“There’s only one bullet left,” Lectern said. She was speaking very quickly. “I heard her talking about it. They know the Smog’s scared of it, but she’s only got one last shot. Her friends are downstairs. They beat the Hex with some utterlings. She doesn’t know exactly what she wants to do. She’s following the smell of the Smog…”
Her voice petered out. Deeba stared at her, speechless with outrage.
“Sorry Deeba,” said Lectern. She stood next to Brokkenbroll, and nodded her head in his direction. “But look at him. We haven’t got a hope. I don’t want to die.”
Deeba lurched forward to grab her; but Brokkenbroll made a tiny motion, and unbrella handles grabbed Deeba from behind, held her still.
“Excellent choice, Propheseer,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll find something for you to do in the new government. One shot left, you say? Do be quiet, Miss Resham.”
An unbrella clamped into her mouth. Brokkenbroll examined the UnGun curiously while Deeba struggled in the unbrellas’ grasp.
“I don’t have to listen to your unpleasant, troublemaking lies,” Brokkenbroll said. “I will have a little word with my partner, however. I’ll clarify exactly what has gone wrong, and what we can do about it. Nothing is unfixable.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, looking decidedly wild for a moment. “But first— I’m not going to let you get in my way again.
“It might surprise you to hear that I can be extremely insecure. Particularly when someone seems intent on undermining my plans. Out of pure malice.” He shook his head and looked wounded. “Well, since we had our last little altercation, I’ve kept something with me. To remind me that no matter how much trouble you’ve managed to make yourself, I still win.”
He beckoned. From behind Deeba’s back, one of the broken umbrellas came dancing forward. It was red, with a design of crawling lizards. Its canopy was torn, and flapped along the rip.
“Ass ngine,” Deeba said through her gag.
“It is indeed yours,” Brokkenbroll said. “Or, it was. One split, and it was mine. Do you want to see how very mine?”
He made a little motion. He turned and walked towards the door.
What had once been Deeba’s umbrella leapt up, put its handle around her neck, and began to squeeze.
Deeba couldn’t breathe.
90. Stitch
“Sir?” she heard Lectern say anxiously. “Do you have to? Couldn’t you…send her home or something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Now, I have to have words with my colleague.”
But as Deeba ached and fought to get air into her lungs, the Smog wisps around her thickened. It regarded her, with globs of smoke like eyes on stalks. She heard a scraping voice.
“Brokkenbroll,” it said. “Stop. The girl…is intriguing. I want to breathe her. And I want her breathing while I do.”
“Ah,” said Brokkenbroll, uncomfortably. “Good.” He was looking at the fumes about him. “Have you been listening, then?”
Deeba’s ears were starting to sing.
“The girl,” said the voice.
Brokkenbroll snapped his fingers, and the unbrella released her neck. Deeba wheezed and gasped. The unbrella leapt down and hooked her ankles together instead. Another unbrella did the same to her wrists.
“Fine, there, it’s done,” Brokkenbroll said. “Now, I need to talk to you about what’s going on.”
He glanced irritably at Deeba. She was immobilized, unbrellas shackling her ankles and wrists.
“Bring the weapon,” the voice said. “I want to see what’s so special about it. I don’t like having something so…threatening floating around. I’ll breathe it later. Then I’ll learn it. All the prophecies are…unclear.”
“What do you mean you’ll breathe it?” It was another voice coming from behind the door. A tremulous old man’s. Deeba recognized it. “Who are you talking to, Unstible?” It was Mortar.
“Hush,” the Unstible-Smog said. “Quiet. Brokkenbroll…come.”
Brokkenbroll entered the laboratory, and with a last miserable look at Deeba, Lectern followed him. The Smog in the air around Deeba withdrew like a film of a fire run backwards, sucking back through the doorway, leaving the air cold, thin, and clean.
“Unstible,” Deeba heard Brokkenbroll say. “Things aren’t going according to the plan we made. What’s happening? That awful girl was making all sorts of accusations—”
“Lectern…?” Mortar said. “You’ve come to join us? And is that you, book? So…are we winning? Against the Smog?”
“Oh Mortar,” Deeba heard Lectern say sadly. “Smell the air.”
Deeba struggled.
The unbrellas’ grip was unrelenting. She could shift her arms a little one way and the other, but she could not pull them, or her ankles, apart, or free.
There was a snuffling at her feet.
“Curdle,” she whispered. The little milk carton crept through the immobile unbrellas and rolled into her lap, wheezing air in and out happily. “Oh, Curdle.”
Deeba struggled again, but the unbrellas were too strong. Deeba sighed. She bit her lip.
“Put the UnGun down,” the grating voice said.
“There’s only one bullet left, apparently,” she heard Brokkenbroll say.
“Where did you get that?” Mortar said, in a heartbreakingly feeble voice. “Might we be able to use it?”
“Brokkenbroll, UnLondoners are getting uppity. Things are going wrong. Hence change of plan. Need some more help. We’re not ready yet. Take the elevator— find Murgatroyd. Or Rawley. Take the woman and go.”
“You think?” said the Unbrellissimo. “I doubt Murgatroyd or his boss’ll be willing to part with any more police, or come down themselves. They were doing us a favor in the first place.”
“Worth a try.” The Unstible-thing’s voice was loud and angry, and Brokkenbroll was silent. “Put the UnGun down, put the book down, and go.”
“Very well,” Brokkenbroll said. “Of course. It’s a good idea…I’ll…go and ask…”
“And leave an unbrella to help me.”
There was a pause.
“I will not,” said Brokkenbroll nervously. “I think you forget we’re partners. The unbrellas are my servants.”
Deeba heard the clank of metal, a gate slid into place. There was a receding mechanical grind.
“Oh well,” the voice muttered. “Never thought I’d get rid of him.”
“Oh my lord…” muttered Mortar. “What have I done?”
“Sleep.” There was a whoosh like wind, and Mortar’s voice petered out to nothing.
I need to get these things off me, Deeba thought, and wriggled her wrists again. Curdle grabbed the unbrella with its cardboard spout. Deeba heard the book.
“Brokkenbroll’ll realize you’re double-crossing him,” it said. “Probably does already.”
“Silly unbrella man,” Unstible-Smog said. “It’s too late for him now.”
“When he realizes and joins us, you know—”
“Book.” The voice was heavy. “I am very busy. Last experiments. Chemistry. Working on this a long time. Breathed a lot of books. Very helpful, those librarians. Provided me a lot of fuel. Now I need to focus. I would rather not deal with you or ’Broll or the stupid old Propheseer. But make me pay attention to you and I will. In fact,” it said with sudden greed, “not got any chemistry chapters in you…?”