“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 empty,” 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.
48. Spilling Certain Beans
The bus puttered to a halt beside a church made of ancient, broken personal stereos and speakers.
“Can you wait?” Murgatroyd said to Rosa and Conductor Jones. “I and…our contact, may need a lift to the bridge to speak to the Propheseers. And Miss Resham, of course.”
“I really think they should come,” Deeba started to say, but Murgatroyd ignored her. He beckoned Deeba and Hemi, who followed him into the dark streets by the side of the moil church.
Deeba looked back again doubtfully at Jones.
“Go on,” he said gently as she went. “We’ll see you in a bit.”
Murgatroyd led Deeba and Hemi past an ancient-looking pile of rubbish bags and trash into a concrete cul-de-sac. The UnSun drew sharp shadow-lines across the little lot, and put its farthest corners into darkness.
There was silence for several seconds. In that quiet, Deeba could just hear a faint tireless whispering.
What is that? she mouthed at Hemi.
“It’s the sound of the Smog,” he murmured. They were hearing it coil and unfold, a few streets away.
A voice emerged from the shadows.
“I’m here.”
Deeba and Hemi jumped. Deeba dropped her bag.
“Mr. Murgatroyd,” the unseen speaker said. “I got your message. You told me to come alone: I’m here. You told me not to tell a soul. You specifically told me not to tell my partner. I don’t like deceit, Mr. Murgatroyd, but I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt. Now, prove to me that I should have done.”
Mr. Brokkenbroll stalked into view.
“Deeba Resham.” He nodded to Deeba and Hemi. “Young man.”
“The Unbrellissimo,” Hemi muttered. “Wow.”
Curdle scampered behind Deeba’s feet and cowered as Brokkenbroll approached, his trench coat sweeping. Behind him came a billow of fabric and the skritch of thin metal as his entourage of broken umbrellas fidgeted in the shadow.
Brokkenbroll folded his arms. “I’m glad to see you again. Is everything alright? Is your friend, the Shwazzy…did it not work?”
“No, no, she’s fine,” Deeba said. “It worked brilliantly. Thanks so much. That’s not why I’m here.”
Brokkenbroll raised an eyebrow.
“I’m glad she’s well,” he said. “But I’m mystified. And as you can understand— a little busy. The fight we find ourselves in has been difficult. So forgive me if I keep this brief.”
“You see, Deeba?” Mr. Murgatroyd said. “You understand why we’re here. It’s the Unbrellissimo who’s being used by this…imposter…worse than any of us. We don’t yet know why. But he has the right to know what’s going on. And, more than any of us, he might be able to do something about it.”
“Mr. Brokkenbroll,” Deeba said. She took the sheet of Wraithtown paper from her bag, and held it out to him. “You should see this.”
He fiddled with it for some seconds, squinting past the fluttering specter-fonts. As he made out what it said, Deeba saw his face grow hard under the brim of his hat.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what he’s doing, and I don’t know why. I don’t know who he is. But the man who says he’s Unstible, isn’t. He can’t be, see? Plus I don’t know what it is he’s giving your unbrellas. I was thinking…maybe it’s like poison, slow-acting, and they’re going to get sick or something? I mean I know it works at the moment, but you don’t know what it’ll do in a few weeks.”