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“I’m sure we’ve sorted it all out, but just in case, we’ll know everything she knows in a minute,” Brokkenbroll said. “We’ll know exactly who they’ve told. Did you hear that?” he said to Deeba, his voice chillingly gentle. “Lie all you want.”

“I’m not lying!” Deeba shouted.

“It won’t make any difference,” he said. “We’ll know the truth in…” He peered behind her. “In just a minute.”

Murgatroyd was looking too, his face wrinkled with severe distaste.

“I’d rather not stay around for this,” he said. “I’ll go and wait by the elevator, so I can get straight back as soon as we’ve heard.”

“Very well,” Brokkenbroll said. “I’ll take you back. It’s been very handy, installing that elevator in the lab. Not easy, I know, and very appreciated. Meanwhile, we’ll let things here…get on.” He raised his voice and spoke to the something or someone behind Deeba. “Come along when you’re done and tell us how it went. Good-bye, Miss Resham. I hope for your sake you impart whatever information you have swiftly.”

“You pig,” Deeba spat.

“Lanky dweeb!” shouted Hemi.

“You won’t get away with this,” Deeba said. The Unbrellissimo tipped back his hat and looked quizzical.

“Of course I will,” he said. “Who’s going to stop me? The Shwazzy herself couldn’t. So much for the prophecies. If she couldn’t, what on earth do you think you’re going to do?”

Brokkenbroll reached into Deeba’s bag and pulled out her umbrella. He looked at its unbroken shape with extreme distaste.

“How I do hate to see an unbrella in this unfinished state,” he said, and roughly ripped a slit in its canopy.

He dropped it. It didn’t fall flat, but tottered unstably on its handle. It swayed, snapped upright, looked eyelessly around. Brokkenbroll clicked his fingers, and the newborn unbrella leapt to attention.

“Come with me, you,” he said. “Let’s get you treated. But first…”

He gripped Deeba’s shoulders, and spun her and Hemi on their backsides, scraping them on the ground. Now Deeba was pointed at the fire. She could see exactly what was waiting for them.

The flames poured out of a brazier, a big oil drum packed with coal and noxious rubbish, gushing black smoke. Beside it was a pile of trash with a shovel jutting from it.

Standing over the glowing drum, breathing in the stench and filthy fumes with an expression of hunger and delight on his ghastly face, was the thing pretending to be Benjamin Unstible.

50

Malevolent Breather

Deeba’s eyes widened. She cried out.

“What?” called Hemi. “What, what, what?”

“It’s him, it’s the thing,” she said. “Unstible. It’s here.”

Behind her, Deeba heard a beating like wings as the flock of unbrellas took off from the empty streets, the murmurs of Brokkenbroll and Murgatroyd receding rapidly with them.

Unstible’s face looked terrible in the glow. He seemed plumper than she remembered, and his skin was oily and seeping and graying and unhealthy. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. He leaned over the fire and, still staring at Deeba, took another long, luxurious snort.

“Aaaaaaaaah,” he sighed. He seemed to fill out. Deeba saw his skin ripple, and strain.

“Hello again,” he said. His voice was different from when she had heard him before. He was relaxed, now, and it was a slow grating wheeze.

“Now it’s just you…and me.”

“Unstible” moved slowly around the fire, breathing deeply, keeping his eyes on Deeba. He rummaged in her bag.

“Have to know what you’ve seen,” he said. “Have to know who you’ve told. And why you came.”

“Who are you?” Deeba whispered.

A slow and ghastly smile came over “Unstible’s” face.

“You know,” he said. He wagged his finger at her. “You’re not fooled by this silly puppet.” He prodded himself in the chest. “You know, don’t you, little girl?”

Deeba did know.

“Why?” she said. “Why are you all doing this?”

“Everyone’s happy. The minister gets what she wants. Unbrella man what he wants. And me…why am I doing this? Because of her LURCH…because I’m hungry,” he crooned.

The Unstible-thing brought out the word-glove from