Un Lun Dun

8. Pins and Needles

Deeba put her arm around her friend. Neither of them wanted to attract the attention of the strange market-goers. They sat quietly for a couple of minutes.

“Ahem…”

Cautiously, the two girls looked up. Standing before them was the boy— the boy who had scared off the trashpack. He eyed them with a look somewhere between sarcasm and concern.

“I was just wondering…” he said slowly. “Is that yours?”

He pointed near their feet, at an empty cardboard milk carton. Zanna and Deeba stared at it.

The carton moved eagerly towards them, opening and closing its folded spout. Deeba and Zanna yelped and withdrew their feet. It was one of the pieces of rubbish that had chased them earlier.

“I was going to kick it back into the maze,” he said. “But I thought maybe it was a pet…”

“No,” Deeba said guardedly. “No, it’s not ours. We was…It was…”

“It must have followed us,” said Zanna.

“Righto,” the boy said, stuck his hands in his pockets, and whistled a tune for a second or two. He looked at them quizzically. “Well I’ll…” He hesitated. “Can I just ask…Are you okay?”

He sat down beside them. “What’re your names, then? I’m Hemi. Pleased to meet you and all that.” He stuck out his hand. Zanna and Deeba looked at it suspiciously. Eventually they shook it and said their names. “So what’s up with you two then?” he said. “What’s happened?”

“We don’t know what’s happened,” Zanna said.

“We dunno where we are,” said Deeba. “We dunno what that is…” She pointed up into the sky.

“We don’t know what’s going on,” Zanna finished.

“Well…” the boy Hemi said slowly. “You two don’t know a lot, do you? But I might be able to help you. I can tell you where you are, for a start.” His voice dropped, and the girls eagerly leaned in close to hear him.

“You’re…” he whispered slowly, “in…Un Lun Dun.”

The girls waited for the words to make sense, but they didn’t. Hemi was grinning. “Un Lun Dun!” he repeated.

“Un,” said Zanna. “Lun. Dun.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Un Lun Dun.”

And suddenly the three sounds fell into a different shape, and Zanna said the name.

“UnLondon.”

“UnLondon?” Deeba said.

Hemi nodded, and crept an inch closer.

“UnLondon,” he said, and he reached for Zanna.

“Hey!” A loud voice interrupted. Zanna, Deeba, and the boy jumped up. The milk carton squeaked out air and scuttled behind Deeba. There in front of them was the pincushion man, his needles winking in the light. “Don’t you dare!” the book-wearing fashion designer shouted. “Get out!”

Hemi leapt up, made a rude noise, and sped away, ducking at astonishing speed between the legs of passersby, into the crowd and out of sight.

“What you doing?” Zanna shouted. “He was helping us!”

“Helping?” the man said. “Do you have any idea who that was? He’s one of them!”

“One of who?”

“A ghost!”

Deeba and Zanna stared at him.

“You heard me,” he said. “A ghost. He’s from Wraithtown, and…Did he make you get really close to him? I saw him trying to grab!”

“Well…we couldn’t really hear him, so we was leaning in…” Deeba said.

“Aha. I knew it. One more minute and he’d have possessed you! That’s what they want: they’re desperate for bodies. They’ll possess you soon as look at you. Sneaky little wisper.”

“Possess me?”

“Absolutely. Or you.” He nodded at Zanna. “Why do you think he was talking to you?”

“But…he has a body,” said Zanna. “We shook his hand.”

The man looked a little put-out.

“Well, yes, technically he has a body, that one. If you want to be really precise about it, he’s a half-ghost. But don’t you be fooled by his whole ‘Flesh-and-bone, just like you’ act. He’ll steal your body just like the rest of his family.

“It’s just as well I came looking for you,” the man said kindly. “You worried me back there. I suppose I can just understand someone not wanting to benefit from the astonishing opportunity of this new form of apparel, which literally clothes you in education…” Seeing their faces he cut this patter off with visible effort. “Sorry. Anyway. The point is you both looked so scared. I wanted to check you were alright.”

Zanna stared into the crowd.

“What is this place?” she said.

“What do you mean?” the pin-haired man said. “It’s Rogueday! This is Rogueday Market, of course. You can’t seriously tell me you haven’t been here before? What’s that?” Before Zanna could stop him, he had reached out and taken the travelcard from her.

“Give that back!” she shouted. The man’s eyes were growing wider and wider, and he gaped at the piece of card, and back at Zanna.

“Oh my fizzy dog,” he said. “No wonder you’re confused. You’re not from here at all. You’re the Shwazzy!”

There was an intake of breath from the little group of market-goers around them. Zanna and Deeba looked at each other, and at the people watching.

Among the women and men in those unconvincing uniforms were odder figures still, like a woman who seemed made of metal, and someone wearing one of those old-fashioned diving suits with weighted boots and a big brass helmet, windowed with dark glass. Everyone was staring at Zanna.

“Unstible’s boots,” someone said reverently. “I can’t believe it. The Shwazzy.”

“Well,” Zanna said. “I don’t know much—”

“Wait!” the pin-headed man said, and looked around. “We have to be careful. We need to take you somewhere safe. Just in case.” Some of the onlookers were nodding and glancing around. “I can’t believe you’re here! And…you brought a friend.” He nodded politely to Deeba. “But there’ll be time for all this later. Right now let’s get you out of here.

“Skool,” he said, “you go check the schedule. You know where we’re going, and how.” The diver gave a laborious nod and headed off. “I’ll get the Shwazzy and her friend ready…if,” he added with sudden nervous politeness, “that’s alright with her. And everyone else…” He looked at the people listening. “Not a word about this. Shtum! This is our chance!” The onlookers nodded.

“If you’ll follow me, we’ll get ready. It’ll be my honor to take you.” Zanna said nothing, but he continued: “You’re willing? That’s marvelous, really. We’ve not been introduced: you are the Shwazzy, and as I say it’s an honor.” He said the last phrase so quickly it was like one word: anazahsaytsanonna.

“I’m Obaday Fing, the couturier. Of Obaday Fing Designs. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? Not the wearable books, I know, but perhaps…the edible cravat? No? The two-person trouser? Doesn’t ring a bell? Never mind, never mind. I’m at your service.”

“This is Deeba,” said Zanna. “And I’m…”

“The Shwazzy, absolutely,” the man said. “A pleasure. Now if you please, Shwazzy…I don’t want to alarm you, but you’ve already had a run-in with an attempted flesh-theft, and I’ll feel much happier if you stick with me.”

From behind them was the clatter of the milk carton.

“Go away,” Zanna told it, and pointed. The carton retreated a few centimeters. Air whistled from its spout. It sounded like whimpering.

“Shwazzy, please!” Fing said, beckoning.

“Oh alright,” Deeba said to the carton. She nodded at Zanna. “I’ll sort it. You can come,” she said to the rubbish. “But if you gang up with your friends again, you’re gone.” Deeba jerked her head in invitation, and the milk carton scampered after her, rolling over the cobbles.

Behind them, the last of the little gathering dispersed. Several people watched Zanna go. They looked excited, and secretive, and very pleased.

One man was standing still. He was chubby and muscular, squeezed into painter’s dungarees, complete with streaks of paint. Deeba looked back, and he met her eyes for a moment, then looked back at Zanna, very thoughtfully.

He disappeared into the crowd, moving fast.

“What?” said Zanna, pulling Deeba to come.

“Nothing,” said Deeba. “I just feel like someone’s watching us.”

Watching you, she thought, and looked at her friend.