Un Lun Dun

22. History Lessons

“Not you personally,” Mortar explained. “But you, Londoners. Even if you didn’t know it.”

“Let me tell the history,” the book said grandly. “Page fifty-seven.” Lectern flicked through to the relevant place. The book cleared its nonexistent throat.

“Abcities have existed at least as long as the cities,” it said. “Each dreams the other.

“There are ways to get between the two, and a few people do, though very few know the truth. This is where the most energetic of London’s discards come, and in exchange London takes a few of our ideas— clothes, the waterwheel, the undernet.

“Mostly such swaps are beneficial, or harmless. Mostly.”

Mortar and Lectern were staring intently at Zanna.

“Back in your old queen’s time,” the book said, “London filled up with factories, and all of them had chimneys. In houses they burnt coal. And the factories were burning everything, and letting off smoke from chemicals and poisons. And the crematoria, and the railways, and the power stations, all added their own effluvia.”

“Their own what?” said Zanna.

“Muck,” said Lectern.

“Add all that to the valley fog, and what you get’s a smoke stew,” the book went on. “So thick they called it pea soup. Yellow-brown and sitting on the city like a stinking dog. It used to get into people’s lungs. It could kill them. That’s what smog is.”

“Well,” said Mortar. “That’s what it was. But something happened.”

“As I was about to explain,” said the book testily. “As I was saying. At first, it was just a dirty cloud. Nasty but brainless as a stump. But then something happened.

“There were so many chemicals swilling around in it that they reacted together. The gases and liquid vapor and brick dust and bone dust and acids and alkalis, fired through by lightning, heated up and cooled down, tickled by electric wires and stirred up by the wind— they reacted together and made an enormous, diffuse cloud-brain.

“The smog started to think. And that’s when it became the Smog.”

Lectern shivered and shook her head at the thought. “It’s no surprise it wasn’t…nice,” she said. “Its thoughts are clotted from poisons, and things we’ve burnt to get rid of.”

“It was never going to be our friend,” Mortar said.

“As smoke kept going up,” the book said, “the Smog got bigger and stronger and smarter. But no kinder. It wanted to grow.

“It had always strangulated some people who breathed it in. At first it didn’t set out to, but then it realized that some of the dead would be cremated, and that their ashes would blow up and fatten it…So it became a predator.”

“It knew it would be safer if Londoners thought it was just dirty fog, so it kept its new brain to itself.”

“Mostly…” Mortar sighed and hesitated, appalled by what he had to say. “It had some allies. Believe me, there’s nothing so terrible that someone won’t support it. It has allies here, too.”

“Yeah, we know that,” said Deeba.

“One of them set airjackers on us,” Zanna said.

Mortar and Lectern shook their heads in disgust.

“For ages, the fight went on,” Mortar said. “But slowly, the Smog was losing. Even without knowing you were fighting, you were winning. Then it counterattacked. For five days, half a century ago, it assaulted London. It killed four thousand people. Its worst single attack. And still, most of you didn’t even know you were at war!

“After that…” He breathed out and threw up his hands. “Well…it gets a bit vague.”

“He’s right,” said the book. “There are hints, in me, but I’m about UnLondon, not London. There’s nothing clear.”

“We know a little bit, from stories,” said Lectern.

“From travelers,” said Mortar. “Secret histories. The Smog was beaten. There was a secret group of guardians. Weatherwitches. The Armets. It’s an old word for helmet, and they were like London’s armor, you see? And we’ve heard how they won. They had a magic weapon.”

“The Klinneract,” announced Lectern.

Lectern and Mortar looked at Zanna. Eventually they looked at Deeba. They seemed a bit disappointed by their lack of recognition. “As I say,” Mortar went on. “It was a secret group.

“So with magic and a secret war, Londoners drove the Smog away, but they didn’t manage to kill it. It got away.”

“By coming here,” the book said.

“There was so much rubbish in it, it could slip through the crevices through which moil comes to UnLondon,” Mortar said. “It was weak for a long time. It arrived…depleted.

“At first, even we Propheseers didn’t think it was a threat. The book…we saw no clear references to it.”

“We’ve talked about that,” the book whispered. “You’re being unfair.”

“That wasn’t my point,” Mortar muttered. “Can we discuss this later?”

“Yeah, please do,” Zanna said.

