Un Lun Dun - China Mieville [123]
“Joe Jones,” said the man by Bling. He was older than Jones, and big, with long gray hair. He shook Jones’s hand.
“Bartok Flumen,” said Jones.
“I got your note,” said Flumen. He unfolded the piece of paper. Deeba read what Jones had written.
Bartok! it said. Boats please! Many. Joe Jones. That was all.
“Boats,” said Flumen, and indicated the collected vessels by the river-wall. He raised an eyebrow at the gathering around them. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing so many friends,” he said.
“We didn’t know,” said Deeba.
81
A Special Boat Service
Deeba smiled at the UnLondoners waiting. They carried bows and arrows, clubs, a few strange-looking guns. Standing on a roof overlooking them, Deeba saw a little group, one of whom was effortlessly standing on her hands.
“Slaterunners,” Deeba said, delighted. She waved at them. “Isn’t that a bit high for you?” she said. They grinned.
“Took a bit of getting used to,” one said.
“A lot of our friends were against it,” said another. “Said no good would come of leaving the Roofdom. But when we heard the rumors…well, we had to come.”
“You finally did it, then? Came on real roofs?”
“It’s scary up here! But, special times, ain’t it? You’re Deeba. Inessa Badladder thought it must be you she kept hearing about. Well, at first she thought it was the Shwazzy, but then she changed her mind when she heard more. She says hello. We’d like to come…fight by you.”
Deeba had to turn away. She felt a bit choked up by the sight of the little army.
Standing some way from the main body of volunteers, there was a wispy gang of Wraithtown ghosts. They looked ill at ease.
“Oh my gosh,” she said. “Hemi, it’s the man from the council! Maybe he did see what was on the screen.”
“And he’s brought others,” said Hemi.
He walked over purposefully and began to talk to the chubby ghost, and the others. The bureaucrat smiled uncomfortably. Deeba saw their faint, spectral mouths moving inaudibly. She saw Hemi pointing people out, speaking in a voice that wove in and out of audibility for her. He stood and spoke with authority.
“Don’t see what they’re doing,” someone muttered. “They couldn’t do anything even if they wanted to.”
Deeba stared unpleasantly at the woman who’d spoken. She walked ostentatiously to the gathered ghosts, standing by Hemi. He introduced her, and though she could not hear every word he said, she watched his mouth and, at the relevant moments, reached forward and shook as if she could feel the spectral hands they held out.
“There are others on the way,” he said.
“I just wanted to say thank you very much for coming,” she said. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“There’s more smoke,” she said. “More fires. The Smog’s trying to spread. And there’s fumes coming out of chimneys. That’s probably the Concern, lighting furnaces to help it.”
“We need a diversion or two,” said Jones. “No point us all trying for the break-in—”
“Jones!”
They froze. Approaching them from behind the crowd was a Propheseer, bodyguard binja walking in front of her.
Jones leapt and reached for his weapon, but the Propheseer threw up her hands and said, “Wait, wait!”
It was Lectern. She looked at the book, in Hemi’s arms.
There was silence for several seconds. The Slaterunners, librarians, and others watched tensely. Lectern looked immensely uncomfortable. The martial-artist dustbins watched from below their just-open lids.
“Book,” said Lectern in sheepish greeting.
“Come to fight?” the book said.
“Actually,” Lectern said, “I came to apologize. And to join you.”
“Some of us’ve been getting suspicious for a while now,” Lectern said. “Brokkenbroll’s suggestions have got more and more like orders, and they don’t make any sense. And Unstible wouldn’t let any of us help with his studies. He wouldn’t even let us see his notes. That’s our job! But then a couple of days ago,” she said, “Brokkenbroll tells us that we might have to consider abandoning the Wordhoard Pit. That it’s too costly to keep it safe. That we should let the Smog take it.
“Or, he says, another