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“Brokkenbroll,” it said. “Stop. The girl…is intriguing. I want to breathe her. And I want her breathing while I do.”

“Ah,” said Brokkenbroll, uncomfortably. “Good.” He was looking at the fumes about him. “Have you been listening, then?”

Deeba’s ears were starting to sing.

“The girl,” said the voice.

Brokkenbroll snapped his fingers, and the unbrella released her neck. Deeba wheezed and gasped. The unbrella leapt down and hooked her ankles together instead. Another unbrella did the same to her wrists.

“Fine, there, it’s done,” Brokkenbroll said. “Now, I need to talk to you about what’s going on.”

He glanced irritably at Deeba. She was immobilized, unbrellas shackling her ankles and wrists.

“Bring the weapon,” the voice said. “I want to see what’s so special about it. I don’t like having something so…threatening floating around. I’ll breathe it later. Then I’ll learn it. All the prophecies are…unclear.”

“What do you mean you’ll breathe it?” It was another voice coming from behind the door. A tremulous old man’s. Deeba recognized it. “Who are you talking to, Unstible?” It was Mortar.

“Hush,” the Unstible-Smog said. “Quiet. Brokkenbroll…come.”

Brokkenbroll entered the laboratory, and with a last miserable look at Deeba, Lectern followed him. The Smog in the air around Deeba withdrew like a film of a fire run backwards, sucking back through the doorway, leaving the air cold, thin, and clean.

“Unstible,” Deeba heard Brokkenbroll say. “Things aren’t going according to the plan we made. What’s happening? That awful girl was making all sorts of accusations—”

“Lectern…?” Mortar said. “You’ve come to join us? And is that you, book? So…are we winning? Against the Smog?”

“Oh Mortar,” Deeba heard Lectern say sadly. “Smell the air.”

Deeba struggled.

The unbrellas’ grip was unrelenting. She could shift her arms a little one way and the other, but she could not pull them, or her ankles, apart, or free.

There was a snuffling at her feet.

“Curdle,” she whispered. The little milk carton crept through the immobile unbrellas and rolled into her lap, wheezing air in and out happily. “Oh, Curdle.”

Deeba struggled again, but the unbrellas were too strong. Deeba sighed. She bit her lip.

“Put the UnGun down,” the grating voice said.

“There’s only one bullet left, apparently,” she heard Brokkenbroll say.

“Where did you get that?” Mortar said, in a heartbreakingly feeble voice. “Might we be able to use it?”

“Brokkenbroll, UnLondoners are getting uppity. Things are going wrong. Hence change of plan. Need some more help. We’re not ready yet. Take the elevator—find Murgatroyd. Or Rawley. Take the woman and go.”

“You think?” said the Unbrellissimo. “I doubt Murgatroyd or his boss’ll be willing to part with any more police, or come down themselves. They were doing us a favor in the first place.”

“Worth a try.” The Unstible-thing’s voice was loud and angry, and Brokkenbroll was silent. “Put the UnGun down, put the book down, and go.”

“Very well,” Brokkenbroll said. “Of course. It’s a good idea…I’ll…go and ask…”

“And leave an unbrella to help me.”

There was a pause.

“I will not,” said Brokkenbroll nervously. “I think you forget we’re partners. The unbrellas are my servants.”

Deeba heard the clank of metal, a gate slid into place. There was a receding mechanical grind.

“Oh well,” the voice muttered. “Never thought I’d get rid of him.”

“Oh my lord…” muttered Mortar. “What have I done?”

“Sleep.” There was a whoosh like wind, and Mortar’s voice petered out to nothing.

I need to get these things off me, Deeba thought, and wriggled her wrists again. Curdle grabbed the unbrella with its cardboard spout. Deeba heard the book.

“Brokkenbroll’ll realize you’re double-crossing him,” it said. “Probably does already.”

“Silly unbrella man,” Unstible-Smog said. “It’s too late for him now.”

“When he realizes and joins us, you know—”

“Book.” The voice was heavy. “I am very busy. Last experiments. Chemistry. Working on this a long time. Breathed a lot of books. Very