Mortar cleared his throat. “It crept into chimneys. It looked for smoky fires to feed at. We ignored it. But it was preparing. It remembered the way to London. It would send a few wafts through the gaps, and they’d reach your factories and suck the smoke down. Drank from you as well as us. It took years. It was patient.

“We should’ve realized. But the first we knew what was happening was when…it started providing its own food.”

“It…what?” Zanna said. “How?”

“It started fires. Or it got its followers to.”

“There’s so much rubbish in the Smog, it can concentrate it and move things. Pick things up. It’s got as many chemicals in it as the best laboratory, and it can mix them, make poisons and flammables and tar and whatever. It can squeeze the coal and metal and ash it carries, and throw it around.

“It rains petrol, lights it by squeezing metal dust into shards and dropping them until they spark. We realized, at last, what we were facing. And it made sense of warnings in the book, too.”

“Yes, it did,” said the book. “So less of your ‘It wasn’t mentioned,’ please.”

“We’ve been fighting it awhile now,” Mortar went on. “Since we understood. With vacuums, and extinguishers, and everything we can find. But then about a year ago, it suddenly stopped attacking.”

“Isn’t that good?” Deeba said.

“No, ’cause it’s waiting for something,” Lectern said. “It’s planning something.”

“And this we know because?” the book said expectantly.

“Because it’s in the book?” Zanna said.

The book said “Bing!”

“Sometimes the words are riddles,” Lectern said. “But there’s not much controversy over ‘The choker will rest, then rise, and fire, and grow, and return.’ ”

“Who was the man on the bus?” said Zanna.

“Someone who thinks it’ll help him,” Lectern said. “But there are heroes, too. For every one like him, there’s someone like Unstible.”

“We heard that name before,” Deeba said.

“Who’s Unstible?” Zanna said.

“Our greatest mind,” said Mortar. “Benjamin Hue Unstible. Propheseer. Also inventor, scientist, explorer, statesman, artist, banker, furniture designer, and cook. You see, you have to remember we know very little about London’s secret war with the Smog. Unstible researched and researched, all the stories he could find, about the Armets and their secret weapon, and about the Smog itself. He knew more about it than anyone else, ever. In the end, he decided that our best chance to defeat it was to know how it had been beaten before.

“He was sure the Smog would move against us. So he decided to find the Armets.

“That’s why he crossed over, to search. More than two years ago. We haven’t heard a word from him since.” Mortar looked forlorn. “Hopefully we’ll hear from him…any day now.”

“And he was right, too,” Lectern said. “The Smog is attacking again. And now we know what it’s been waiting for.”

“It’s been waiting for you, Shwazzy,” Mortar said.

“We knew it was approaching your time,” the book said. “Word’s been spreading. We heard your face had appeared in the clouds over London. That was the first sign.”

Zanna looked at Deeba.

“Told you,” Deeba muttered.

“Seven-oh-one,” the book said. Lectern turned pages. “ ‘One shall come from that other place. She shall be called the Shwazzy. To her alone it is given to save UnLondon.’ The Smog’s heard the prophecy. ‘She shall prevail in her first encounter, and again in her last.’ It knows you’re its enemy. And it wants you gone. That’s why its forces are emerging at last. It’ll attack you as soon as it can.”

“Actually,” said Zanna, “it already has. In London.”

“But we didn’t know what it was,” said Deeba.

“It found you there?” gasped Lectern. “Oh, you poor thing.”

There was a long silence.

“Look,” Deeba said reasonably. “This is all…y’know, important and that. But you still haven’t told us how to get out of here—”

“Wait a minute,” Zanna interrupted her. “This is stupid. Why did Unstible go?” She stared at Mortar and Lectern.

“I mean…I’m supposed to defeat the Smog, right?” she demanded. “The prophecy says. It’s…mad, but just say for a moment, right? So why did Unstible go looking for the Armets? What was he worried about if I’m going to take care of it? It’s not his job.”

Mortar and Lectern looked at each other uneasily.

“He…always had certain ideas, about what was written,” Mortar said. “He said he wanted to be sure. ‘It’s given to her to save us,’ he used to say. ‘That doesn’t mean she’ll take it. I’ll go see what I can do.’ ”

“So…” said Zanna, “he disappeared ’cause he was trying to help me?”