Deeba still wanted to tease them, but there was a fear in Hemi’s and the book’s voices that made her uneasy.
“So how do I get to Webminster Abbey?” Deeba said.
Deeba’s heart sank when she looked at the map. There were miles to go. Some of the areas they would have to cross were inhabited, some were empty— and now some were smogmires.
“It’ll take ages,” Deeba said. “Oh no. Can’t we…I dunno, take a train or something?” Hemi stared at her as if she were mad. “There’s going to be more and more people coming after us, every minute.”
She was proved right much sooner than she had expected.
For an hour or so the rather dejected little group followed the route they had mapped, as briskly as their exhausted limbs would let them. They did nothing to attract attention to themselves, and apart from their clothes being a little more dirty than most people’s, there wasn’t much noticeable about them. In the streets of UnLondon, a group of a girl, a half-ghost, a talking book, a piece of rubbish, and two living words was unusual, but not very.
That was why, when Deeba first heard a motor approaching, she didn’t think it was anything to do with her.
It got slowly louder and louder, until suddenly Deeba heard a voice call her name. She turned and looked up in dismay. Descending towards them, through a brief flock of scurrying laundry, was Rosa and Conductor Jones’s bus, the Scrollscrawl Sigil clear on the front.
Murgatroyd was leaning from the platform, shouting, “Deeba Resham, stop! We need to talk!”
68. The Functionary’s Tireless Hunt
Deeba and her companions ran.
“Wait, Deeba, wait!” It wasn’t just Murgatroyd leaning out now. He had been joined by Conductor Jones, Obaday Fing, and even Skool, the brass helmet peering down.
“This way!”
“No, this way!”
Deeba and Hemi dithered at every turn, while the book barked directions. They were in an area of moil houses and streets littered with skips and obsolete machinery, with no arches or overhangs under which they could hide. The bus followed them through the intricate streets, while UnLondoners watched curiously from windows.
“Wait, Deeba!” The voices were insistent. “We want to help!”
Deeba turned in to an alley full of clotheslines and clothes gyrating as if they were in a dryer, though there was no wind. They ran through layers of cloth like curtains, until at the end of the streetlet they reached a blockage, a steep wall of broken clocks, slippery as scree.
“Listen,” whispered Deeba. The noise of the bus had ebbed.
“They’ve gone,” whispered Hemi.
“I think we lost them,” Deeba said, and indicated the tight alley. “It’s too narrow for the bus here.”
Even as she said that, though, cords dropped out of the sky, from the bus hovering above the buildings. Conductor Jones rappelled down, landing in front of them.
“Deeba, Hemi, Book,” he said, and held out his hands as they backed away. “Please wait. Listen. We’re on your side.”
“Leave us alone,” Hemi said. “Leave her alone.”
“Stay back,” Deeba said. “You don’t know it, but you’re working for the Smog.”
“These crazy allegations have to stop,” said a voice. Climbing clumsily down a rope ladder was Murgatroyd. He stumbled to the ground and dusted himself off, stood by Jones, and pulled a strange-looking gun out of his suit. He aimed it at Deeba.
Following him down the ladder came Obaday Fing, in an outfit stitched of monochrome book jackets.
“Careful, now, Deeba,” Fing said. “Don’t move suddenly; there’s no need to get hurt.”
“You let him pull a gun on me?” Deeba said, aghast, staring at Jones and Obaday, who shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s a tranquilizer,” Murgatroyd said. “I don’t want to use it, and I’m hoping you don’t make me. It’s purely in case you refuse to listen to reason. We’re here to help.”
“How’d you find me?” said Deeba. She refused to look at Murgatroyd, only addressing Fing and Jones.
“Jones came and asked my advice,” Obaday Fing said. “Together we figured out how your mind works, Deeba. When the Propheseers told us about the tasks in the book, we thought we knew what you might try to do.”
“And there’s been sightings for days,” Jones said, and winked. “You’re noticeable, girl, been making an impact. I been sticking close to Murgatroyd. He made sure he was the first person who heard all the rumors that came through.”
“Your friends’ve come along, to prove that you’ve no reason to be anxious,” Murgatroyd said. “This is all for your own good. We just want to stop this misunderstanding.”
“You going to try to blame everything on Hemi again?” Deeba said.
“We’ll sort out the truth about this half-boy later,” Murgatroyd said. “Please come with us. The Unbrellissimo’s program to hand out unbrellas is continuing— nearly a third of UnLondon’ve been issued protection now, and just in time, because the Smog’s attacks are increasing. We urgently want you on-side, Deeba. We want all this unpleasantness and misunderstanding to stop.”
Cauldron and Bling looked one way and another, trying to work out if they could rush past their captors.
“Listen here,” the book said with a pompous voice, “I think you should know that I believe Miss Resham may not be wrong—”
“Shut up, book,” Murgatroyd interrupted. “We all know about your failures. Deeba, come with us. And you, boy. We’ll deal with you too.”
“Jones, Obaday,” Deeba said. “Please, listen. The Smog’s working with Brokkenbroll. They want to make everyone rely on unbrellas, ’cause that means on Brokk. Then they can rule UnLondon together. They’re going to make everyone work in factories, burning stuff to make the Smog stronger.”
“Really…” said Murgatroyd, and shook his head.
“And it’s already getting stronger because Rawley, his boss in London—” Deeba pointed at Murgatroyd. “— she’s been feeding smoke straight into UnLondon. We heard him saying so to the Unbrellissimo! Everyone in London, like my mum and dad, even, thinks Rawley’s doing good things at my end, but she’s not cleaning anything up; she’s feeding the Smog over here!”
“That is enough!” Murgatroyd said. “I’ve had enough of your slurs.”
“Ask him what, what the lurch is!” Deeba said. “It’s something to do with all this. Are you going to believe him over me?” she begged. “This bloke holding a gun? You don’t know him! After all we done together! Please…don’t you believe me?”
Fing and Jones looked uncomfortable. Murgatroyd looked smug.
“The thing is, Deeba,” Jones said sheepishly. He put his hand on Murgatroyd’s shoulder. “He’s explained things to us. On the bridge, in the air. About how you’ve been led astray.” Fing nodded sadly. “And to be honest with you…
“Yes. Of course we believe you.”
Jones sent a sizzling, crackling bolt of electricity through his hand. Murgatroyd’s teeth rattled and sparked, and he made little burbling noises and danced like a ridiculous puppet. The current made his snubby gun burst.
“There,” said Jones, and let go. The bureaucrat dropped to the ground, his shoulder smoking, his eyes wide, drooling and making noises like a baby. “That should keep him quiet for a good couple hours.”
“Thank goodness for that,” said Obaday Fing, and stepped over the smoldering man, his arms open. “He was really beginning to annoy me.”
“Obaday!” said Deeba, and hurled herself into his hug. “And Jones!” she said, and grabbed him too, and he laughed and hugged her back.
“You knew?” she said.
“Not at first,” said Fing. “But we’ve spent time with you. We know you. You’re no fool, Deeba. You wouldn’t misunderstand what Unstible said.