Un Lun Dun

“Besides, as I said to my partner— who believe me took some convincing, and who expended quite some effort on checking that everything was safe— everyone should have benefited. You got your friend back, uninterested in dangerous topics anymore. Your friend got to live. You get to feel good about having helped save her— so don’t say I didn’t give you anything. And I got to impress the idiots around me with my powers over the nasty smoke, so they put their trust in me. Which in turn benefits my partner. You were supposed to be out of the picture, and perfectly happy. You never, ever would have had to bother us, or we you.

“Now why, after I go to all that trouble to sort all that out for everyone, did you have to ignore it all and come back? You had absolutely no need.”

There was a silence. Deeba stared at him pugnaciously until he sighed and looked away.

“He’s sort of got a point,” Hemi whispered. “Why did you come back?”

“Shut up,” said Deeba. “Listen.”

“We should get a move on,” Murgatroyd said to Brokkenbroll. “I’ve got to get back, report to my superiors. Rawley was pretty worried by her letter, you can imagine. She wants reassuring that everything’s in hand. Thanks for telling us who she was. I had to spin her some nonsense about tracking her movements from the post office.” The two men laughed.

“How is it all up there?” Brokkenbroll said.

Murgatroyd shrugged modestly.

“It seems to be working well,” he said. “Our LURCH program is proceeding excellently. It was hard building those trans-odd chimneys that send the fumes directly through to here, but worth the effort. My boss is getting lots of kudos for cutting down on pollution up our end.” They both laughed. “Some people are begi

“Yes, I’m sure we’ll do more work together.”

“I know it’s not so easy for it to make its way over…”

“Oh, it does when it has to.”

“Absolutely. Now, I do have to report back that we’ve got the girl. She could have thrown a real spa

“I’m sure we’ve sorted it all out, but just in case, we’ll know everything she knows in a minute,” Brokkenbroll said. “We’ll know exactly who they’ve told. Did you hear that?” he said to Deeba, his voice chillingly gentle. “Lie all you want.”

“I’m not lying!” Deeba shouted.

“It won’t make any difference,” he said. “We’ll know the truth in…” He peered behind her. “In just a minute.”

Murgatroyd was looking too, his face wrinkled with severe distaste.

“I’d rather not stay around for this,” he said. “I’ll go and wait by the elevator, so I can get straight back as soon as we’ve heard.”

“Very well,” Brokkenbroll said. “I’ll take you back. It’s been very handy, installing that elevator in the lab. Not easy, I know, and very appreciated. Meanwhile, we’ll let things here…get on.” He raised his voice and spoke to the something or someone behind Deeba. “Come along when you’re done and tell us how it went. Good-bye, Miss Resham. I hope for your sake you impart whatever information you have swiftly.”

“You pig,” Deeba spat.

“Lanky dweeb!” shouted Hemi.

“You won’t get away with this,” Deeba said. The Unbrellissimo tipped back his hat and looked quizzical.

“Of course I will,” he said. “Who’s going to stop me? The Shwazzy herself couldn’t. So much for the prophecies. If she couldn’t, what on earth do you think you’re going to do?”

Brokkenbroll reached into Deeba’s bag and pulled out her umbrella. He looked at its unbroken shape with extreme distaste.

“How I do hate to see an unbrella in this unfinished state,” he said, and roughly ripped a slit in its canopy.

He dropped it. It didn’t fall flat, but tottered unstably on its handle. It swayed, snapped upright, looked eyelessly around. Brokkenbroll clicked his fingers, and the newborn unbrella leapt to attention.

“Come with me, you,” he said. “Let’s get you treated. But first…”

He gripped Deeba’s shoulders, and spun her and Hemi on their backsides, scraping them on the ground. Now Deeba was pointed at the fire. She could see exactly what was waiting for them.

The flames poured out of a brazier, a big oil drum packed with coal and noxious rubbish, gushing black smoke. Beside it was a pile of trash with a shovel jutting from it.

Standing over the glowing drum, breathing in the stench and filthy fumes with an expression of hunger and delight on his ghastly face, was the thing pretending to be Benjamin Unstible.

50. Malevolent Breather

Deeba’s eyes widened. She cried out.

“What?” called Hemi. “What, what, what?”

“It’s him, it’s the thing,” she said. “Unstible. It’s here.”

Behind her, Deeba heard a beating like wings as the flock of unbrellas took off from the empty streets, the murmurs of Brokkenbroll and Murgatroyd receding rapidly with them.

Unstible’s face looked terrible in the glow. He seemed plumper than she remembered, and his skin was oily and seeping and graying and unhealthy. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. He leaned over the fire and, still staring at Deeba, took another long, luxurious snort.

“Aaaaaaaaah,” he sighed. He seemed to fill out. Deeba saw his skin ripple, and strain.

“Hello again,” he said. His voice was different from when she had heard him before. He was relaxed, now, and it was a slow grating wheeze.

“Now it’s just you…and me.”

“Unstible” moved slowly around the fire, breathing deeply, keeping his eyes on Deeba. He rummaged in her bag.

“Have to know what you’ve seen,” he said. “Have to know who you’ve told. And why you came.”

“Who are you?” Deeba whispered.

A slow and ghastly smile came over “Unstible’s” face.

“You know,” he said. He wagged his finger at her. “You’re not fooled by this silly puppet.” He prodded himself in the chest. “You know, don’t you, little girl?”

Deeba did know.

“Why?” she said. “Why are you all doing this?”

“Everyone’s happy. The minister gets what she wants. Unbrella man what he wants. And me…why am I doing this? Because of her LURCH…because I’m hungry,” he crooned.

The Unstible-thing brought out the word-glove from her bag, and looked at it quizzically. Then it threw it on the fire, and sighed happily as smoke wafted up.

“Old…” it said. “Powerful…And this? From the boy-thing’s pocket.” It held up the Shwazzy’s travelcard. Deeba stared at it in astonishment. “Unstible” dropped it on the fire too, and crooned happily, sniffing its smoke. “More Propheseer power!”

“You did steal it!” she said furiously, and tried to bang Hemi’s head with her own.

“I wanted to see if she was really the Shwazzy,” he said through his teeth, and butted her back. “I was just going to have a look and put it back. Could we possibly discuss this later?”

Like a tide coming in, little lapping wavelets of dirty smoke were edging into view around the corner. The smoggler a few streets away was stretching. Within it, Deeba could see creeping figures. As the Smog came, so did a few of the smaller intrepid smoglodytes.

No two were the same shape. There were things like crosses between rats and fungus, or bodiless things like two monkey arms attached together, or millipedish creatures the size of Deeba’s forearm, each of its legs ending in tiny hands.

The smoglodytes were graveworm-pale and colorless. All had either enormous dark eyes, all pupil, to see in the filthy half-light of the Smog, or no eyes at all. And all had some adaption for breathing the poisonous stew, like enormous nostrils, or many pairs of them, to suck what little oxygen there was out of the clouds. Deeba saw one thing like a cat-sized snail, watching her with a bouquet of retractable eyes. Below them its face was an organic gas mask.