Un Lun Dun

48. Spilling Certain Beans

The bus puttered to a halt beside a church made of ancient, broken personal stereos and speakers.

“Can you wait?” Murgatroyd said to Rosa and Conductor Jones. “I and…our contact, may need a lift to the bridge to speak to the Propheseers. And Miss Resham, of course.”

“I really think they should come,” Deeba started to say, but Murgatroyd ignored her. He beckoned Deeba and Hemi, who followed him into the dark streets by the side of the moil church.

Deeba looked back again doubtfully at Jones.

“Go on,” he said gently as she went. “We’ll see you in a bit.”

Murgatroyd led Deeba and Hemi past an ancient-looking pile of rubbish bags and trash into a concrete cul-de-sac. The UnSun drew sharp shadow-lines across the little lot, and put its farthest corners into darkness.

There was silence for several seconds. In that quiet, Deeba could just hear a faint tireless whispering.

What is that? she mouthed at Hemi.

“It’s the sound of the Smog,” he murmured. They were hearing it coil and unfold, a few streets away.

A voice emerged from the shadows.

“I’m here.”

Deeba and Hemi jumped. Deeba dropped her bag.

“Mr. Murgatroyd,” the unseen speaker said. “I got your message. You told me to come alone: I’m here. You told me not to tell a soul. You specifically told me not to tell my partner. I don’t like deceit, Mr. Murgatroyd, but I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt. Now, prove to me that I should have done.”

Mr. Brokkenbroll stalked into view.

“Deeba Resham.” He nodded to Deeba and Hemi. “Young man.”

“The Unbrellissimo,” Hemi muttered. “Wow.”

Curdle scampered behind Deeba’s feet and cowered as Brokkenbroll approached, his trench coat sweeping. Behind him came a billow of fabric and the skritch of thin metal as his entourage of broken umbrellas fidgeted in the shadow.

Brokkenbroll folded his arms. “I’m glad to see you again. Is everything alright? Is your friend, the Shwazzy…did it not work?”

“No, no, she’s fine,” Deeba said. “It worked brilliantly. Thanks so much. That’s not why I’m here.”

Brokkenbroll raised an eyebrow.

“I’m glad she’s well,” he said. “But I’m mystified. And as you can understand— a little busy. The fight we find ourselves in has been difficult. So forgive me if I keep this brief.”

“You see, Deeba?” Mr. Murgatroyd said. “You understand why we’re here. It’s the Unbrellissimo who’s being used by this…imposter…worse than any of us. We don’t yet know why. But he has the right to know what’s going on. And, more than any of us, he might be able to do something about it.”

“Mr. Brokkenbroll,” Deeba said. She took the sheet of Wraithtown paper from her bag, and held it out to him. “You should see this.”

He fiddled with it for some seconds, squinting past the fluttering specter-fonts. As he made out what it said, Deeba saw his face grow hard under the brim of his hat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what he’s doing, and I don’t know why. I don’t know who he is. But the man who says he’s Unstible, isn’t. He can’t be, see? Plus I don’t know what it is he’s giving your unbrellas. I was thinking…maybe it’s like poison, slow-acting, and they’re going to get sick or something? I mean I know it works at the moment, but you don’t know what it’ll do in a few weeks.”

Brokkenbroll said nothing. Deeba grew nervous.

“I mean, it might even be that whatever he wants to do isn’t even bad,” she gabbled. “But, it’s just…it probably isn’t great, because, I mean, why’d he lie? I don’t see why he’d tell everyone he’s Unstible when…he…isn’t…”

Her voice petered out. Still Brokkenbroll was silent. He read and reread the paper.

“So…” said Hemi. He and Deeba shared a glance.

“So,” Deeba said. “What should we do? Because, I mean I haven’t been here long, but it don’t look to me like it’s going that well. And if you can think of something to do…”

“Why did you come?” Brokkenbroll said at last. “Why would you make that journey?”

There was a long silence.

“I was worried,” Deeba said. Her voice grew quieter and quieter. “I found out something was weird, and I couldn’t…I just…I wanted to make sure UnLondon was okay.”

“You did the right thing,” Brokkenbroll said eventually. “I don’t like being made a fool of.”

“You can see why I called this meeting,” Murgatroyd said. “Why the minister insisted on getting to the bottom of this.”

“I need to know everything,” the Unbrellissimo said urgently, leaning suddenly down towards Deeba and making her jump. “I need to know what you know, how you worked it out, how you got hold of this.” He waved the printout, leaving a brief trail of spirit-paper.

“If we’re going to turn the tables I have to know exactly where we stand. We may not have much time.”

Deeba told him everything. How she had been curious, and researched the Armets, and found the RMetS, and talked to them. How her suspicions had grown with news of Unstible’s death. How she had tried to talk herself out of them, had not been able to, had eventually crossed over, and at last found proof in Wraithtown.

Brokkenbroll and Murgatroyd listened avidly.

“But how did you cross over?” Murgatroyd interrupted at one point. “There can’t be more than a handful of people in London who know how.”

“I read it somewhere,” Deeba said. “It was sort of a lucky guess.”

“But how?”

“I found a way in a library.” She didn’t explain further.

When Deeba finished, Brokkenbroll and Murgatroyd both stood silent for some time.

“That’s everything?” Murgatroyd said.

“Yeah.”

“It’s not too late,” Brokkenbroll said. “But whoever this man is, he’s going to realize soon that we’re onto him.”

“The liquid does seem to work,” Murgatroyd said.

“Oh, it works. It does what it’s supposed to. But as she says, perhaps it does something else as well. Obviously he has some other plan. We have to decide how to proceed. Deeba, Hemi…” Brokkenbroll knelt before them. “Who knows about this?”

They looked at each other.

“No one,” she said. “Only us here. Oh, and I said something to Obaday Fing. But…” Deeba made a hmph noise. “I don’t think he believed me.”

“Just them?” Brokkenbroll said. “No one else?”

Deeba shook her head. The Unbrellissimo smiled slowly.

“Good,” he said.

He loomed suddenly and threw back his arms and spread out like a bat-wing shadow. For a second it looked as if he himself were a broken umbrella, his arms and legs crooked metal, his overcoat taut as a canopy, and then he swooped down on Deeba and grabbed her so fast he took her breath away. He bundled her into his grip and she could not scream or speak or even breathe, and everything went dark.