Un Lun Dun - China Mieville [102]
“Smoglodytes and stink-junkies and smombies come with the Smog wherever it goes,” Jones said. “People have tried to fight, but its forces are too strong. The unbrellas defend people, but they can’t—or won’t—disperse a decent-sized smoggler. Even electric fans sometimes don’t. People just run, when the Smog moves in. UnLondon’s filling with refugees.”
“It’s taking over in patches,” Deeba said slowly. “Separating us into camps. Easier to control.”
“You know, Brokkenbroll even said we’d have to give up certain areas,” Jones said thoughtfully. “And Mortar went along with it. Telling us to make orderly retreats. Into designated ‘safe’ zones.”
“Like they’re herding us,” said Hemi.
“There are a lot of rumors in UnLondon,” Obaday Fing said. “There are mercenaries on the Smog’s side. Like the man who attacked you and the Shwazzy in the bus.”
“What happened to him?”
Obaday spat.
“A disgrace to the market. Barnabus Cudgel. He’s worked alongside me for years. It turns out he was part of a group calling itself the Concern. They say there’s business they want to do, factories and the like, that’ll lead to more smoke and more emissions, so it makes sense to work with the Smog, would you believe? They want to do deals with it.”
“They told you this?” said Deeba.
“They put out leaflets and graffiti and whatnot,” Jones said. “Secret distribution. But it’s not hard to find.”
Skool gesticulated, drew large letters in the air.
“That’s true. You see their sign on the walls,” Obaday said. “More and more. ‘E = A.’ ‘Effluence equals affluence.’” He smiled sardonically.
“And people have seen the Hex, they say,” Jones said. “Fighting on the Smog’s side.”
“What’s that?” Deeba said, seeing Jones, Hemi, and Obaday Fing exchange fearful glances.
“Nasty, nasty,” Hemi muttered.
“A group of spellspeakers,” said Jones. “Very powerful. If the Smog’s got them on its side, life’s going to be even harder for us.”
“Don’t we have any magicians?”
Jones and Fing looked at each other forlornly.
“I can make a sweet come out of your ear,” Rosa yelled from the front.
“That’s great,” Deeba muttered.
“No, but I really can! Not just quick fingers, you know, I really pull it out of your ear!”
“Perhaps,” Deeba said, “that’ll come in handy.”
70
The Gossamer Edifice
The bus continued its slow journey through the night. For the sake of appearances, like other hunting vehicles, they turned powerful searchlights down into the dim streets, and seemed to walk on light-beam legs.
Once a fat python of Smog rose curiously out of a lost quarter, nosing towards the bus. Rosa took them quickly up to where the wind was stronger, and the coil of cloud sank back.
Deeba held Curdle in her arms as she lay across the seats. The cardboard carton burrowed into her hug.
Tomorrow, she thought, I’m going to get the UnGun. And then we’ll have something that the Smog really doesn’t want us to. She drifted to sleep, thinking of the UnGun, and then, with sudden pangs, of her family.
She woke in the very early morning, as the bus’s anchor snared in a tangle of aerials.
“Oh my gosh,” Deeba said.
Deeba saw an area uncomfortably close to them that had become a smogmire. That was not what made her catch her breath.
They were swaying before a huge building. It was like nothing she had ever seen.
It had no straight edges, was all long curving planes stretched like cloth or rubber. In several places it poked into steep cones, and pillars and jags like tree branches jutted from beneath its shimmering, moving surface. It looked like a load of giant tents, all stitched together at crazy random, as big as a stadium. Its entire surface was white, or gray-white, or yellow-white, and it rippled.
“Oh my gosh,” whispered Deeba again. “It’s a cobweb.”
Tons of spider silk had been draped over an enormous irregular framework. It coated it completely, in layers, totally opaque. At its edges, strands of webbing jutted out at angles and anchored to the pavement and surrounding buildings like guyropes.
In one or two places, Deeba could see dark, immobile