Un Lun Dun (22 page)

46

Old Friends

“Obaday!”

The needle-headed designer looked up in astonished delight.

“Deeba!”

Obaday was dressed in a natty suit of poems. He was sweeping up chunks of coal and iron into a big pile in front of his stall, which effervesced back into little threads of smog and drifted away even as he built it. He swept Deeba up in a hug. She laughed and hugged him back. “Deeba, what are you
doing
here?” He held her at arm’s length and looked at her.

From the rear of Obaday’s stall came an excited snuffling.

“Is that…?” Deeba said, and Curdle came bouncing out from behind the curtain. The little milk carton rolled its cardboard body at them and leapt into Deeba’s hands.

“Curdle!” she said. She tickled it and it squirmed. “What’s it doing with you, Obaday?”

He looked sheepish.

“Well,” he said. “After you left, the silly little thing was miserable. It was pining. Lectern was going to let it go back in the Backwall Maze, but I thought that maybe it would rather…live with someone who knew you and the Shwazzy…sort of thing.”

“Oh right,” she said and smiled. “You’re keeping it for
its
sake.
You
don’t care one way or the other.”

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Anyway. How on earth did you
get
here? Why did you come? It’s a difficult time…”

His words petered out. He stared at Hemi.

Hemi stood tense and ready to run. If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t take him for part-ghost—but you’d know he wanted to be somewhere else. He looked at Obaday suspiciously.

“Obaday,” Deeba said. “Think what you say.”

“But Deeba,” he hissed. “You don’t know who that is. He’s a—”

“I know exactly who that is. His name’s Hemi, and he’s a half-ghost. He’s a pain in the arse, but he’s also who got me here, and who helped me.”

“But he’ll try to—”

“Shut up, Obaday. No he won’t. I mean it.” Deeba spoke sternly. “He helped me. And we’ve got something really important to show you. Hemi’s with me, and I don’t want to hear anything about it.”

Obaday thinned his lips.

“If you say so, Deeba,” he said. “You are of the Shwazzy’s party, after all. If you say so. Come and have a cup of tea. And…” There was a long pause. “And your guest, too.”

They sat in the sumptuous fabric-lined back room, now shot through with hundreds of holes through which the UnSun shone. The stink of the Smog’s missiles filled the air.

“You’ve chosen a pretty terrible time to come and visit us,” Obaday said. “Did you see what happened?” Deeba nodded. “Well then. You see the war’s hit…rather a complicated stage.”

“That’s what I’m here about,” Deeba started to say, but Obaday continued.

“Thank God for the unbrellas, that’s all I can say.” He tapped the one at his belt. Its fabric was torn on one section of webbing. “That little split—that’s what makes it an
un
brella—doesn’t stop it protecting me. If it weren’t for Unstible’s formula—and if it weren’t for Brokkenbroll’s orders, too—none of us could face the Smog. Shame so many of us still can’t—there aren’t enough unbrellas yet. I tell you, though, they have the Smog rattled.”

“I think there’s a reason the Smog’s attacking more,” Deeba said.

“Yes, Unstible was talking about it the other day. I read it on the walls. He explained that the Smog’s getting worried. Because it can see we’ve got a new strategy.”

“Yes,” Deeba said. “But about that. About Unstible…”

“So really,” Obaday continued, “it’s actually a
good
sign that it’s being more aggressive. It means we can be pleased with our progress. That’s what Unstible said.”

“Obaday, will you listen?” Deeba snapped. “I’m trying to tell you something. The reason the war’s getting worse isn’t ’cause the Smog’s worried, but ’cause Unstible’s
not on your side.
”

She showed him the piece of paper with its official Wraithtown stamp.

“What is this…?” he said.

“Look. Unstible died. The Smog killed him. Whoever that is giving orders and making up potions, it’s
not Unstible.
”

“This…this doesn’t mean anything,” Fing said uncertainly. “It might not be real.”

“Obaday,” Deeba said. “Don’t be stupid. Look at it.” The paper flared with ghostliness as she spoke: around its edges a leaf even became visible, a momentary haunting by the wood that had been made into the paper. “Why d’you think I’m here? I sort of realized something weird was going on. Now I got proof, I need to show that lot at the bridge.”

