Un Lun Dun

“Skool never did anyone any harm,” said Obaday, staring stricken at a cod that hadn’t made it. “They spent years refitting the suit, trudged all the way out of the sea to come and live with us, and this is what happens!”

“At least half of Skool made it, Obaday,” Jones said urgently. “I know you want to give the others a decent send-off, but we have to go now.” There were still smombies controlled by Smog, and they were regrouping. Obaday bit his lip, and nodded.

“We can’t let the smombies get back in,” said Lectern. “Or anyone else.” The ghosts were confused, shouting soundlessly, emerging from smombie mouths. Hemi watched.

He opened his mouth and yelled orders that Deeba couldn’t hear, gesturing commands with sudden authority. The ghosts listened, rallied, obeyed, and redoubled their attacks.

“Binja,” hissed Lectern. “Keep them out! Guard the door!”

“There’s only three. They need help,” said Hemi. He hesitated several seconds, and caught Deeba’s eye. “I…I’d better stay too. I can tell my lot what to do.”

“Hemi, no!” said Deeba.

“Look at them!” he said. The ghosts swept in little sorties into the smombie flesh, harassed the Smog inside, rushed out again in guerrilla raids. “They can win, but they need reinforcements and they need my help. And you need to go.

“I’ll be right here. I’ll see you afterwards.” He smiled at her as if he was sure there would be an afterwards.

Deeba was about to argue. Then she slumped, realizing there was no time, and that he was right, so instead she hugged him.

“Now go,” he said urgently, hugging her back hard. “All of you. You saw the unbrella: it’s going to tell Brokkenbroll we’re here, so go now.” He motioned to the door.

“See you soon,” Deeba said. “Soon.”

With one last look at him, Deeba turned, and leaving a little ocean, guards, a chaotic battle, and the bodies of half of one of their friends behind, she entered the darkness of Unstible’s factory.

85. Six of One

Unlit brick passageways stretched in both directions.

“How do we know which way?” she said.

“Sniff,” said the book. The burnt-chemical smell of the Smog was in the air. “Follow that.”

They inhaled experimentally.

“I think it’s stronger…this way,” said Lectern hesitantly.

“Move fast,” said the book. “If you can smell it, it’s around us, and that means it knows you’re here. Hopefully right now it’s too diffuse to be much of a mind, but as it gets thicker, it’s going to think better, too.”

“So by the time we find it, it’ll be ready for us?” Deeba said. “Wicked.”

She hefted her pistol, and moved.

“Be careful with the UnGun,” Jones said.

“But I’m getting better and better with it,” she said.

“That’s not what I mean,” said Jones. He held out his hand and she passed him the weapon. He fiddled with its mechanisms, shook his head, and returned it. “I mean it still won’t open, we can’t reload, and you’ve only got two bullets left. We know the Smog’s scared of it, and you can see why. You’re going to have to use it. Husband your resources.”

They stood together a moment at a junction, the utterlings blinking, Curdle scuffing the floor, Lectern following them reluctantly.

“Jones, Obaday,” whispered Deeba when they moved on. “Is it my imagination, or are Bling and Cauldron…disappearing.”

“It’s not your imagination,” said Obaday. They stared surreptitiously. The silver locust and the eight-limbed little man were both definitely slightly see-through.

“Utterlings don’t last forever,” Jones said. “These two’ve already hung around much longer than most. Maybe getting independent of Mr. Speaker’s the reason, somehow. But we can’t expect them to be here much longer.”

“But…I hate that,” whispered Deeba. “They’re part of the team. There must be something we can do about it.”

“I’m not bananas about it myself,” said Jones.

The smell grew stronger and stronger.

“The workshop was on a top floor,” Deeba said when they reached some stairs. “And…” She sniffed. “There’s more smoke up there.”

“There’s definitely something up there,” said Lectern nervously. Noises of cackling, and gobbling, and animated talking were audible in the stairwell.

The infiltrators ascended, to a closed door. It was from behind that that the sounds were coming. The Smog-stench was thick.

Deeba listened. There were several voices emanating from behind the wood, and they were talking over each other, interrupting and finishing each other’s sentences, in aggressive, boisterous chat.

“I bet you there are six of them,” whispered Jones.

“Oh no,” said the book. “It’s true, the Smog is working with them. That’s the Hex.”

“…long are we going to be waiting?” roared one of the voices.

“Hush—”

“— up, Aye-Aye.”

“Soon, Brolly man says.”

“He says, Ivv.”

“King Smogra’s roaring around, to put the wind up ’em, make everyone practice with brollies—”

“— and tomorrow he’ll move them all around.”

“So what are we, Vee?”

“Don’t you ever pay attention? We’re helping with removals, Vee-Aye.”

“Brolly and Smogula haven’t decided yet, Broll says.”

“They du

“— get away yourself, AyeAyeAye!”

“Shut up! Get away persuading the UnLondoners that Unbrell and Smog-enstein are enemies.”

“They are enemies! Hasn’t Brollwah clocked that yet? He’s nothing with his poxy shields. Smogzilla don’t need him.”

“And he thinks it was all his idea! Silly hombre!”

“Its Smokeliness has other plans.”

“Not that the Brollington Prime realizes it. He did well to get the Propheseers on his side, though.”

“Yes. I seen them here.”

“Pay attention! They think Unstibulus is one of them, Ivv!”

“Don’t know he’s…puppet.”

The voices snickered.

“My, they’re going to be unhappy…”

“The Concern?”

“Propheseers! And the Concern.”

“How’d it get so strong so fast? I remember when the Smogtopus was just a wee little puff of stink. Now it’s all over the place in bits and bigger than ever…”

“Been feeding, ain’t it?”

“Suckling on chimney teats. They been sending down gunk-smoke from that other place.”

“The weird version of UnLondon? Lodno, ain’t it?”

“Something like that, Vee-Aye. Anyway, they been feeding Smogli. On the quiet.”

“Where is unbrella man anyway?”

“Things are going wrong, ain’t they? Trouble all over.”

“Hence no one here for supper?”

“Yes, what is all this for?”

“What, the spread? Broll meant it for a meeting with the Concern, tonight. Plans over repast.”

“Not happening.”

“No, things a smidge too chaotic for them to get here.”

“People are up and arguing early! He’s off like a bat-squid here and there, trying to stop trouble. There’s fighting! People not doing as told and clearing off when Smogus comes on!”

“Shouldn’t we be out, scary as bugbears, then? To frit them?”

“No need to frantic. Smogosaurus ain’t concerned. Preparing still.”

“I don’t think it’s caring if Unbrell’s having a bad night.”

“Don’t care at all.”

There was unpleasant tittering.

“They’re just nasty,” whispered Deeba. “How are we going to get past? Can we face them?”

“Absolutely not,” hissed Lectern. “They’re the Hex. Most powerful magickers in UnLondon. Each of them was strong originally. Two were Propheseers, a long time ago. But since they joined into one…No we can’t face them.”

There was a pause.

“So what do we do?” said Deeba.

“You know a fu