Un Lun Dun

72. The Truth about Windows

“Why do people come here?” said Hemi. “And what do you tell them?”

“To make their fortune,” said Bon.

“To stay away,” said Bastor.

“No doubt you’ll be off now,” said Bon.

“Hey, wait,” Deeba said. “You don’t understand— we have to get in there. We’re trying to find something.”

“Oh dear,” sighed Bon. “You are an arachnofenestranaut.”

“We’re not going to encourage foolish greed by giving out information.”

“What you on about?” said Hemi. “What sort of treasure seekers come here anyway? Not Deeba. She’s here for UnLondon. We all are.”

“The lad’s right,” said Jones. “I’ve had enough of this. That bloody thing took my friend. Now you’d better tell me what you know to help us.” Skool tried to gently hold him back.

“Wait a minute,” said Deeba. “Shut up a minute.”

She scrunched up her brow in thought. “You’ve been waiting ages to find out what happened,” she said to the bishops. “For someone special to explain. Someone was due.” She counted off on her fingers, mentally running through the things the book had told her that she, in Zanna’s place, was supposed to pick up. When she reached the penultimate one, she looked at the bishops in their different-colored robes.

“It’s me,” she said. “I’m the one supposed to tell you. In return for help. I’m supposed to bring you the crown of the black-or-white king.”

“You?” said Bishop Bastor.

“You’ve come with the crown of the king?” Bon said. “The crown that was surrendered?”

The two men looked absolutely kiboshed. They were talking so quickly Deeba couldn’t interrupt them.

“We’ll know, Edward.”

“We will, Alan.”

“After so long!”

“It’s extraordinary…”

“Best of luck, Edward.”

“You too, Alan, you too.”

They shook hands vigorously.

“Shwazzy…Bishop Bon and I’ve been waiting for you for longer than I can even remember. Now that you’re here…my goodness, our wait’s complete. Happy, happy day.”

“For one of us,” said Bastor. There was a pause.

Neither of them looked anything but horrified.

“Listen to you two,” the book said scornfully. “Have you actually read the prophecy? Jones, give them me, please, page four-twenty-one. Read the description!”

Bon peered at the text.

“ ‘And she shall be tall and with hair like the light of the sun and the UnSun, and—’ ”

“Well take that for a start,” the book interrupted. “Look at her!”

There was a pause.

“Perhaps she dyes it,” said Bon.

“I do not,” said Deeba.

“She’s not the Shwazzy!” said the book.

“Number one,” Deeba said. “No, I’m not the Shwazzy. She couldn’t come. I’m her friend. And number two, no, I don’t have the crown of the black-or-white king. We didn’t have time to get it.” The two men were staring in profound bewilderment.

“But number three…we still need to know everything about the Black Windows. Instead, in return I’m offering you…” She thought, and rummaged in her bag. “This feather in the shape of a key.”

There was a long silence. The bishops’ faces grew more and more confused. They reached out simultaneously and took Parakeetus Claviger’s crest.

“Well…it is pretty,” Bon said.

“But it’s…”

“How can we put this?”

“Not what we were expecting.”

“What do you mean the Shwazzy’s not coming?” Bon said.

“Don’t you know how long we’ve been waiting?” Bastor said. “How much we need to know…?”

“Yeah but you don’t,” interrupted Deeba. “What’s it going to matter? Imagine how it’ll be. You’d have to go separate ways, for a start, which you don’t want.” The bishops looked quizzical.

“Alright,” she snapped. “I do have the black-or-white king’s crown. It’s white.”

Bon’s face broke into a look of incredulity and delight. Bastor’s broke into shock and misery. Almost as soon as he saw his companion’s expression, though, Bon’s smile faltered. Deeba ignored the surprised expressions her companions were giving her.

“Sorry, wrong way round,” she said. “The crown’s black.”

Instantly the bishops’ expressions were reversed. This time it was the beaming Bastor who began to frown at Bon’s obvious horror.

“See?” said Deeba. “I got no idea who surrendered. We haven’t got the black-or-white king’s crown. But look at you two. You don’t want to know.”

The two bishops stared at her, then at each other. For a long time.

“She may have—” said Bon.

“— a point,” said Bastor.

“But Chosen One,” said Bon. “Sorry, I mean, Unchosen One. Waiting to find out’s been our whole purpose.”

“We can’t live without a purpose…”

“Okay,” said Deeba thoughtfully. “I know what your purpose is.”

“Do you?” Bon said eagerly.

“What?” said Hemi.

“Really?” said the book.

“If I tell you,” Deeba continued, “you have to help. You have to tell us everything about the Black Windows.”

“That seems perfectly reasonable,” said Bastor.

“Alright,” said Deeba. “You just got it back to front. I reckon your purpose is to make sure no one ever brings you the crown. Your purpose in life is to make sure you don’t find out who won.”

The wind whistled gently over the quivering web of the abbey. The UnSun warmed them.

“Again,” said Bon. “She may—”

“— be onto something,” said Bastor.

“I wonder if we’ve been barking up the wrong tree.”

“I always had my doubts, old man.” They were beginning to speak with more enthusiasm.

“Silly of us to have brought it up.”

“Absolutely! No need at all! Perfectly clear!”

“Our holy task is to make absolutely damn sure we don’t find out who won.”

“Of course it is! Splendid! Do let’s get on with it!” The two bishops beamed at each other, and at Deeba and her friends.

“We really can’t thank you enough, young lady. You’ve been immensely helpful.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Deeba. “I’ll even throw in the feather.” She handed it over. “Now, finally— tell us what you know about the Black Windows. Maybe that way we can get past them.”

“I’m not quite sure what it is you’re after,” Bon said. “But I suspect that it’s not past you want but through.”