Un Lun Dun - China Mieville [80]
“Look…” the book said. “It’s just terminology. Sometimes these old prophecies are written in, you know, unfortunate ways…”
“Was it Kath who was supposed to be the clever one?” Deeba said. She thought about how she and Zanna had become friends. “So…I’m the funny one? I’m the funny sidekick?”
“But, but, but,” the book said, flustered. “What about Digby? What about Ron and Robin? There’s no shame in—”
Deeba dropped the book and walked away. It yelped as it hit the pavement.
“Deeba?” said Hemi eventually. “What d’you think we should do?”
She said nothing. She stood by the junction with the main road and watched the strange crowds of UnLondoners go by. After all the stress and fear of the Smog and the Propheseers and the running away, that little insult in the book’s index was one thing too many for Deeba to bear. She shook her head.
“We can’t just wait,” Hemi said. “The Propheseers’ll be looking for us. With Brokkenbroll. And if they catch us…You got me into this,” he shouted at last. “Now what we going to do?”
She still refused to speak. Curdle whiffled and wound round and round her feet. Deeba didn’t stroke it.
“Deeba.” It was the book. Hemi carried it closer. “I want to apologize. I didn’t write me. I’ve no idea who did. But we already know he or she was a moron.” Deeba refused to smile. “They didn’t know what they were on about. I’d probably be more use if I were a phone book. Even if my idiot authors didn’t know it, I know you’re not a sidekick—”
“No one is!” Deeba shouted. “That’s no way to talk about anyone! To say they’re just hangers-on to someone more important.”
“I know,” said the book. “You’re right.”
“Come on,” Hemi said. “We’re being hunted. Brokkenbroll might even persuade them to attack Wraithtown or something. We have to do something.”
“Please,” the book said.
Deeba watched them for a long moment.
“Alright then,” she said at last. “I’ve told you what we have to do. I can’t think of anything else. We can’t go back to the bridge, book. UnLondon needs us, even if it don’t know it. And Zanna does, and I do, and maybe London does, too. The Propheseers are working for the Smog now, even if they don’t know it.
“The Smog’ll expect us to hide. So it probably won’t expect us to…to attack.”
“Book,” she said, raising her voice over the volume’s objections. “Book, if you don’t shut up I’ll just leave you here. Answer some questions.” Hemi stared at her with admiration.
Deeba began to flick through the book, referring to the index and checking various pages.
“How’s this organized?” she said. “It’s all over the place. There’s no order.”
“There is,” the book said. “Just not a very obvious one. What is it you want to know?”
“Zanna the Shwazzy, in the end…she was meant to save UnLondon, right? How? What was she supposed to do? In what order? Because that obviously worried the Smog.”
“Well…” the book said. “It was sort of a standard Chosen One deal. Seven tasks, and with each one she’d collect one of UnLondon’s ancient treasures. Finally she’d get the most powerful weapon in all the abcity—as powerful as the Klinneract. The Smog’s afraid of nothing but it. With it she was meant to face it and defeat it.”
“I wouldn’t get too excited about the Klinneract if I were you,” Deeba said. “What was she supposed to collect?”
“The seven jewels of UnLondon,” the book whispered. “What they call the Heptical Collection. A featherkey; a squidbeak clipper; a cup of bone tea; teeth-dice; an iron snail; the crown of the black-or-white king; and the most powerful weapon in the history of the abcity…the UnGun.”
“The UnGun?” Hemi said. “Cor. I thought that was just a story.”
“It’s a story too,” the book said grandly. “But it’s also…the Shwazzy’s weapon.” There was a pause. “Well…I thought so, anyway,” it added.
Deeba counted off the seven items.
“The Smog doesn’t want us to get hold of them,” she said. “So that’s what we’re going to do. Hemi…will you help?”
“Are you mad?” he said. “What else am I going to do? I’ve gone from being chased by the stall holders to