Un Lun Dun - China Mieville [121]
“Who are these people?” Deeba hissed to her companions. “Why are they here?”
“Rumors travel faster than we do,” Hemi said.
“How?” said Deeba. “I don’t want nothing traveling faster than us.”
“There was already rumors,” Hemi said. “People must’ve been worried for a while. Now there’s something they can do about it. The first people here are going to be those…extreme shoppers, or people who know them, but I bet you word’s spreading.”
“We have to get rid of them,” Deeba muttered.
“Why?” Jones said. Deeba stared at him.
“What? What are you…? If they can find us, the Propheseers will, too! We have to travel fast, and quiet.”
“People know you’re on the move,” Jones said. “A few—at first just people with connections, like this lot—might find you. There’ll be more. There might be a few you can’t trust, but not all.”
“Don’t panic, Deeb,” Hemi said. He held her shoulders and looked at her steadily. “Don’t you get it?” he said. “You knew the war was coming. This lot are your allies. More than that.
“They’re your troops.”
A slow calm spread through Deeba. She looked again at the newcomers. They might well be outlaws. Several of them would have attracted long glances in London, and at least two would have brought the streets to a standstill and paranormal investigators to the scene.
Here they were just locals, and they were there to join her. None, she realized, carried an unbrella.
She smiled cautiously at Hemi, and he smiled back at her.
“Alright everyone,” she said. The room went silent. In a moment of panic, her words dried in her throat. They’re waiting! she thought.
The anxiety only lasted a second. She coughed and smiled.
“Thanks for coming. Thanks for joining. Let me tell you what’s going on.”
Deeba’s rather convoluted explanation was helpfully intercepted and steered by Obaday and the book, and interrupted by expostulations of rage and disgust from the newcomers. Jones drew a crude map on the floor. There were at least two obvious routes to Unstible’s factory, and they were taking neither of them.
“Rendezvous is here,” said Jones. He didn’t say which way they were ultimately going.
“And listen,” said Deeba. “From now on, wherever you go, or come with us or not…tell people. Not to trust unbrellas. Find other ways to fight. And if the Smog comes for an area, do fight. Don’t just give up like the Propheseers say.”
When they left the house, Deeba saw that the altering graffiti had itself been altered. In front of CHOSEN ONE ROOLZ! someone had added UN-.
“Look at that,” she said, delighted. “It’s accurate now.”
Hemi was blushing.
That night there were more fires, and Propheseer vessels above, and sounds of skirmishes. There was deeper darkness against the black sky: Smog on malevolent missions. The travelers stopped and started, hiding and scurrying, many times.
Twice, those disembodied car headlights swept mindlessly around the travelers as they went. NOT YET GOT UNBRELLA?? the official graffiti said. TOMORROW—BROKKENBROLL & UNSTIBLE TO HAND OUT LAST BATCH!!! DEFEND YOURSELF AGAINST THE SMOG!
Deeba heard the far-off grunting of smoglodytes, and the brutal pattering of coal nuggets and metal bullets.
“Big attacks tonight,” she said. “They’re going to terrify everyone, so the last people’ll get unbrellas.”
“Why doesn’t he send unbrellas after you?” Hemi whispered. “He could fill the streets with them.”
“He can’t,” said Deeba. “If people saw them going off all over the place, and didn’t know why, they’d get suspicious. Brokk blatantly needs everyone to trust them. Right till the last moment.”
When the morning came the skies didn’t lighten as much as they should.
“What’s that?” Hemi sniffed. The air was acrid, with a smell that wasn’t quite burning.
“It’s exhaust,” said Deeba. “Like car fumes. I bet you it’s from London. Murgatroyd must’ve got out of that house, back to his boss…They’ve turned up those chimneys. To bulk up the Smog. They know something’s going to kick off.”
“Today they hand out the last unbrellas,” Hemi said.
“And the Smog’ll