Deeba zigzagged, taking as many sharp turns as she could. She lurched left and right, breathing hard. She glimpsed the beast, galloping at her with enormous strides, flailing its head and hauling its chewed-on monkey like a gory flag.
With its banner waving, and emitting hyenalike shrieks through its clenched teeth, it was calling its friends, as Deeba realized when she tore around a corner to see another giraffe facing her. They were hunting as a pack.
She took off down an alley. Several more heads craned over nearby roofs, staring at her with ferocious yellow eyes. Deeba ran, and knew it was hopeless. The sound of giraffes came from all around. She turned and turned, looking for somewhere to go.
Behind her, she heard bestial noises of expectation.
The giraffes were close. They licked their teeth and horselike lips with tongues like cuts of meat.
There were six or seven coming at her. Deeba held her breath.
In their jostling to get to the front, two giraffes wedged next to each other in the tight alley, and were momentarily stuck. They bit at each other bad-temperedly.
Deeba turned and ran hard.
Bleeding from the wounds they had given each other, the enormous carnivores galloped after her again. Deeba accelerated. She turned to watch them approach.
Except that they weren’t. Something changed in the air on her face, but Deeba was focusing on the giraffes.
One by one, a few meters in front of her, they stopped.
They shied, like racehorses who didn’t want to jump a fence. They ducked their enormous necks, and trotted on the spot in frustration.
Deeba backed away.
“Why aren’t you coming?” she whispered.
The giraffes circled and snarled, and leaned their necks towards Deeba, but they would not come any closer. They reared their massive bodies.
What are they scared of? she thought. It was only then that she realized where she was, and the answer was plain.
On all sides was the flickering of pale houses. From their windows, scores of phantom eyes watched her, their owners too dim or fading or moving too fast for Deeba to see clearly.
She was going to have to rethink her intention to wait outside Wraithtown and make a plan. Without realizing it, Deeba had just run into it. And the ghosts of UnLondon were watching.
42. Haunts and Houses
This had most definitely not been the plan. Deeba’s delight at having escaped the giraffes changed instantly to a new anxiety.
And she couldn’t run out, with the giraffes hovering, watching. She put up her umbrella, uselessly, and held it like a shield. Deeba began to turn on the spot.
“No one come close,” she shouted. “I’m watching. First sign of anyone trying to possess me, I’ll…”
I shouldn’t really have started that sentence, she thought, because there was nothing she could finish it with.
Deeba walked cautiously farther into Wraithtown, turning as she went. It wasn’t just the inhabitants of Wraithtown who were ghosts. It was also the buildings.
Each of the houses, halls, shops, factories, churches, and temples was a core of brick, wood, concrete, or whatever, surrounded by a wispy corona of earlier versions of itself. Every extension that had ever been built and knocked down, every smaller, squatter outline, every different design: all hung on to existence as specters. Their insubstantial, colorless forms shimmered in and out of sight. Every building was cocooned in its older, dead selves.
From all the ghost-windows, the ghosts of Wraithtown watched.
Deeba turned faster and faster as apparitions came onto the street to meet her.
In the light of the lowering loon, translucent figures emerged. They faded up out of nothing, men and women in costumes from throughout history. Some looked like Londoners, in antique wigs and old-fashioned coats. Some looked to Deeba more like UnLondoners, in their peculiar outfits. All were colorless, completely silent, and insubstantial. Deeba could see them through each other.
They wafted closer.
“You stay back!” Deeba said. “Don’t come no closer! I know what you’re trying to do! I just need one piece of information, and then I’m gone.”
The Wraithtown ghosts circled her, and began to talk. She could see their mouths working, but there was not a sound. Deeba shook her head.
They grew agitated, and even looked as if they were shouting, but the only things she could hear were the sighs of the wind, and the far-off cries of dogs and foxes. One ghost soundlessly stamped its foot in frustration. The loonlight glimmered through them.
“I need to see a list. I need to see the list,” Deeba said. She mouthed the words slowly, as if she were talking to someone who didn’t speak good English. “One of you must be able to talk to me,” she said. “Don’t come any closer! I’ll be gone in a second! I just need to see the list!”
Deeba stepped back from a nebulous figure dressed like Shakespeare, who had come close enough to touch.
“Stay away!” she shouted. “Don’t any of you understand?”
“They all understand you,” someone said. “You don’t understand them.”
She turned. Through the spectral layers of the crowd around her, leaning against a flickering ghost-house, she could just make out the boy Hemi.
“You!” she said.
He walked towards her, straight through the ghosts, one by one.
“Don’t come too close,” she said warningly. “Stay back! How long you been watching?”
“ ‘Don’t come close’?” he said. “How rude are you? You’re the one came here asking for help.” A nearby ghost looked down in surprise as Hemi stepped through his chest and stood before Deeba.
He wore a shabby old suit. His skin was as pale as she remembered, his eyes as shadowed, his voice as sarky[19]. “Blimey, look who’s back,” he said.
“Just stay away,” Deeba said. She backed up warily, raising her umbrella. “Why do you keep following me?”
Hemi made a rude noise.
“Follow you?” he barked. “Don’t be soft[22].”
“You were on the bus,” Deeba said. “With that man.” Hemi looked sheepish.
“Alright, yeah…I did sort of follow you on the bus. But just because your mate’s…y’know, the Shwazzy,” he said. “I wanted to know about you, and anyway…” He stopped suddenly. “What do you mean, ‘with that man’?” he demanded.
“And you followed us on the roofs. And you stole Zanna’s travelcard!”
“Hold on! Alright, granted I was sort of behind you on the roofs, too, but how dare you call me a thief! I was looking out for you on the roofs, you dozy ingrate. Who do you think whistled up to the bridge when those junkies were coming? I blatantly never stole nothing! And what do you mean ‘with that man’?”
“You tell me.” Deeba’s voice was guarded.
“I knew it! You’re saying I was one of them grossbottlers.” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Outrageous. Blame the wisper, right? It was me who stopped that bloke!”
“Why…?”
“’Cause he was trying to hurt the Shwazzy! I mean…’ cause…y’know.”
Deeba said nothing. She thought back to what had happened: the ghost-boy, or half-ghost-boy, emerging somehow from nowhere— sending the attacker neatly into Obaday’s head. She’d never actually seen him touch Zanna on the roofs, either. “I…never realized,” she said at last. Maybe Zanna had simply lost that card— it wasn’t as if Deeba’d never done that. “Why didn’t you say nothing?”
“Like you lot would’ve listened to the wisper.” He raised an eyebrow. “You just said I was following you, and I don’t even know where you came from! You came here! This lot called me as soon as they saw you,” he said. “They know you’re too deaf to hear them. Now put down your bleeding umbrella, tell us what you want, and bog off[2].”