Un Lun Dun

94. The Dreadful Sky

“Can you get to the bridge?” she said. “Mortar! Can you?”

With a visible effort, Mortar looked away from the growing mass of Smog.

“Yes,” he said. “I may be tired, and an idiot, but I wouldn’t be a Propheseer if I couldn’t get to the Pons Absconditus.”

“Right,” said Deeba. She thought fast. “You have to go everywhere. Hundreds and thousands of people are out and about tonight. You have to go everywhere, and tell them the Smog’s coming back, and that their unbrellas won’t help them: they’ll kill them.

“Maybe gather up more Propheseers. Move as fast as you can. Tell people to get underground, whatever. And throw their unbrellas away!”

“But what then?” said the book. “The Smog’ll be everywhere…”

“First thing’s to stop it killing everyone,” she snapped. “Then we’ll work out what’s next.”

“What are you going to do?” Mortar asked.

“I need to get my friends,” Deeba said. “Jones and Obaday and the others…I have to make sure they’re okay.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“No. You have to go now. There’s no time. Spread the word. I’ll…try to sort things out here.”

Mortar looked for a moment as if he was about to argue, then changed his mind.

“I’ll get the bridge,” he said. He shook his head to clear it, and concentrated.

“She’d better go with you,” said Deeba. “Don’t want her escaping to London.” She stretched out her hand, and her rebrella yanked Lectern towards her. Lectern squeaked.

“How did you do that with an unbrella?” said Mortar.

“It’s not,” Deeba said. “It’s a rebrella…that’s another thing! Everyone can fix their unbrellas. That frees them from Brokkenbroll.”

“So if they fix them, they can use them against the Smog…?”

“No, they’ll still explode in the rain. Forget it. You have to get everyone inside, fast. We’ll fix the unbrellas afterwards. Brokkenbroll’s not the problem now.”

Above them, the Smog was condensing. Its smogglers were congealing into it one after the other. The green tinge was spreading throughout its substance.

“Get the bridge here,” said Deeba.

Mortar gripped Lectern’s shoulder. Lectern was so slumped and defeated, Deeba didn’t think she would run.

He should take Brokkenbroll, Deeba thought. But the Unbrellissimo was still out cold, and no one had the strength to drag him. She watched the Smog.

A cold awareness settled in her stomach. The Smog was seconds away from merging completely, mixing its new chemical, and spreading out again for attack. Even with the help of several other Propheseers, there was no way Mortar could warn more than a handful of UnLondoners.

It’s not going to work, Deeba thought. We have nothing.

When she looked back at Mortar, the bridge was there, jutting from the edge of the building. She glimpsed the desks on its surface, saw its girders recede with perspective.

There was a bass growling from the sky. The last trail of smoke disappeared like sucked spaghetti into the thick green-tinted Smog, which rumbled.

“Go!” shouted Deeba. Mortar went onto the bridge, dragging Lectern. He looked at Deeba. A tentacle of Smog swooped down towards the roof, moaning like a monster. “Go!” she shouted.

Mortar waved once. Deeba ducked to avoid the swirl. When she looked back the bridge was gone.

The Smog churned its murderous chemical within itself. It made shapes with its clouds, sank towards Deeba.

With Mortar gone, Deeba felt a strange calm. Perhaps it was certainty— the certainty of defeat. She knew she had no time to retreat to where Jones and the others were waiting, and she knew there would be no point even if she could. She tried not to think about all the people in two worlds the Smog had at its mercy.

She had stayed in the remains of the room because she couldn’t bear to run from her enemy. Not after everything that had happened. It’s crazy, thought Deeba. I have nothing. But still, she realized, that was why she’d stayed.

Brokkenbroll lay untrustworthy and unconscious. Deeba was alone.

The Smog descended.

Deeba made a brief move towards the remains of the corridor, then stopped. She wouldn’t get farther than ten feet. There was no point. She looked up.

The Smog made itself a green cloud face. It loomed over her, and sent out a cathedral-sized smoke tongue to lick its smoke lips. It bashed air currents together in its miles-wide mouth, and with a voice made out of thunder, it said to her:

Deeba closed her eyes as the Smog came down. All she could think, again and again, was: I have nothing.