“Well…” Obaday glanced at Hemi. “I’m sure your friend here wouldn’t do anything deliberately, but you can’t trust the Wraiths. Some people even say they’re in league with the Smog.”

Hemi jumped to his feet. “I knew it,” he said. “I
told
you, Deeba.”

“I’m not saying you, and I’m not saying I believe it,” said Obaday. “If Deeba says you’re alright, then…you’re probably alright. But maybe, I don’t know, someone in the office wants to undermine Unstible, or something.”

“I saw it in the database,” said Deeba. “On the computer.”

“Well…” Obaday turned the paper over and examined it. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. Maybe this is
another
Unstible. What do you think’s going on, then? It doesn’t make any sense. Unstible’s
helping.
He’s obviously on our side.”

Before Deeba could answer, there was a shout. “Obaday Fing!” one of his assistants yelled through the Smog-tattered cloth. “Quickly. Something’s coming.”

“What?” he said, leaping to his feet and swinging his unbrella. “Is the Smog back?”

“No. It’s a bus.”

47

The Other Abnaut

The bus came in low over the roofs, swinging in its harness below a balloon.

The market traders stopped their reconstruction and gawped. No bus was scheduled to stop at the market.

There was more than one balloon-tethered bus in UnLondon, but the symbol on its front was unmistakable. It was the Scrollscrawl. Leaning out from the platform, Deeba could see the tiny waving figure of Conductor Jones. She waved back excitedly.

“Ahoy,” he shouted as the bus came to a stop a few meters above. He dropped the basket on the rope. “Deeba, I can’t believe you’re back, girl! You actually came back! I didn’t think it could be true…Come up! There’s someone here wants to speak to you.”

A little crowd had gathered.

“Hi Jones!” Deeba shouted. “Who is it?”

Another man appeared on the platform at Jones’s side. He was thin and fidgety, carrying a briefcase.

“Ah, Miss Resham?” he said nervously. She could only just hear him. “I’m from Minister Rawley’s office. The minister was very intrigued by your letter.”

“What?”
she said. “She got it? How…how did you get here? And
how did you know it was from me
?”

“Who is that?” Hemi whispered to her.

“Well now.” The man smiled briefly. “We, ah, have our ways. Reconstruct a letter’s journey, check video footage, that sort of thing. We were able to work out that you must have sent it. We tried to contact you at home, Miss Resham, but we realized you must’ve come here. We’re very keen to, um, speak to you, please, as soon as possible.”

“What did I tell you?” Deeba said to Obaday. He was staring foolishly at the bus, his mouth open. “D’you think they’d have sent him all the way from London if there weren’t something going on?”

“I…but…” Obaday could only stammer. “There must be a mistake…”

“Nuh-uh,” Deeba said. “I think things are kicking off. Watch yourself. I think things aren’t what you reckon. Hold on, Jones!” she shouted up. “I’m coming. Do you want to come?” she said to Hemi. “You don’t have to.”

“I said I’d get you to the bridge,” he said carelessly. “Might as well do that.”

“And I’m bringing a friend.” Hemi raised an eyebrow. Curdle refused to leave her grasp. “Two friends,” Deeba said.

The basket spun, but Deeba had lost any fear she might have had of heights. She leaned over and waved good-bye to a still slack-faced Obaday Fing. Curdle bounced in her hands and looked down, too.

Hemi clung to the sides of the basket. His eyes were firmly shut.

“You’re half-
ghost,
” said Deeba. “How can you be scared?”

“Just because half my family are unquiet dead,” he hissed, “why should I like this sort of thing?”

He didn’t open his eyes until the conductor pulled him into the bus.

“Hello Jones,” said Deeba, and hugged him. “You’re not going to start insulting Hemi, are you?”

“Your friend’s got ghost in him.” Jones eyed Hemi judiciously. “Not my business. He’s my passenger now, and that means he’s under my protection. Although that
does
mean, young man, no more climbing the outside of the bus, no more dropping through floors, no more leaving clothes in dirty piles. Are we clear?”

Hemi didn’t look at him, but his pale face darkened, just slightly.

“Dunno what you mean, Conductor,” he muttered.

“How come you came here?” she said. “I thought you didn’t like going off your route.”

