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“Deeba!” Lectern said delightedly, reaching up to pluck her from the ladder.

“We heard a rumor that you were back,” said Mortar. “How wonderful. But…the Shwazzy’s not here? No? Ah well, we thought there might have been…miscommunication.” He tried to hide his disappointment. “And is this your friend? Hm. Well…hello. So…Jones and Murgatroyd found you? They’ve been looking—”

“Mortar!” she said. “Lectern! Where’s the book? Everyone, listen. It’s not Unstible. The man who says he’s Unstible wants to burn everything. And Brokkenbroll’s not on your side. The unbrellas…they’re part of a plan, and he’s got something up his sleeve…”

In her haste and anxiety, Deeba knew she wasn’t making much sense. Hemi’s garbled agreements and enthusiastic nodding weren’t helping. She could see the Propheseers frowning in confusion. She stamped.

“I explained to Conductor Jones!” she said. “Hemi was there, he’ll tell you.”

“She’s right,” said Hemi. “It’s a trick.”

“The Unstible-thing wants to burn the libraries,” Deeba said. “And build factories…and burn me…”

“You’re saying the unbrellas don’t work?” Lectern said, frowning.

“No, they do. But the Unbrellissimo’s giving them out for a reason—”

“Let me clarify,” Mortar said. “He’s giving us a weapon against the Smog on behalf of the Smog?”

There was a long pause. Deeba and Hemi looked at each other.

“Well…yes…” Deeba said.

“I don’t understand,” Mortar said. “Unstible’s dedicated his life to fighting for UnLondon, and now you’re saying he’s—”

“It’s not Unstible,” Deeba said.

“Who isn’t Unstible?” Mortar said.

“Unstible.”

In the silence that followed all the Propheseers stared at Deeba. She clenched her teeth in frustration.

“Where’s the book?” she said. “Get it. I know it’s not perfect, but it might have something written about this.”

“The book, ah…might not be too much help,” Lectern said. “It’s not in the best mood recently…”

“Just get it!” Mortar inclined his head, and Lectern wrestled it out of a drawer.

“Why are you bothering me?” the book said morosely. “Is that…Deeba Resham? Why are you here?” Then it asked in sudden excitement, “Is the Shwazzy back?”

“No,” said Deeba. “She don’t know anything. She don’t remember—”

“Well of course,” said the book, its voice sulky again.

“But listen!” Deeba said. “She’s in danger. I been trying to tell you. Unstible’s going after her, soon as it’s sorted me out.”

“Danger?” said the book. “Unstible? What are you talking about?”

“Just listen,” Deeba said. “I want to know if you’ve got anything about a double cross…”

“What?” the book interrupted. “Are you making fun of me now?”

“No! I just—”

“Because we’ve already established I don’t know anything.”

“That’s not true,” Deeba said. “Not everything went how it was supposed to, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing useful in you.”

“I do beg your pardon,” Lectern said. “It’s been a bit snippy.”

“Of course I’m snippy!” the book said. “I just found out I’m completely pointless! My prophecies are bags of nonsense!”

“This is UnLondon’s seat of knowledge?” Hemi muttered. “Deadsey help us, what a farrago.” Deeba almost stamped in frustration.

“We’re wasting time!” she said. “Wait! Look!” She held up the little slip of ghost-paper. “This is the certificate from Wraithtown that says Unstible died.” The Propheseers squinted at it.

“It’s blank,” one said.

“He burnt the rest,” she said desperately, clenching her fists in frustration.

“Deeba,” said Mortar in a kindly voice. “I’ve known Benjamin Hue Unstible for years. I’m sure you think you’ve found something, but it makes no sense. That’s just a scrap of paper. The thing is, it’s no surprise if you make a mistake. I mean, you’re not the Shwazzy. You don’t have any destiny here. Perhaps you got the wrong end of the stick.”

Deeba gaped at him.

“Give me that.” It was the book. Deeba looked at it in surprise. “The paper. We all know I don’t know UnLondon like I thought I did, blah blah, but I do know paper.”

Deeba held out her hands for the book. Lectern hesitated.