Un Lun Dun

26. Folders and Unfolders

There was a frantic sound like wings. Dark flapping shapes suddenly raced through the air around the bridge.

“Cut the hoses!” a voice came from below. “And let me in!”

“It’s Brokkenbroll!” said Lectern. “What do we do?”

“Uh…” Mortar said. He stared at the supine Zanna, and at the approaching stink-junkies.

“Let me in,” Brokkenbroll called.

“I…I’ll connect the bridge near him,” Mortar said. He clenched his jaw, and concentrated.

A tall, spindly man in a dark suit came running up the Pons, his trench coat billowing around him. The Unbrellissimo. Flying around him with little squirts of air, opening and closing like squid-bat hybrids in a hundred colors, were broken umbrellas, doing his bidding.

Some were bent, some were ripped, some had no handles, but all moved fast and aggressive. They swirled around the stink-junkies. They were like fighting crows, poking at goggles with their jags, hooking breathing-tubes and flamethrowers with curved handles.

One big, tenacious unbrella with bent spokes yanked the pipe from Zanna’s attacker’s hood. It came with a pop and a jet of filthy smoke.

The stink-junkie screamed. It scrabbled for the hose, which flailed like a snake, gushing Smog. The unbrellas opened and closed vigorously. Deeba saw several binja unfold iron fans and wave them ferociously at the smoke.

“Tessenjutsu,” Lectern said, crouching by Deeba. “The art of the war-fan. It’s been indispensable against the Smog.”

“We have to get Zanna,” Deeba said.

“Cut the hoses!” Brokkenbroll shouted again. Ducking under flames, the binja went back into the fray. This time they knew what to do. One by one the Smog’s addict-troops went down, sucking at their torn or cut pipework. They sucked desperately for their poisoned smoke, then were still.

The hiss of escaping Smog continued for several seconds. Layers of stomach-turningly foul smoke hung in the air, and crawled against the air currents as the binja and the unbrellas dissipated it.

With Mortar and Lectern behind her, Deeba ran to Zanna, wincing at the sight of the blood and bruising on her friend’s head.

“Book,” she heard Mortar say. “What is going on?”

As she knelt by Zanna, she saw a clot of Smog crawl like a malevolent slug into her nose and mouth.

“It’s gone in her!” she shouted. “Help!”

“She breathed it?” said Lectern. “Book?”

“I, I’ve got nothing,” the book said. “Page seventy-six? Page five-twenty?” Lectern flicked hurriedly through its pages. “This isn’t what’s written.”

Mortar listened at Zanna’s chest. Even unconscious, Zanna wheezed and coughed as she breathed. “I don’t think it’s enough to kill her,” Mortar said. “But it’s not doing her any good.” Deeba could see confusion and terror in his eyes.

With a visible effort, he tried to exercise some control. “Lectern,” he said, and indicated the stink-junkies.

Lectern nodded. “We’ll see what we can do,” she said. “Some may not be too far gone to save.”

“But what about Zanna?” Deeba shouted.

“Propheseers.” Mr. Brokkenbroll approached them, escorted by unbrellas.

“Unbrellissimo,” Mortar said, shaking his hand. “We’re indebted to you. Forgive the chaos. We find things going…not according to plan…”

“What’s happening?” Deeba said to the book in Lectern’s arms.

“I’ve been watching for attacks like this, Propheseer,” Brokkenbroll said to Mortar. He spoke in a dry, quiet voice, only a little above a whisper. “And I heard you were looking for me. It looks like I got here just in time. Do you know what they were after?” He eyed Deeba.

“Of course. The Shwazzy.”

“What?” The Unbrellissimo looked stunned. “I…had no idea the Shwazzy was here. There were rumors, of course, but I thought…they couldn’t possibly be right. So, Shwazzy…” He stared at Deeba. She looked back miserably.

“Ah, no,” Mortar said. “An easy mistake, Brokkenbroll. This isn’t the Shwazzy. This young lady is Deeba Resham. She’s in the book, too, I think you’ll find, but not as the Shwazzy.”

“What good’s it being in the book?” Deeba said. “The book’s wrong.”

“How dare you!” the book said.

“Well?” she said, pointing at Zanna. There was shocked silence.

“That,” said Mortar, “is the Shwazzy.”

“Ah,” said Brokkenbroll. “I see.” He looked down at her. “She is blond,” he said gently. “I thought I’d heard that. Is she…”

“No,” said Mortar quickly. “We chased off most of the Smog. Only a very little got in.”

“But enough to…cause difficulty?” Brokkenbroll said quietly. Mortar nodded.

“Oh my,” the book said suddenly. Its voice was hollow and horrified. “She’s right. It’s wrong. The stuff in here. In me. It’s wrong.”

“Things aren’t very clear right now…” Mortar said to Brokkenbroll.

“What’s the point?” the book whispered. “What is the point?”

“Book, please,” Mortar said, and swallowed. “What we’d thought we knew…turns out there were a few surprises. And yes, we wanted to speak to you, to understand what’s been happening. Maybe you can make sense of some things…”

“Why you calling umbrellas down from London?” Deeba said, in tearful rage. “Why did you send one to watch my friend’s house? It’s because of that we came down here. What did you do?”

“Ah,” said Brokkenbroll slowly. “At long last, things begin to make a bit of sense.”

“So explain,” Deeba said. “And then we can do something about Zanna, and…” She pointed at her friend, and her voice suddenly dried.

The pall of dirt-colored smoke that had gushed out of all the stink-junkies’ tubes, that the unbrellas and the binja had tried to waft away, had been quietly coagulating again. It hung over the scene of the fight, a concentrated smudge, creeping closer to Zanna’s body.

“A smoggler!” Mortar said. “A separate nugget. Keep it from the Shwazzy! We have to stop it joining the main mass of itself. If the Smog finds its way onto the bridge we’re finished!”

It was a dense cloud, three or four meters across. It coiled and darkened like a baleful pygmy storm. From deep in its innards came a grinding, like teeth.

The cloud seemed to gather itself. Then with a rattling like a machine gun, it spat a rain of stones and coal and bullets, straight at Deeba.