Un Lun Dun - China Mieville [43]
The two men muttered together. “…we could…” Deeba heard. Lectern shuffled a little closer to her, as if protectively. The two men seemed to be disagreeing. “…absolutely not…” she heard, and “…might work…” and “…worth a try…” and “…not unless we have to…” They bowed their heads together and muttered.
“Alright then,” Unstible said suddenly, and shrugged.
“I’ve had an idea,” Brokkenbroll said. “I think I might be able to get the Smog out of your friend.”
“The trick,” he said, “is to get the Smog so rattled it has to gather every bit of itself to fight. And it’s not used to facing someone with the weapons to keep it at bay.” He pointed to his unbrellas.
“Really?” Mortar said. “You honestly think you can scare the Smog? If you can do that…well.” His expression left little doubt that if the Unbrellissimo could achieve that, he’d win Mortar’s respect and loyalty.
“And how can you help the Shwazzy?” said Lectern.
“I’ll attract its attention,” Unbrellissimo said. “Somewhere away from here, some waste ground where no one can get hurt. Light a couple of old tires, go Smog-fishing.”
“You’re going to call it deliberately?” Mortar said.
“I can’t believe this,” said the book miserably. “For centuries I’ve known what was supposed to happen. Ins and outs. And with that whack on the back of the Shwazzy’s head…that was all gone. Turns out I don’t know anything. But for the record, it sounds to me like you’re an impressive general. Maybe your plan will even work. Even without the Shwazzy, maybe UnLondon does have a chance.”
“Propheseers, Propheseers, please,” Brokkenbroll said. “We’re not just talking about the abcity. We’re also talking about a young girl, lying back on that bridge, struggling to breathe. Now, if I can make this work,” he said to Deeba, “then you can rest. Your friend will be safe. The prophecies…well, they’ll still be wrong, but that won’t matter, because UnLondon’ll have a new way to protect itself.” He twirled an unbrella. “So there’ll be no need for the Shwazzy to come running back, and no need for you to worry about her.”
“What can I do?” Deeba said. “I want to help. She’s my friend.”
“It’ll be dangerous. I really can’t…” He stopped and thought. “Perhaps there is one thing.”
“Tell me!”
“It’ll mean you going home. I need time to prepare, and we have to get her as far away from the Smog as possible, as fast as possible. So it’s something you can only do from London.”
Deeba almost sobbed with laughter.
“I want to go home!” she said. “That’s what we’ve been trying to do since we got here.”
“Alright then,” said the Unbrellissimo. “Let me tell you what to do.”
30
Taking Leave
The bridge certainly hadn’t been there when they came out of the factory. But Mortar and Lectern led them just one or two quick turns, and its familiar towers and cables rose before them, and they were back on its tarmac, heading for the office.
The loon was high overhead. It was a fatter oval than the previous night, was almost full.
The Propheseers were waiting, gathered around Zanna’s immobile body. Curdle scampered and rolled towards them.
“Come here, you stupid carton,” Deeba said, and stroked her friend’s head gently, listening to Zanna’s breath rattle. Then Deeba cried out with delight as she saw three familiar figures on the Pons Absconditus.
“Obaday! Conductor Jones! Skool!” she shouted, and ran to hug each of them in turn—even Skool, who leaned awkwardly and patted her back with enormous clumsy gloves.
“Deeba!” Obaday shouted.
“How are you, girl?” said Jones.
“You made it,” she said. “How did you get here? Are you all alright?”
“It was a bit hairy there for a while,” Jones said. “We laid up south of the river. Rosa had to do some extreme driving there…” Skool nodded and made a zigzag motion with his hand. “We got rid of another of the grossbottles, but a couple of airjackers boarded us. Used up all my current getting rid of them.”
“Then Skool took over,” Obaday said, and Skool struck a strongman pose.
Somewhere between Jones’s laconic descriptions, Obaday