Un Lun Dun

23. The Meaning of the Trail

“What happened to Jones and the others?” Deeba said. “The ones who sent the message to you?”

“I’ve given orders to the binja to let them in if they reach us,” Mortar said, looking at Zanna. “Conductors can take care of themselves. And their passengers. Shwazzy, are you…”

“This is crazy,” Zanna said. “I’m just a girl. How’s a Shwazzy get chosen anyway? Why’s it a girl? Why not a local? How d’you even know I’m it? None of it makes sense.”

“That’s how prophecies work,” Mortar said gently. “They’re not about what makes sense; they’re about what will be. That’s how they work. And not only do you fit the description, but you’re here. You crossed over…with your friend, even. What greater evidence could there be than the fact that you’re here, now? That you found your way through the Odd, and through UnLondon, to us, the only people who could tell you what you are?”

Zanna looked at Deeba.

“You felt something, Zann,” Deeba whispered. “You did. You knew you had to get us here.”

“Did you turn a wheel?” Lectern said. “You did, didn’t you? How did you get down here?”

“Well,” said Deeba. “There was this smoke, and then there was this umbrella.”

In a confused, overlapping way, Deeba and Zanna told the Propheseers about the attack of the terrible smoke, and the umbrella that had come to listen at Zanna’s window.

“And then Zanna followed a trail,” Deeba said at last.

“Not on my own,” said Zanna. “We were both following it…”

“Whatever,” said Deeba. “We ended up here.”

Mortar and Lectern stared at each other.

“I wonder,” said the book.

“What is he doing?” Lectern said.

“Who?” said Zanna.

“The man whose servant you saw,” Mortar said. “Mr. Brokkenbroll. Head honcho of the Parraplooey Cassay tribe. The Unbrellissimo. The boss of the broken umbrellas.”

“Lots of the moil tribes have leaders,” Mortar said. “Certain substances in UnLondon exist in prologue form in London, and enter a second life-cycle here with new purposes, even as sentient denizens of the abcity. They are moil, which is an acronym, the letters thereof standing for—”

“Mildly Obsolete In London,” interrupted Deeba, raising her eyebrows. “We know what moil is.” She leaned in to Zanna. “Old manky rubbish,” she muttered.

“Ah…well,” Mortar said. “Quite correct. And as I say, many of the tribes of moil have leaders of various calibers. Like that princess of discarded typewriters.”

“What’s her name?” Zanna said.

“Can’t pronounce it,” Lectern said. “It’s all punctuation marks. Then there’s Shard, the jack of cracked glass.”

“Arthur Poise-Catching, the pope of empty mousetraps,” Mortar said. “And the others. Some of the moil never seem to care. I don’t know quite what the nabob of ring-pulls ever gained from his reign. But he seemed happy.

“Brokkenbroll’s different. He really does command. And he takes our side. He’s always been one of UnLondon’s protectors. An umbrella’s for keeping off the rain. But as soon as you break it, it doesn’t have that purpose anymore, and it seeps through to here. It becomes something else.”

“An unbrella,” Lectern said.

“An unbrella. And when it’s that, here, Brokkenbroll commands it.”

“This one didn’t seep nowhere,” Deeba said.

“It was dancing around,” said Zanna.

“Yes. That’s what’s confusing,” Mortar said. “Brokkenbroll must have been actually calling it all the way from here. That would take an awful lot of energy.”

“He’s not just waiting for them to come through,” said Lectern. “He’s recruiting. But why?”

“Is there anything about it in, er…?” Mortar nodded at the book.

“Doesn’t ring any bells,” the book said. “Page two-twelve? Three-oh-three? No…”

“What’s he doing?” Mortar said. “Having unbrellas keep watch on the Shwazzy after she’s attacked. What’s his plan?”

“I’m sorry, but why can’t you just get us home?” Deeba begged. “Our families…”

“My mum and dad…” Zanna said. “They’ll be desperate.”

“They won’t,” Mortar said.

“What?” said Zanna.

“Of course they will!” said Deeba. “So’ll mine! They love us.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Mortar said. “That’s not what I mean. Something happens, you see. There’s a zone somewhere between London and UnLondon we call the Fretless Field.”

“What does it do?” said Zanna.

“Is time standing still in London?” Deeba said.

“Well, no. But I promise you your parents aren’t panicking. There’s something called the phlegm effect…”

“That’s disgusting.” Deeba said.

“Not that sort of phlegm,” said Lectern. “But you don’t have to worry about them panicking. And we can help you make contact before there’s any problems.”

“What?” said Zanna.

“We still need to go back,” said Deeba.

“Soon as we can,” said Zanna.

“We’ll try,” Mortar said. “But we have to find out what’s going on. If Brokkenbroll’s putting that kind of effort in, sending commands to unbrellas that far away, it sounds like he knows something we don’t.”

“UnLondon needs you, Shwazzy,” Lectern said.

“I’m sorry, but this ain’t our problem!” said Deeba. “We have to go.”

“Go back and what?” Mortar said. “Wait for another attack?”

The girls stared at him. “Please,” Mortar said. “UnLondon needs your help, it’s true. But in any case, it isn’t safe for you to leave. You’re followed. All the way in London. If you left now, there’d be nothing to protect you.”

“Think about it,” said Lectern gently. “You think the Smog won’t try again? How safe do you think you are? You’re here for a reason, Shwazzy. For your own sake as well as ours. So we need to know what Brokkenbroll knows. And so do you.”

Zanna and Deeba stared at each in horror.

“We’ll see if we can’t track Mr. Brokkenbroll down,” said Lectern. “Don’t you worry.”

“So he can explain why his umbrella was watching my house?”

“That’s the idea.”