“We were military chaplains.”
“Spiritual support for the troops.”
“You were a team?” Deeba said. The two men looked shocked.
“Absolutely not,” said Bastor. “Deadly enemies.” He said this in the same vague, slightly tremulous tones with which he had said everything. Bon nodded judiciously.
“Quite right,” he said. “Implacably opposed.” The two men looked at each other mildly.
“What are you doing here?” said Deeba.
Bastor handed his staff absently to Bon, who took it without a word and waited while his companion scratched himself vigorously.
“Bastor and I were spiritual staff, for each side.”
“Although that didn’t stop me kicking a little bottom at times,” sniffed Bastor with satisfaction. “A couple of knights rather regretted tangling with this His Eminence.”
“Absolutely,” said Bon. “I doubt your lot would’ve thought me very holy, either.” They both chuckled in reminiscence.
“And?” said Deeba.
“We’re on a bit of a schedule here,” said Hemi.
“Sorry, sorry. Well, we both got taken.”
“But his lot were shockingly lax on security.”
“I didn’t exactly get stopped at the fence myself, old chap.”
“We bumped into each other here. We’d had a similar idea.”
“Bishops, you know? Heard this was an important church.”
“Turned out not to be quite what we’d had in mind,” Bon said, waving at the silk. “Still—”
“— neither of us could very well let the place fall into enemy hands. But then we were both hors de combat as they say in Parisn’t.”
“So after a few stiff words—”
“Yes, I was awful, wasn’t I?”
“— we came to an arrangement. You see, I’m watching to make sure he doesn’t claim it.”
“And I he. Until we find out who won the war.”
“As soon as we find out my lot’ve won, you’re for it then, I’m afraid.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” said Bastor placidly. “Soon enough you’ll be in my power.”
“Truth is, though…we’ve rather lost touch of the state of the campaign. Haven’t had any communiqués for…how long would you say it was, Bon?”
“Oh, a few years now.”
“I think they’re talking about the Eight-by-Eight War,” the book muttered to Deeba, apparently hoping that the two bishops were too deaf to hear it. “No one knows anything about it, except that it happened. Centuries ago.”
“Anyway,” said Bon. “Once we realized what was in the church, and that people were trying their luck, we thought it only fair to act as warning. Gives us something to do.”
“Or at least…try to do,” said Bastor apologetically.
“We know as much about this place as anyone. We try to set the more deluded treasure seekers straight about what they’re up against.”
“Until we find out who’s the victor.”
“Someone’ll come and tell us.”
“Someone rather special’s due.”
“To whom we’ll owe…well, I don’t know what.”
“Everything, I suppose.”
“Good,” said Jones. “You know about the Black Window. Then you have to help us.”
“We have to get past it,” said Hemi.
“Forget getting past it,” Jones snapped. “We need to know how to get the bloody thing. It took Rosa.”
“I’m sorry,” said Bon gently. “Your friend is gone. Even if by any chance she isn’t dead, we have no way of knowing which of them took her.”
“What?” Hemi said. “It was the Black Window.”
“Yes, but which one?” said Bastor.
The travelers stared at them, aghast.
“I think we’ve found another mistake in you,” Deeba said to the book. “Defeat the Black Window to get the UnGun, you said. Which bloody one?”
72. The Truth about Windows
“Why do people come here?” said Hemi. “And what do you tell them?”
“To make their fortune,” said Bon.
“To stay away,” said Bastor.
“No doubt you’ll be off now,” said Bon.
“Hey, wait,” Deeba said. “You don’t understand— we have to get in there. We’re trying to find something.”
“Oh dear,” sighed Bon. “You are an arachnofenestranaut.”
“We’re not going to encourage foolish greed by giving out information.”
“What you on about?” said Hemi. “What sort of treasure seekers come here anyway? Not Deeba. She’s here for UnLondon. We all are.”
“The lad’s right,” said Jones. “I’ve had enough of this. That bloody thing took my friend. Now you’d better tell me what you know to help us.” Skool tried to gently hold him back.
“Wait a minute,” said Deeba. “Shut up a minute.”
She scrunched up her brow in thought. “You’ve been waiting ages to find out what happened,” she said to the bishops. “For someone special to explain. Someone was due.” She counted off on her fingers, mentally running through the things the book had told her that she, in Zanna’s place, was supposed to pick up. When she reached the penultimate one, she looked at the bishops in their different-colored robes.
“It’s me,” she said. “I’m the one supposed to tell you. In return for help. I’m supposed to bring you the crown of the black-or-white king.”
“You?” said Bishop Bastor.
“You’ve come with the crown of the king?” Bon said. “The crown that was surrendered?”
The two men looked absolutely kiboshed. They were talking so quickly Deeba couldn’t interrupt them.
“We’ll know, Edward.”
“We will, Alan.”
“After so long!”
“It’s extraordinary…”
“Best of luck, Edward.”
“You too, Alan, you too.”
They shook hands vigorously.
“Shwazzy…Bishop Bon and I’ve been waiting for you for longer than I can even remember. Now that you’re here…my goodness, our wait’s complete. Happy, happy day.”
“For one of us,” said Bastor. There was a pause.
Neither of them looked anything but horrified.
“Listen to you two,” the book said scornfully. “Have you actually read the prophecy? Jones, give them me, please, page four-twenty-one. Read the description!”
Bon peered at the text.
“ ‘And she shall be tall and with hair like the light of the sun and the UnSun, and—’ ”
“Well take that for a start,” the book interrupted. “Look at her!”
There was a pause.
“Perhaps she dyes it,” said Bon.
“I do not,” said Deeba.
“She’s not the Shwazzy!” said the book.
“Number one,” Deeba said. “No, I’m not the Shwazzy. She couldn’t come. I’m her friend. And number two, no, I don’t have the crown of the black-or-white king. We didn’t have time to get it.” The two men were staring in profound bewilderment.
“But number three…we still need to know everything about the Black Windows. Instead, in return I’m offering you…” She thought, and rummaged in her bag. “This feather in the shape of a key.”
There was a long silence. The bishops’ faces grew more and more confused. They reached out simultaneously and took Parakeetus Claviger’s crest.
“Well…it is pretty,” Bon said.
“But it’s…”
“How can we put this?”
“Not what we were expecting.”
“What do you mean the Shwazzy’s not coming?” Bon said.
“Don’t you know how long we’ve been waiting?” Bastor said. “How much we need to know…?”
“Yeah but you don’t,” interrupted Deeba. “What’s it going to matter? Imagine how it’ll be. You’d have to go separate ways, for a start, which you don’t want.” The bishops looked quizzical.