“And what about all those prophecies?” said Deeba. She poked the book gently. “In you.”
“Oh…who knows? Who cares what’s in me, frankly,” it said loftily. “Maybe in a few years we’ll open me up and read out what was supposed to happen and we can all have a good laugh. What Zanna was supposed to be doing. Whether you’re even mentioned. Yes, maybe I’ll end up a comedy. A joke book. There are worse things.”
“You never know,” Deeba said. “One or two of them might be true.”
“Well,” said the book. “Coincidence is an amazing thing.”
“After all,” Deeba said. “The only thing in your pages you thought definitely was wrong turned out to be right. Nothing and the UnGun?” There was a moment’s silence.
“That,” said the book with cautious pleasure, “is true.”
Curdle and the rebrella bounded towards Deeba, as she approached them.
“Have you decided what to do with the UnGun, yet?” said Deeba.
“Well, we’re ready for the first step at least,” Mortar said. “If you’d do the honors?”
In the middle of the bridge was a huge mold, a cube five or more feet on each side, into which mixers were pouring liquid concrete. Jones, Obaday, and the others were gathered around it.
“Ready?” said Hemi.
Skool stood beside him. They’d rescued the little colony before the patch of seawater in the canal had ebbed away. The fish were still mourning the loss of several of their companions, but they’d come to say good-bye to Deeba. They were poured into a new suit. This one was smaller, and more up-to-date: a little wetsuit, complete with ungainly flippers. This time the mask was clear, and Deeba smiled at the seahorse and clown fish staring at her from the brine inside.
“I’m not making a big thing of this,” Deeba said. “No speech.” She chucked the UnGun, the Smog’s prison, into the cement.
It splashed thickly and disappeared. They watched brief, thick ripples.
“When it’s set, what then?” she said. “Got to make sure no one can open it.”
“Opinion’s divided,” Mortar said. “Some people want to put it back among the Black Windows. It must have been one of our predecessors did that, yonks[26] ago, so there’s history. Some want to bury it. Some want to tip it in the river. Or the sea. We haven’t decided yet.”
“We might put it to a vote,” said Jones.
“We’ll see,” said Deeba.
“Well,” said Mortar, “you might not.”
“You’re talking as if you’ll be back again, Deeba,” he said gently. “But it isn’t easy to cross between the worlds. Every time you breach the Odd, the membrane between two whole universes is strained. Think what that means.
“You have,” he said, “to make a choice. You know we want you here. You…well, you saved UnLondon. We owe you our abcity and our lives. You’re a Suggester, whether you join us officially or not. It would be an honor if you’d stay.
“But your family. Your life. All of these things…we understand. We’ll miss you if you go, Deeba. But you have to choose.”
There was a long silence.
“I can’t stay,” Deeba said at last. “I can’t let my family forget me. Forget I even exist. Can you imagine? I’m going back. You know I have to.”
She looked at each of them in turn.
“You know that,” she said. Hemi looked away.
They all looked sad. Obaday sniffed. Jones dabbed surreptitiously at his eyes.
“The stuff that happened here,” Deeba said, “I’ll never forget. What we did. I’ll never forget you. Any of you.” She paused, looked at each of them in turn.
“And part of the reason I won’t forget you,” she said, “is ’cause I’ll be back all the time.”
Mortar and the Propheseers— the Suggesters— looked up, startled.
“Come on,” she said, smiling. “What you even talking about, Mortar? It’s easy to get from London to here. I got here by turning a tap, then by climbing shelves. Jones is here, Rosa got here, all the conductors got here. The police came in a digging machine. For God’s sake, Unstible and Murgatroyd put an elevator in. People are always going between, and you don’t see either universe collapsing, do you?
“You just think it’s hard to go between the two ’cause you’ve always thought it must be. You’re just saying that ’cause you sort of think you should.”
Deeba’s friends stared at her, and at each other. “She has a point,” Mortar said eventually.
“You’ve spent all your time wanting to go!” said Jones.
“’Cause I couldn’t get back,” she said. “Now that I can, I’ll go back and forth all the time. You seriously think I’m not coming to see you again? Not coming to see this place?”
“But such methods,” Mortar said, “they aren’t reliable. They may not always work; the rules aren’t always clear—”
“Well then, I’ll try others. Till one of them does. Look, I’m not even making plans. I’m just saying there’s no way I’m not coming back. There’s things I want to do here.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Jones said. “I’m going to take a trip back to Webminster Abbey. I’m going to find Rosa, and get her out. And I’d be delighted if you’d join me.”
“Of course,” said Deeba. “Yes. Speaking of which, there’s someone called Ptolemy Yes I was told about who went missing, and I want to find him. And I’d like to go back to the Wordhoard Pit, climb down, see what the libraries are like in other places.”
“There’s people in Wraithtown I’d like you to meet,” said Hemi, still not meeting her eye. “And also, I wondered if maybe you want to go to Manifest Station? We could get a train. See another abcity together…”
There was a pause, and Deeba smiled at him.
“Absolutely,” Deeba said. “Yeah. And loads of other things. I’m blatantly coming back. And you can come visit me.” She smiled at Hemi again.
He, and then the others, began cautiously smiling back.
“You called it our abcity,” Jones said. “Before the fight. And it is. It’s your home too.”
“And anyway,” Deeba said, “Curdle and the rebrella are coming with me, and they might get homesick.”
“You can’t let feral rubbish cross into London,” Mortar said anxiously. “It belongs in another world.” Deeba looked at him and raised an eyebrow, and his voice dried up. “I suppose one or two can’t hurt,” he mumbled.
“So listen,” Deeba said. “I’m not saying good-bye to any of you. I’ll say ‘See you soon.’ And I mean really soon. Let me explain.
“I told you one reason the Smog grew so strong: ’cause it was getting help. There’s one thing we haven’t dealt with. Mortar, you said the police burrower was gone?”
“Yes. We checked where you said it had been. The officers must have got out and fixed it, gone home yesterday.”
“Right. They threatened my family. It might have been only to scare me— there’s nothing in it for them to actually do anything now. But I don’t like it. And I don’t like who they ally with. For the sake of me, and my mate Zanna, and my family, and London and UnLondon, it needs sorting. So I wanted to make a suggestion. An arrangement. It’s going to involve clearing some rubble in Unstible’s old place, but I think it’s worth it.”
Deeba looked at them all. Jones cracked his knuckles and raised an eyebrow. Hemi pursed his lips thoughtfully. Deeba smiled.