Un Lun Dun

21. An Unlikely Place of Work

“I didn’t think it could be true!” the woman Lectern said. “We got a garbled message from a conductor, couriered through several hands. Told us that you were coming!”

“Jones!” Deeba said. “Is he okay?”

“What?” said the old man, looking away from Zanna and glancing at Deeba in surprise. “Yes. I don’t know. He must be. Said he was hiding south of the river. But the point is he told us you were coming. We thought that was all nonsense. But…

“This is extraordinary. You’ve met our guards.” He gestured at the silent cylindrical guide. “The secret warriors: the binja. It’s just as well we passed on the message. We thought the conductor was confused, but we dropped a communiqué down, just in case. But we had to be sure, in case they’d been confused, escorted in some imposter. In fact, we should tell them to stand down. Jorkins!” he shouted. “Memo to the binja. ‘Shwazzy received safely. Many thanks. Yours, et cetera, et cetera.’ ”

A scrawny young man nodded and speedily typed. He whipped the piece of paper from his typewriter, crumpled it up, and threw it over the edge of the bridge.

“Amazing guards,” Mortar said. He stroked his long beard thoughtfully. “An ancient, ancient order. The right mixture of chemicals left to marinate long enough in the right conditions in those bins, some secret training, and voila.”

“Are they all loyal?” said Deeba. “Do any of them go off and be baddies?”

“You’re a talkative young lady, aren’t you?” he said. “All sorts of interesting questions.”

Zanna and Deeba sat with Mortar and Lectern a little way away from the office area. The binja stood nearby, scanning the area from under its lid, constantly. Curdle played under the table.

“We were being followed,” Zanna said. “What if they get past the binja?”

“Don’t you worry,” Lectern said. “This bridge is rarely just where you want it to be. Only once you’re actually on it. And only Propheseers and our guests know how to get there. It’s all a question of remembering what a bridge does— gets from somewhere to somewhere else.”

“Now look,” Zanna said. “I’m knackered[10] and hungry. I’ve got no idea what’s going on. We’ve got no idea what’s going on.”

“We just want to go home,” Deeba said. “We didn’t want to be here in the first place.”

“I don’t know what you lot want,” Zanna said. “I don’t know why some people are so pleased to see me. And I don’t know why some people aren’t.”

“Everyone’s said the Propheseers’ll explain, blah blah blah,” Deeba said. “And that you’ll tell us how to get back.”

“Well, here we are, and we need to know.”

“We’re being chased by flies and nutters,” Deeba said.

“People are asking me if I’ve got the Klin…something,” Zanna said. “I don’t even know what they’re on about. Who’s chasing me? And what’s the Smog? And why’s it after me?”

“Of course, of course,” Mortar said. “I can’t imagine how confused you must be, Shwazzy. And we will help you home again. But there’s something you can do first. We have tried to contact you, over the years. We’ve heard rumors of where you might be. From the clouds, and the animals, and a few savvy abnauts. And from the book.”

“That’s right,” said the voice from the book, smugly.

“There’s always a difficulty of interpretation. But from careful reading— over generations!— we’ve learnt many things.”

“Many, many things,” the voice went on.

“Hush,” Lectern said, and looked apologetically at Zanna.

“We tried to ease your journey. Sent you the Pass. A pity that was stolen. It took…some effort to send it across the Odd, believe me.”

In the distance, UnLondon’s giant chests of drawers were opening up, and flocks of birds were setting out into the dawn.

“Shwazzy,” Mortar said. “UnLondon is at war. We’re under attack. And it’s been written, for centuries, that you—you— will come and save us.”

“Me?” said Zanna.

“Her?” said Deeba.

“I’m just, I’m…just a girl,” said Zanna.

“You’re the Shwazzy,” Mortar said. “You’re our hope. Against the Smog.

“What is the Smog? Just exactly what it sounds like— thick, smoky fog. And why’s it out to get you? Because it hates being beaten.”

“Why does it think I’ll beat it?” Zanna said.

“It doesn’t think you will,” Lectern said. “It knows you already have.”