“There’s always exceptions. When Mr. Murgatroyd here came and explained the situation, we didn’t hesitate. He needed some help to find you, said they’d had a message from you, back in the old city, and could someone help him track you down. Well, the Propheseers knew I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to see you again, was I? I knew if I were you I’d head back here, where you’ve got friends. But I didn’t really believe you’d be here!”

“I
had
to come,” Deeba said.

“Miss Resham.” The nervous man stepped forward, interrupting. He looked quite gray. He carefully did not get close to the edge of the platform. “I’m Murgatroyd, of the Ministry of the Environment. I’m Rawley’s man.” He shook her hand. He did not even look at Hemi.

“What do you do?” Deeba said. “For Rawley.”

“The lurch…” he said, then stuttered. “Th-that is to say, I, ah…I
lurch.
Minister Rawley’s brainchild. It’s, ah, a kind of experimental Odd-crossing technique. I ‘lurched’ here. I’m trying to perfect it.”

“I can’t believe you found me,” Deeba said. Murgatroyd inclined his head modestly.

“We have certain methods,” he said.

“What’s this about, Deeba?” Jones said. He kept an eye on the sky, in case the Smog returned. The bus rose and set off over the city. Deeba watched the fabric of the market, and the ghost-slates of Wraithtown lapping like froth.

“This is what I’m telling you,” she said, and reached for the paper. “I found something…”

“Wait,” Murgatroyd said quickly. “I’m not sure what evidence you have, but we can’t put this into the public domain just yet.”

“But Jones isn’t just anyone.”

“I must insist.”

“It’s alright, Deeba,” Jones said. “I just want to get you where you’re going. I don’t know what’s going on and, right now, I don’t need to. I’ll find out if the time comes.”

“But why?” said Deeba quietly to Murgatroyd. “D’you think I’m wrong?”

“On the contrary, Miss Resham,” he said quietly. “On the contrary, Minister Rawley’s sure you’re right.

“But things have gone pretty far already. We need to work out what we’re going to do. We have to put together a strategy. So to do that, we’re going to meet someone who knows…the person you’ve expressed concern about…better than anyone. Who’ll be in the best position to really know what’s going on, to take a look at your evidence, and to decide what to do about it. Someone who’s going to be even angrier than you at having been misled.”

“Mortar?” said Deeba.

“Better than that.”

Rosa took the bus between shadowed patches of abcity.

“So…I told you not to worry about your family panicking, didn’t I?” Jones said.

“Yeah,” she said cautiously, remembering their reactions on her return. “I’m still not hanging around, though. The Prophs can take me back again.”

“Got all the way here just to pass on this information?” He shook his head. “I take my hat off, girl. You’ll have to tell me how you got over. And you’re probably sensible. That phlegm effect does have its costs. Doesn’t matter to one like me, no intention of going back, but you…” His voice petered out.

Jones pointed out over smoke-stained landscape like a smudged map. “Look at that smogmire,” he said. He handed Deeba his telescope. Peering through it into those boroughs where Smog filled the streets, she could see dim shapes moving like malevolent fish below the smoky surface. “All kinds of things mutating into life in there,” he said.

“Where are we going?” Hemi said.

“Yeah, where
are
we going?” said Deeba. “There’s the Pons Absconditus.” She pointed. She wondered how come it was there, when its ends were also in several other places.

There was a pause before Murgatroyd answered.

“We’re going…nowhere in particular,” he said. “To a little interstice between several areas. Hidden. Careless talk costs lives. We can’t risk this getting back to the Smog. And until we know exactly what you know, we can’t risk it getting back to…the subject of your discussions, either.”

“We’re close,” Jones said. “Time we got out of sight.” He rang the bell, and the bus descended.

It wove between buildings, hissing as it let out its gas and the balloon went flaccid, until its wheels touched down and it drove earthbound. They were in a deserted part of the abcity. There was no one on the streets, and no lights in any windows.

“Where is everyone?” Hemi said. “Is this emptish? A stopover?”

“No, these are empt
y,
” Jones said. “The Smog took over only a few streets away. It’s not safe.”

“So why we here?” Deeba said, alarmed.

“People don’t come here now—that’s sort of the point,” Jones said.

“We mustn’t be observed,” said Murgatroyd. “So long as we’re quick, this is perfect.”

“No one would dare come here,” Hemi said to Deeba. He pointed down an alley they passed. At its end was a wall of Smog. Deep in its wavering filaments, predatory shadows moved.