Un Lun Dun (13 page)

25

The Addicted Enemy

The stink-junkies were people the Smog had caught and, horribly, forced to breathe it. It synthesized powerful mind-altering drugs with its chemicals, shoved them into its captives’ lungs, and took them over. If they were conscious it was in a deep dream. They would do anything the Smog made them do, while they breathed it. The stink-junkies were the Smog’s addict-slaves.

The binja came at them. Perhaps because the stink-junkies were such tragic figures, victims themselves, even the ruthless binja didn’t use their weapons. They attacked with chops, punches, and spinning kicks, their metal bodies twirling too fast to follow. They tried to subdue their enemies without hurting them permanently, but the Smog made the stink-junkies strong.

They were not so restrained. Their hoses sprayed oily fire. The binja dived between jets of flaming Smog.

“Quick!” said Mortar, hustling Zanna and Deeba away. Propheseers were scurrying frantically. “Lectern! We have to get the book and the Shwazzy out of here!”

“You
what
?” wailed Deeba.

A binja was caught in a blaze. It slammed down its lid to protect its eyes, and retracted its arms and legs. The flame licked harmlessly over its metal body.

“Where are we going?” Lectern shouted.

“Anywhere,” Mortar said. The stink-junkies were getting closer. “Let’s go!”

“Where?”
said Zanna. Everyone looked around at the sound of her voice. “That’s Smog, in their tanks?” Mortar nodded. “It keeps finding me! How’m I going to get away?”

She turned, her fists clenched; she stamped, looking halfway between petulant and impressive. She grabbed a slat from one of the broken chairs and raised it like a club.

“Just leave me alone!”
she shouted, and ran towards the fight.

“Zann!”
shouted Deeba.
“No!”

“Wait!”
said Mortar, as Deeba and several Propheseers stepped forward to intercept Zanna. Mortar’s voice was resonant with tense triumph. “‘She shall prevail in her first encounter…’”

“Leave me alone!” Zanna shouted, and waving her stick, she hurtled into the battle, Deeba running to catch her.

“It’s time,” Mortar said.

Zanna crooked her fingers. Wind whirled unnaturally about her.

“Feel it rising, Shwazzy,” Mortar shouted. The Propheseers stared.

“What you
doing
?” shouted Deeba.

“What she was born to do,” Mortar said.

The stink-junkies came close. Deeba clutched Curdle. Air streamed around Zanna.

She raised her right hand, with its club-wand-splinter, and a wave of wind swept through the fight, and made the stink-junkies stagger. The binja leapt to Zanna’s side. She turned her head, caught Deeba’s eye. For a moment, she seemed to glow. Deeba stared.

“Zann,” Deeba whispered. “Shwazz…”

A stink-junkie shoved through the cordon of binja and smacked Zanna on the back of the head.

Instantly, Zanna collapsed.

“Zann!” screamed Deeba.

“What…?” shouted Mortar.

Zanna lay motionless. The wind that she had seemed to conduct blew suddenly random.

The binja surrounded her, trying to shove back the attacker. It raised its arms.

“Stop it!” Deeba shouted. “It’s going to kill her! What’s happening?” Deeba grabbed Mortar’s lapels.

“I…I…I…” he gabbled, staring at the unconscious Shwazzy. “Book?”

“I don’t know,” the book whimpered. Lectern was flicking through it rapidly, her expression appalled. “That…wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Help her,”
Deeba said.

The stink-junkies outnumbered the binja. Despite the dustbins’ heroism, the attackers were closing in, stamping towards Zanna, their massive boots pounding.

26

Folders and Unfolders

There was a frantic sound like wings. Dark flapping shapes suddenly raced through the air around the bridge.

“Cut the hoses!” a voice came from below. “And let me in!”

“It’s Brokkenbroll!” said Lectern. “What do we do?”

“Uh…” Mortar said. He stared at the supine Zanna, and at the approaching stink-junkies.

“Let me
in,
” Brokkenbroll called.

“I…I’ll connect the bridge near him,” Mortar said. He clenched his jaw, and concentrated.

A tall, spindly man in a dark suit came running up the Pons, his trench coat billowing around him. The Unbrellissimo. Flying around him with little squirts of air, opening and closing like squid-bat hybrids in a hundred colors, were broken umbrellas, doing his bidding.

Some were bent, some were ripped, some had no handles, but all moved fast and aggressive. They swirled around the stink-junkies. They were like fighting crows, poking at goggles with their jags, hooking breathing-tubes and flamethrowers with curved handles.

One big, tenacious unbrella with bent spokes yanked the pipe from Zanna’s attacker’s hood. It came with a
pop
and a jet of filthy smoke.

The stink-junkie screamed. It scrabbled for the hose, which flailed like a snake, gushing Smog. The unbrellas opened and closed vigorously. Deeba saw several binja unfold iron fans and wave them ferociously at the smoke.

