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 unbrella— 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.