Un Lun Dun

44. Postmortem Bureaucracy

If it was confusing being in Wraithtown itself, surrounded by the ghosts of earlier forms, being in the building was overwhelming.

The corridor seemed to grow thicker and thinner as its ghosts eddied. The walls were lined with certificates and pictures, each surrounded by more in spectral form. Overlaying the lights were the ghosts of bare bulbs and of intricate chandeliers.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Deeba said.

“You’re just ghostsick,” said Hemi. “It’ll settle down.”

Behind a desk— and countless ghost-desks— on which was a computer, sheaves of paper, pens, and all their ghosts, sat a fat ghost in a tracksuit.

Can I help you? he mouthed, then looked up. He bolted to what would have been his feet, had his legs not terminated in wafts of nothing. He began to shout, silently.

Hemi shouted back.

“Don’t you talk to me like that,” he said. “Yes, she’s living, and yes, I am ‘that boy.’ I don’t care what you think, it’s your job to give information. No she’s not, she’s a Londoner, you idiot.” He rolled his eyes. “No, of course that’s not a banishgun, that’s an umbrella.” Deeba was impressed with how fierce Hemi was.

“Now,” he said. “Tell us what we need to know. Or I’ll report you.”

The fat ghost sat down sulkily. Deeba saw him eye Hemi and say something.

Hemi didn’t react. What had the ghost said? She made the shapes with her own lips, to work it out.

She knew suddenly what he had called Hemi, and she stared at him with dislike. Half-breed.

“Alright, what do you need?” Hemi said.

“The record of all the deadists,” Deeba said. “I need to check if someone’s listed.

“The name is Benjamin Hue Unstible.”

“What?” said Hemi. What? mouthed the ghost.

“What are you talking about?” Hemi said. “Unstible’s not dead. He came out of hiding! He’s doing his whole plan, he’s sorting out UnLondon from the Smog, he’s vulcanizing the unbrellas…”

“I know, I know,” Deeba said. “I’m paying for this, aren’t I? So just do me a favor and look. It’s probably nothing.”

“You are out of your mind,” Hemi chuckled.

The ghost ostentatiously threw up his hands, and opened a filing cabinet by yanking its ghost-drawers, which drew the solid drawer at the center with them. He riffled through papers.

“Nope,” said Hemi eventually, when the ghost shouted something. “No Unstibles in Wraithtown.”

“Okay,” said Deeba slowly. “Well…that’s good.” Have I come all the way to UnLondon for nothing? she thought. The people in the RMetS must have made a mistake.

“What about in Thanatopia itself?” she said. “Is there another file?”

“You heard her,” said Hemi. “Double-check! Chop-chop!” The bureaucrat ghost looked sourly at him but, obviously deciding it was the easiest way of getting rid of them, rose and wafted to a back office, miming wait and mouthing something.

“He says new paperwork gets here from the Thanatopian office every couple of months,” said Hemi.

“Couple of months?” said Deeba. “If I’m right, Unstible might have…moved to Thanatopia in the last few weeks.”

Hemi sighed, then looked craftily around, and spoke quietly. “Well, it’s your money. I suppose we could log into the database on the afternet if you really want. That’d be more recent. You know what red tape’s like. This lot’re still happier dealing in hard copy and its ghost. I bet they only use that thing for playing Minesweeper and bog all else.” He nodded at the computer and its riffling halo of older computer ghosts. “Tell me if he’s coming,” he said, and grabbed the keyboard. Hemi found the officer’s password on a ghostly piece of paper stuck to the side of the monitor.

“Does the afternet connect to…what was it they called it in UnLondon…the undernet?” Deeba said.

“Yeah. And both of them to your internet. But not many people can make the connections work. Ah, here we go.”

Deeba saw the fat ghost closing drawers in the other room.

“Quick,” she whispered.

“Alright,” he said, “so if I just…click here, and feed in a few…there we go. We’re in. Now.” He looked at her sideways and shook his head as he typed. “ ‘Benjamin Hue Unstible,’ ” he said, and hit return.

The screen went blank, then whirred, then flashed up a single entry.

There was a very long silence.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” said Hemi.

“I was right,” Deeba said, and clenched her fists.

“Unstible died weeks ago,” said Hemi. “Killed by…the Smog?”

“So…could it be his ghost, handing out unbrellas?” Deeba said. “It doesn’t look anything like any of you lot…”

“No,” said Hemi. “If he were a ghost he’d be listed as having moved to Wraithtown. Unstible’s passed over completely. Whatever that thing is, whatever it looks like, whatever it’s doing…it’s not Benjamin Unstible.”