“But the Smog must have realized what I was doing. Because I found out it was following me.
“If I wasn’t studying it so close I might not have realized it had crept through, but I had some…feelers out. I had to hide. Go to ground. No one from here knew where I was, for sure. Or even if I was alive. But the Smog was looking for me. Once, it came very close to finding me. I was able to get away and slip back here, but I hadn’t yet made preparations. I knew that as long as the Smog thought I was lost or gone it would leave me alone. So I had to stay hidden. I couldn’t come out, because I hadn’t got things ready.”
“We made a plan together,” the Unbrellissimo said.
“Exactly. Brokkenbroll’s servants found me. When he asked me how to make his unbrellas into shields, I realized the concrete applications of what I’d learnt.”
“It could stop the Smog,” Brokkenbroll said.
“Exactly.” Unstible waved at the strange machinery and the vat full of fervently swimming unbrellas. “It’s a slightly more supernaturally interesting version of vulcanization. A cocktail of chemicals, technique, and magic that can fend off anything the Smog throws at us. Anything it can do.”
“And we’re almost ready,” Brokkenbroll said, his voice tense with excitement. “I’ve been amassing troops. Unstible’s been getting them ready. In a few days I’ll start issuing treated unbrellas to everyone in UnLondon. It’ll take awhile, but everyone’ll get one. I’ll keep pulling them in from London. Until everyone in the abcity’s protected.”
“But we can’t all move those things like you do, Unbrellissimo,” Lectern said.
“You don’t have to. That’s the beauty. They obey my orders. I’ll tell them to protect whomever carries them. With Unstible’s liquid and my soldiers, we can protect everyone in UnLondon. If the Smog tries to rain its bullets at us…just pull out your unbrella, and you’re safe.”
“That’s…brilliant,” said Mortar.
“It’s a plan,” said Lectern. “A real plan.”
“So UnLondon don’t need the Shwazzy after all?” Deeba said. “With your umbrellas or unbrellas or whatever they are? The Smog doesn’t seem to know that. It’s still in her lungs. What’s it doing to her? What if she’s really sick? If something happens to her, I don’t care how scary the Smog is, I’ll find it.”
There were a few moments’ silence.
“I think you might at that,” said Brokkenbroll thoughtfully. “It says a lot about you that you came with your friend. You must have been very afraid. It says you’re something to be reckoned with. I wonder what we can do…” He narrowed his eyes and seemed to be evaluating her. “Give me a second,” he said, and beckoned Unstible over.
The two men muttered together. “…we could…” Deeba heard. Lectern shuffled a little closer to her, as if protectively. The two men seemed to be disagreeing. “…absolutely not…” she heard, and “…might work…” and “…worth a try…” and “…not unless we have to…” They bowed their heads together and muttered.
“Alright then,” Unstible said suddenly, and shrugged.
“I’ve had an idea,” Brokkenbroll said. “I think I might be able to get the Smog out of your friend.”
“The trick,” he said, “is to get the Smog so rattled it has to gather every bit of itself to fight. And it’s not used to facing someone with the weapons to keep it at bay.” He pointed to his unbrellas.
“Really?” Mortar said. “You honestly think you can scare the Smog? If you can do that…well.” His expression left little doubt that if the Unbrellissimo could achieve that, he’d win Mortar’s respect and loyalty.
“And how can you help the Shwazzy?” said Lectern.
“I’ll attract its attention,” Unbrellissimo said. “Somewhere away from here, some waste ground where no one can get hurt. Light a couple of old tires, go Smog-fishing.”
“You’re going to call it deliberately?” Mortar said.
“I can’t believe this,” said the book miserably. “For centuries I’ve known what was supposed to happen. Ins and outs. And with that whack on the back of the Shwazzy’s head…that was all gone. Turns out I don’t know anything. But for the record, it sounds to me like you’re an impressive general. Maybe your plan will even work. Even without the Shwazzy, maybe UnLondon does have a chance.”
“Propheseers, Propheseers, please,” Brokkenbroll said. “We’re not just talking about the abcity. We’re also talking about a young girl, lying back on that bridge, struggling to breathe. Now, if I can make this work,” he said to Deeba, “then you can rest. Your friend will be safe. The prophecies…well, they’ll still be wrong, but that won’t matter, because UnLondon’ll have a new way to protect itself.” He twirled an unbrella. “So there’ll be no need for the Shwazzy to come running back, and no need for you to worry about her.”
“What can I do?” Deeba said. “I want to help. She’s my friend.”
“It’ll be dangerous. I really can’t…” He stopped and thought. “Perhaps there is one thing.”
“Tell me!”
“It’ll mean you going home. I need time to prepare, and we have to get her as far away from the Smog as possible, as fast as possible. So it’s something you can only do from London.”
Deeba almost sobbed with laughter.
“I want to go home!” she said. “That’s what we’ve been trying to do since we got here.”
“Alright then,” said the Unbrellissimo. “Let me tell you what to do.”
30. Taking Leave
The bridge certainly hadn’t been there when they came out of the factory. But Mortar and Lectern led them just one or two quick turns, and its familiar towers and cables rose before them, and they were back on its tarmac, heading for the office.
The loon was high overhead. It was a fatter oval than the previous night, was almost full.
The Propheseers were waiting, gathered around Zanna’s immobile body. Curdle scampered and rolled towards them.
“Come here, you stupid carton,” Deeba said, and stroked her friend’s head gently, listening to Zanna’s breath rattle. Then Deeba cried out with delight as she saw three familiar figures on the Pons Absconditus.
“Obaday! Conductor Jones! Skool!” she shouted, and ran to hug each of them in turn— even Skool, who leaned awkwardly and patted her back with enormous clumsy gloves.
“Deeba!” Obaday shouted.
“How are you, girl?” said Jones.
“You made it,” she said. “How did you get here? Are you all alright?”
“It was a bit hairy there for a while,” Jones said. “We laid up south of the river. Rosa had to do some extreme driving there…” Skool nodded and made a zigzag motion with his hand. “We got rid of another of the grossbottles, but a couple of airjackers boarded us. Used up all my current getting rid of them.”
“Then Skool took over,” Obaday said, and Skool struck a strongman pose.
Somewhere between Jones’s laconic descriptions, Obaday’s enthusiastic gabbling, and Skool’s hand motions, Deeba learnt that the bus had landed, and there’d been a fight: “It wasn’t much,” according to Jones, and “It was terrible!” according to Obaday. “Stink-junkies…smombies…some other horrible-looking things…”
“We held them off as long as we could,” Jones said. “When they got inside the bus, they snatched the captive— that toga’d swine— and left.”