“The UnLondon-I,” Jones said. “It’s what gave them the idea for that big wheel in London. I saw some photos. Ideas seep both ways, you know. Like clothes— Londoners copy so many UnLondon fashions, and for some reason they always seem to make them uniforms. And the I? Well, if an abnaut didn’t actually come here and see it, then some dream of it floated from here into their heads. But what’s the point making it a damn fool thing for spinning people round and round? The UnLondon-I has a purpose.”
He pointed. What had looked at first like compartments were scoops, pushed around by the river. The UnLondon-I was a waterwheel.
“The dynamos attached to that keep a lot of things going,” Jones said. Above the wheel was the ring of sunshine. The two circles echoed each other.
“Some people say,” Jones said, “that the bit missing from the middle of the UnSun was what became the sun of London. That what lights your days got plucked out of what lights ours.”
Zanna held out her thumb. The hole in the UnSun’s center was about the same size as the sun from their usual life.
“Every morning it rises in a different place,” Jones said.
The UnSun glowed. Strange shapes flew around it, the air-dwellers of UnLondon. There were chimneys all over the abcity, but very few were venting smoke. A dark shape approached over the miles of sky.
“Conductor Jones,” Zanna said, and pointed at the incoming smudge. “What’s that?”
He pulled a telescope from his pocket and stared into it for a long time.
“It’s a grossbottle,” he muttered. “But why’s it so high? It should be down feeding on dead buildings…” Suddenly he yanked the telescope to its full extent. “Uh-oh,” he said. “Trouble.”
The shape was close enough to see clearly now. It raced towards them. It was at least the size of the bus. All the passengers were crowding the windows, alerted by the drone of its approach.
The grossbottle was a fly.
“It would never normally come for us,” Jones said. “But look— see the howdah?”
On the creature’s huge thorax was a platform full of figures. “It’s being driven,” he said. “Airwaymen. Thieves. But I don’t understand. They go for solo balloons, maybe deep-sky trawlers. They know buses are defended. Why risk it?
“Time to go to work.” He unhooked his bow from the cabinet. “Rosa,” he shouted. “Aerobatics!”
The grossbottle fly careered towards them. The airwaymen whipped it, prodded it with barbs, and readied weapons. Obaday and Skool were staring at it, aghast.
Deeba saw motion above her again. She nudged Zanna. There were two little moving presences, but they weren’t crabs. They were hands, poking through the ceiling, fingers scuttling, emerging from the metal— then they were gone.
Someone stood. Deeba looked down into the face of the bearded man. Alone among the passengers, he did not look afraid as the grossbottle came closer. He met Deeba’s eyes. Through a gap in the toga, she saw familiar paint stains.
Before she could speak he had leapt up and grabbed…Zanna.
“Help!” Zanna shouted. “Deebs! Obaday! Skool! Jones!”
Deeba was helplessly pointing at the man, and up at the ceiling.
“He heard us in the market!” Deeba said. “He must’ve run to Manifest Station. He was waiting for us. He sent a message to them.” She pointed in the direction of the oncoming fly. “And there’s someone upstairs, there is—”
“Shut it!” The man gripped Zanna by the neck. She struggled, but he was too strong. He held her in front of him like a shield.
Curdle launched itself at him, but he kicked the little carton away. The passengers huddled terrified. The man tightened his grip on Zanna.
“Nobody move!” he said.
14. Attack of the Manky Insect
The man swung Zanna from side to side. The passengers were frozen in their seats.
“Stay back,” he said. “My colleagues’ll be here in a moment. I don’t want any trouble. We’ll take her with us and let the rest of you go. You know you can’t outfly a grossbottle, and you don’t want my associates joining us.”
“Airwaymen mercenaries?” Jones said, stepping forward. “No, I suspect we don’t.”
“You stay back!” the man said, and drew a sword with his free hand. Deeba screamed.
“Who you working for?” Jones said. “What do you want with her?”
“Shut up!” the man said, and yanked Zanna.
“Leave it!” Deeba said. “You’re making him angry!”
The man held Zanna by the throat. Jones faced him, his hands half-out, but he looked at the sword and held back. Obaday was huddling behind Zanna’s attacker, his head down, too terrified to move. The grossbottle was coming closer.
Suddenly, there was a grunt of effort, and something dropped from the ceiling. A body. A pale boy. The boy from the market. Stark naked. He fell out of nowhere, landed with a smack right in front of Zanna and the bearded man. The man yelped and staggered away— and backed his bum directly onto Obaday Fing’s pincushion head.
It was the blunt ends of the needles that jammed into his posterior, but they were still easily sharp enough. The big man leapt and shrieked, loosed his grip on Zanna, and swung his weapon.
Everyone moved. The boy gasped, reached for Zanna, missed, ducked, and dropped out of sight. Deeba shrieked. Jones grabbed Zanna. Obaday shouted, “It’s that boy again, that ghost. He’s in on it too!” He slipped and whacked the back of his head on a metal chairback, groaned, and lay still.
Jones swept Zanna behind him.
“Zann!” Deeba hugged her. They crouched behind the conductor. Zanna’s attacker was waving his sword.
The hands that Deeba had thought were crabs were on the floor between the man’s feet. And poking up from between them was the top of Hemi’s head, his two eyes staring at the girls, then abruptly sinking out of sight.
“What are you going to do?” the man shouted. “My friends are nearly here.” They could hear the grossbottle. “Give us the girl!”
“I’m a conductor,” said Jones, and stepped closer.
“I warn you!” the man shouted, and extended the sword into Jones’s path.
“I conduct passengers to safety,” said Jones. “I conduct myself with dignity. And there’s one other thing that all of us who take the oath learn to conduct.” He reached up and, so slowly his opponent didn’t respond, touched his forefinger to the point of the sword.
“Electricity,” Jones said.
As his skin touched the metal, there was a loud crack. An arc of sparks raced down the metal, into the big man’s hand.
He jerked, and flew back, landing on his back, dazed and shaking. His false beard was smoking.
Jones shook his finger: there was a single drop of blood where he had pricked it. He checked Obaday’s head. “He’ll be alright,” he said to Skool.
“It was that Hemi!” Zanna said. “We saw him in the market.”
“He was upstairs,” said Deeba. “He was looking through the ceiling…”
“He must’ve jumped on just as we set off,” said Jones. “Maybe he was the lookout for this charmer.” He pointed at the still-shuddering attacker. “That went a bit wrong, then, didn’t it?” He took handfuls of cord and ribbon from Obaday’s paper pockets. “Tie him up!” Jones shouted, and several passengers obeyed.
“I dunno,” said Deeba doubtfully. “Didn’t look like that to me…”
Jones looked around. “Well, he’s gone now, straight through the floor. Keep an eye out, alright?” Deeba and Zanna were looking about avidly, but Hemi was gone. “We’ll deal with that later. Have to focus now. That grossbottle’s coming. As quick as you can, stay down and hold on. Rosa! Evasion!”