-subheadings, each with a single page reference. “Clever One,” she read. “Funny One.”

“Look…” the book said. “It’s just terminology. Sometimes these old prophecies are written in, you know, unfortunate ways…”

“Was it Kath who was supposed to be the clever one?” Deeba said. She thought about how she and Zanna had become friends. “So…I’m the funny one? I’m the
funny sidekick
?”

“But, but, but,” the book said, flustered. “What about Digby? What about Ron and Robin? There’s no shame in—”

Deeba dropped the book and walked away. It yelped as it hit the pavement.

“Deeba?” said Hemi eventually. “What d’you think we should do?”

She said nothing. She stood by the junction with the main road and watched the strange crowds of UnLondoners go by. After all the stress and fear of the Smog and the Propheseers and the running away, that little insult in the book’s index was one thing too many for Deeba to bear. She shook her head.

“We can’t just wait,” Hemi said. “The Propheseers’ll be looking for us. With Brokkenbroll. And if they catch us…You got me into this,” he shouted at last. “Now what we going to
do
?”

She still refused to speak. Curdle whiffled and wound round and round her feet. Deeba didn’t stroke it.

“Deeba.” It was the book. Hemi carried it closer. “I want to apologize. I didn’t write me. I’ve no idea who did. But we already know he or she was a moron.” Deeba refused to smile. “They didn’t know what they were on about. I’d probably be more use if I were a phone book. Even if my idiot authors didn’t know it,
I
know you’re not a sidekick—”

“No one is!” Deeba shouted. “That’s no way to talk about anyone! To say they’re just hangers-on to someone more
important.
”

“I know,” said the book. “You’re right.”

“Come on,” Hemi said. “We’re being hunted. Brokkenbroll might even persuade them to attack Wraithtown or something. We have to
do
something.”

“Please,” the book said.

Deeba watched them for a long moment.

“Alright then,” she said at last. “I’ve told you what we have to do. I can’t think of anything else. We can’t go back to the bridge, book. UnLondon needs us, even if it don’t know it. And Zanna does, and I do, and maybe London does, too. The Propheseers are working for the Smog now, even if
they
don’t know it.

“The Smog’ll expect us to hide. So it probably won’t expect us to…to attack.”

“Book,” she said, raising her voice over the volume’s objections. “Book, if you don’t shut up I’ll just leave you here. Answer some questions.” Hemi stared at her with admiration.

Deeba began to flick through the book, referring to the index and checking various pages.

“How’s this organized?” she said. “It’s all over the place. There’s no order.”

“There is,” the book said. “Just not a very obvious one. What is it you want to know?”

“Zanna the Shwazzy, in the end…she was meant to save UnLondon, right? How? What was she
supposed
to do? In what order? Because that obviously worried the Smog.”

“Well…” the book said. “It was sort of a standard Chosen One deal. Seven tasks, and with each one she’d collect one of UnLondon’s ancient treasures. Finally she’d get the most powerful weapon in all the abcity—as powerful as the Klinneract. The Smog’s afraid of nothing but it. With it she was meant to face it and defeat it.”

“I wouldn’t get too excited about the Klinneract if I were you,” Deeba said. “What was she supposed to collect?”

“The seven jewels of UnLondon,” the book whispered. “What they call the Heptical Collection. A featherkey; a squidbeak clipper; a cup of bone tea; teeth-dice; an iron snail; the crown of the black-or-white king; and the most powerful weapon in the history of the abcity…the UnGun.”

“The
UnGun
?” Hemi said. “Cor. I thought that was just a story.”

“It’s a story
too,
” the book said grandly. “But it’s also…the
Shwazzy’s weapon.
” There was a pause. “Well…I thought so, anyway,” it added.

Deeba counted off the seven items.

“The Smog doesn’t want us to get hold of them,” she said. “So that’s what we’re going to do. Hemi…will you help?”

“Are you mad?” he said. “What
else
am I going to do? I’ve gone from being chased by the stall holders to being hunted by Brokkenbroll and the Prophebleedingseers. Can’t run from
them
the rest of my life. This lunatic plan of yours is all we got. Besides,” he added grudgingly. “Like I’m going to let you get the UnGun on your own.”

“Thank you,” she said. She smiled at him till he blushed.

“Well come on then,” he snapped. “Let’s get started.”

“Curdle? You coming?” The carton jumped up and down. “Alright then,” Deeba said. “
You
don’t have any choice, I’m afraid, Book. You have to tell me what to do. And…one more thing.” She swallowed.

“Look. No one’s really said, but there’s hints…if you stay too long in UnLondon, the phlegm effect gets stronger, doesn’t it? When I came back, before, I saw the way people looked when they saw me. Book, be straight with me. If you stay too long, people can forget you. Right?” There was a silence. “Right?”

“Well…” said the book uncomfortably. “Theoretically…”

“How long?” Deeba said.

“You have to understand,” the book said. “Most people who cross have no intention of going back, so it makes no odds. There are techniques to avoid it, they say, ways of making lists and mnemonics and so on, if you want to make sure to remember particular abnauts, but…”

“How long?”
Deeba said. “’Cause my mum and dad don’t know any of those ways. So how long’ve I got?”

“Well…it’s speculative. But there is a theoretical danger of acute abnaut-related memory deficit disorder affecting Londoners after about…nine days.”

“Nine days?” said Deeba. “Is that all?”

“It might be possible to do the quest in that,” the book said doubtfully. “It’s not quite clear what happens after, but the Shwazzy must’ve been meant to go home afterwards.
Surely
…But then…she was…”
She was the
Shwazzy, Deeba thought as the book stopped itself. “Even so. It’s…a little tight.”

Deeba’s heart was speeding up.

“Well then,” she said. “We have to get started. What was the first one? Let’s go and get the featherkey.”