“Tessenjutsu,” Lectern said, crouching by Deeba. “The art of the war-fan. It’s been indispensable against the Smog.”

“We have to get Zanna,” Deeba said.

“Cut the hoses!” Brokkenbroll shouted again. Ducking under flames, the binja went back into the fray. This time they knew what to do. One by one the Smog’s addict-troops went down, sucking at their torn or cut pipework. They sucked desperately for their poisoned smoke, then were still.

The hiss of escaping Smog continued for several seconds. Layers of stomach-turningly foul smoke hung in the air, and crawled against the air currents as the binja and the unbrellas dissipated it.

With Mortar and Lectern behind her, Deeba ran to Zanna, wincing at the sight of the blood and bruising on her friend’s head.

“Book,” she heard Mortar say. “
What
is going
on
?”

As she knelt by Zanna, she saw a clot of Smog crawl like a malevolent slug into her nose and mouth.

“It’s gone in her!” she shouted. “Help!”

“She breathed it?” said Lectern. “Book?”

“I, I’ve got nothing,” the book said. “Page seventy-six? Page five-twenty?” Lectern flicked hurriedly through its pages. “This
isn’t what’s written.
”

Mortar listened at Zanna’s chest. Even unconscious, Zanna wheezed and coughed as she breathed. “I don’t think it’s enough to kill her,” Mortar said. “But it’s not doing her any good.” Deeba could see confusion and terror in his eyes.

With a visible effort, he tried to exercise some control. “Lectern,” he said, and indicated the stink-junkies.

Lectern nodded. “We’ll see what we can do,” she said. “Some may not be too far gone to save.”

“But what about
Zanna
?” Deeba shouted.

“Propheseers.” Mr. Brokkenbroll approached them, escorted by unbrellas.

“Unbrellissimo,” Mortar said, shaking his hand. “We’re indebted to you. Forgive the chaos. We find things going…not according to plan…”

“What’s happening?” Deeba said to the book in Lectern’s arms.

“I’ve been watching for attacks like this, Propheseer,” Brokkenbroll said to Mortar. He spoke in a dry, quiet voice, only a little above a whisper. “And I heard you were looking for me. It looks like I got here just in time. Do you know what they were after?” He eyed Deeba.

“Of course. The Shwazzy.”

“What?”
The Unbrellissimo looked stunned. “I…had no idea the Shwazzy was here. There were rumors, of course, but I thought…they couldn’t possibly be right. So, Shwazzy…” He stared at Deeba. She looked back miserably.

“Ah, no,” Mortar said. “An easy mistake, Brokkenbroll. This isn’t the Shwazzy. This young lady is Deeba Resham. She’s in the book, too, I think you’ll find, but not as the Shwazzy.”

“What good’s it being in the book?” Deeba said. “The book’s wrong.”

“How
dare
you!” the book said.

“Well?” she said, pointing at Zanna. There was shocked silence.

“That,” said Mortar, “is the Shwazzy.”

“Ah,” said Brokkenbroll. “I
see.
” He looked down at her. “She
is
blond,” he said gently. “I thought I’d heard that. Is she…”

“No,” said Mortar quickly. “We chased off most of the Smog. Only a very little got in.”

“But enough to…cause difficulty?” Brokkenbroll said quietly. Mortar nodded.

“Oh my,” the book said suddenly. Its voice was hollow and horrified. “She’s right. It’s wrong. The stuff in here. In me. It’s
wrong.
”

“Things aren’t very clear right now…” Mortar said to Brokkenbroll.

“What’s the point?” the book whispered. “What is the
point
?”

“Book, please,” Mortar said, and swallowed. “What we’d thought we knew…turns out there were a few surprises. And yes, we wanted to speak to you, to understand what’s been happening. Maybe you can make sense of some things…”

“Why you calling umbrellas down from London?” Deeba said, in tearful rage. “Why did you send one to watch my friend’s house? It’s because of that we came
down
here. What did you
do
?”

“Ah,” said Brokkenbroll slowly. “At long last, things begin to make a bit of sense.”

“So explain,” Deeba said. “And then we can do something about Zanna, and…” She pointed at her friend, and her voice suddenly dried.

The pall of dirt-colored smoke that had gushed out of all the stink-junkies’ tubes, that the unbrellas and the binja had tried to waft away, had been quietly coagulating again. It hung over the scene of the fight, a concentrated smudge, creeping closer to Zanna’s body.

“A smoggler!” Mortar said. “A separate nugget. Keep it from the Shwazzy! We have to stop it joining the main mass of itself. If the Smog finds its way onto the bridge we’re finished!”

It was a dense cloud, three or four meters across. It coiled and darkened like a baleful pygmy storm. From deep in its innards came a grinding, like teeth.

The cloud seemed to gather itself. Then with a rattling like a machine gun, it spat a rain of stones and coal and bullets, straight at Deeba.