Lectern looked surprised.
“Of course,” she said after a moment, and took the carton. Curdle made a sound like whimpering.
“Be good,” Deeba said.
“Remember,” said Brokkenbroll quietly, crouching by Deeba’s side. “We don’t know what state this’ll leave the Shwazzy in. Treat her gently. Give her no shocks. Don’t force her to think about things she’s not ready to.
“Mortar?” he said, and tapped his wrist. “If you would?”
Mortar beckoned Deeba. As gently as she could, she wheeled Zanna towards the end of the bridge.
She turned and waved. Lectern, Obaday, Jones and Skool, and even one or two of the binja waved back. Curdle was trying to pull away from Lectern’s hands and follow Deeba.
“The farther from one end to the other, the harder,” Mortar said. “And to stretch from UnLondon to London is a very long way indeed, across the Odd. We’re going to have to tap into a lot of energy.”
In the distance, Deeba could see the UnLondon-I speed up. The colossal waterwheel turned faster and faster, churning the Smeath into a froth.
“This is going to take it out of me,” Mortar said.
The end of the bridge was close. The strange UnLondon streets were only a few steps away now. “Hold on…” said Mortar. He had a nosebleed.
“It’s hurting you!” Deeba said.
“Just…a bit…farther…” Mortar said, his teeth gritted.
The whine of the spinning waterwheel sounded dangerous now, and Deeba was about to insist that they stop, and there was something funny about the streets ahead; then Mortar did stop, and pointed violently and suddenly, and Deeba stumbled forward, shoving the wheelbarrow off the end of the bridge—
— and into her estate. Onto the walkway on the first floor, next to her front door.
In London.
The moon was shining down through clouds. Somewhere nearby a cat called out; then silence returned. The windows around Deeba were dark.
Jutting from the walkway behind her was the Pons Absconditus. It arched out over the yard of the estate. She couldn’t see its other end. Mortar stood on it, raised his hand.
From somewhere, there was the noise of scattering bottles. Deeba turned for a moment, and when she looked back the bridge was gone.
She stood still for a long time.
Eventually she unlocked her front door. She pushed it open with her right hand, wearing the glove made from the book. She stepped over the threshold into her house.
“Mum, Dad,” she said quietly. She half expected them to be up, waiting for her, agonizing. The sitting-room light was off, though. She could hear the gentle breathing from their bedroom, where they were sleeping.
As silently as she could, she wheeled Zanna through to her bedroom, and put her gently in the camp bed. Then she took the wheelbarrow back out, and deserted it on the walkway, where everyone would think it was someone else’s. Maybe it would even seep back to UnLondon.
Back in the flat, a light had come on in her little brother’s bedroom. Hass came out in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes. When he saw her, he stopped, and gawped at her stupidly for several seconds. Then he shivered, and blinked.
“Hello Deeba,” he said sleepily. He went into the bathroom and peed with the door open. “Why are you dressed?” he said on his way back to his bedroom. “I had a dream about spaghetti.” He turned his light off and got back into bed.
Deeba scratched her head and furrowed her brow. She sat up on her bed, stroked her unconscious friend’s forehead, and watched the clock.
“You can stop worrying, everyone,” she whispered, forlorn and confused. “I’m back.”
31. Clearing the Air
As the minutes went by and the sky stayed dark beyond her curtains, Deeba felt so anxious she could hardly breathe. She wanted to run to her parents’ room and jump on their bed, wake them up and demand they be delighted and relieved that she was back. She wanted to examine the glove that Obaday had made, that she might have to give up in a little while. She wanted to read all the words on it carefully. But as the clock wound towards six in the morning, she knew she had a job to do, and she had to focus.
I’ll work out all the other stuff later, she thought, her heart pounding. Right now, I got to get ready.
“Hang on, Zann,” she whispered. “Brokkenbroll…do it right.”
She crept through the dark house, quietly gathering the equipment she needed, for the mission the Unbrellissimo had given her.
The second hand of the clock circled, mercilessly slow. The minute hand crawled. Zanna wheezed on the camp bed, tossing from side to side.
“Not long, Zann,” Deeba whispered.
Eventually it was five minutes to six. Four minutes to. Three. Deeba hesitated, then pulled on the glove Obaday had given her, for luck. In the half-light, she tried to read the words on it.
It was two minutes to six. One.
Deeba looked around, suddenly frantic. All the electrical points in the room were filled. She yanked a plug out of the socket, and the lights on her stereo dimmed. She plugged in her equipment.
The instant the minute hand touched twelve, dead-on six o’clock, Zanna began to shake.
“Come on, Zanna,” Deeba whispered.
Her friend shook, and snapped her arms and legs violently.
Zanna moaned, and held her breath for terrifying long seconds.
Breathe, thought Deeba. Breathe!
Then Deeba let out a cry of alarm. Crawling with serpentine motion and speed through her window came a tentacle of Smog.
She flailed at the thing, but it moved too fast. It whipped soundlessly through the room, stinking like exhaust, unrolled, and clamped on Zanna’s face.
“No!” shouted Deeba, and picked up her weapon. The Smog was tugging at her friend, and Zanna was exhaling.
I’ll make it gather itself, Brokkenbroll had said.
Streams of filthy smoke jetted from Zanna’s nostrils. She breathed out for a long time. The dirty spirals coiled over the bedclothes, coalesced into a dense clot, and hovered over the bed.
Deeba looked at the cloud, and she was sure it was looking at her.
Then, as filaments of smoke shot out towards Deeba’s face, she switched on the fan she held.
“Choke my friend?” she said, and blasted the smoggler with air.
It recoiled, but Deeba pursued it. She shoved the fan right into it, and the Smog dissipated in panic. She could feel the faint pressure of smuts in the air.
Deeba chased grubby wisps around the room. They scurried like slugs into the corners, and she stretched the fan to the limits of its cord, harassing them. One by one they slunk away, soaking into the carpet, or squeezing through cracks.
The Smog tendril poking through the window, all the way from UnLondon, reared up at her, but she thrust the fan at it, and it hesitated, then snapped suddenly back out of the window the way it had come.
There was a long moment of stillness.
Did I…do it? Deeba thought.
Deeba turned off the fan. She sniffed suspiciously, but there was only a hint of the Smog’s smell of petrol, coal, dirt, and sulfur. Its scum and muck was on her skin.
“Deeba?”
Zanna had opened her eyes.
“Zann!” Deeba said, and threw her arms around her friend.
“Deeba…? What happened? Where am I?” Zanna began to cough. You get it all up, Deeba thought. Get the last of it out.
She hugged Zanna for a long time.
“What happened?” Zanna kept saying. She winced and touched the back of her head. “What’s going on?”