Un Lun Dun - China Mieville [149]
“I’ll explain,” she said. “But basically…Nothing. Nothing happened.”
The sky was beginning to grow light.
“There’s lots of stuff to do,” Deeba said. “We have to find Brokkenbroll. He got away. And we have to tell everyone in UnLondon what to do with the unbrellas.” She twirled her rebrella, and it did a little midair pirouette of its own.
“There’s all sorts to do. Let’s find the Propheseers. I’ve got an apology to pick up.”
“So we’ve got to get to the Pons, now?” said Jones, trying not to look horrified.
“Don’t worry,” said Deeba. “No more trekking. Give it a minute. The bridge’ll come to us.”
“What about Skool?” said Obaday. “And the binja, and—”
“We’ll make some stops,” said Deeba. “Trust me. Mortar’s going to do exactly what I say.”
She knew it would be awhile, and it was. It took a bit of time, in the confusion at the end of the war, while the Propheseers tried to work out what had happened, and how the abcity had won, and whether they could trust the victory. But after the UnSun had come up and shone gently on UnLondon, the end of the Propheseers’ bridge poked into the ruins of Unstible’s workshop, and Mortar beckoned them all on.
98
Fit for Heroes
“We’re putting the word out,” Mortar said. “All over UnLondon, unbrellas are being converted to rebrellas. Mostly they bounce off immediately into the Backwall Maze or somewhere and join bands of rubbish. But a few of them seem to want to stick around with us.”
“Whatever,” said Deeba. “The main point is Brokkenbroll can’t control them. Does anyone know where he is yet?”
“No. But we’re not worried. I’m sure he’ll try to break a few rebrellas and reclaim them, and unbrellas are going to keep finding their way here, but everyone knows to fix them when found. What can he do? He’s a bandit and we all know it. A nuisance, at worst, these days.”
“Still,” said Deeba. “I’ll be happier when you find him.”
“Binja are looking.”
“Among others,” said the book, tucked under Hemi’s arm.
It was only one full day after that extraordinary battle, but UnLondon was adjusting to the news and ways of postwar life impressively quickly. All over the abcity, stories of heroism and betrayal and incompetence and luck were emerging. There were plenty of champions Deeba had never heard of, who’d done amazing things, in parts of UnLondon she’d never been.
“What’ll happen to Lectern?” Deeba said.
“Oh, she’s confessed,” said Mortar. “She’ll do some time. But she’s by no means the worst of them.”
“No,” said Deeba. “She was just a coward. Although seeing as what she almost did to me…”
“Absolutely,” muttered Hemi. He had become a go-between of sorts, a proto-ambassador between Wraithtown and the Pons, and he was wearing a suit of ghost-clothes. Around the cotton was a corona of older forms of dress.
“Quite,” said Mortar. “There were quite a few people who worked hand in glove with the Smog. We don’t know who they all are.”
“The Concern. They could be trouble in the future.”
There was a lot to do. Mortar was energized, now that he had finally stopped apologizing to Deeba.
“Is the UnLondon-I ready?” Deeba said. “I have to get back over.”
“They’re finishing it up now,” Mortar said. “Don’t worry, it’ll be ready by tonight. And that still gives you a few hours in hand—you’ll be fine.”
The great waterwheel, like so much in the abcity, had been damaged in the fighting, its mechanisms clogged and banged about by rampaging stink-junkies. Nothing too serious before the Smog had dispersed, but enough that they had not been able to use it the previous day, to generate the current to poke the Pons Absconditus through the Odd into London.
A little part of Deeba had almost felt relief. Despite her eagerness to return, she’d been so battered after the showdown that a day of enforced rest and recuperation while the Propheseers worked to fix it had felt like a blessing. Now it was definitely time for her to go.
They strolled on the Pons Absconditus as Propheseers had its ends dip into various parts of UnLondon, gadding busily around the abcity. Elsewhere on the bridge