Un Lun Dun

by China Miéville

  “Come on!” whispered Jones. “Before any of them sit down.”

  When the first loop of the UnSun appeared over the horizon like a sea serpent’s hump, Deeba had to admit even she needed to stop, and they found a building full of nothing but door lintels, and slept.

  When they emerged that evening, the loon was a perfect circle.

  “Look at it,” said Hemi.

  “Let’s not go,” said Obaday.

  “Are you mad?” said Deeba. “Come on!”

  “We’ve no choice, Fing,” said Jones. “We’ll just be careful. Shouldn’t really travel when the loon’s full,” he explained to Deeba.

  “Why not?”

  “Things come out.”

  They passed a moil building made entirely of vinyl records. There was a glass tank the size of a house, full of earth tunneled by rodents. At the top of a steep rise they looked over the abcity, which was speckled with glimmering colors. Deeba could see for miles, to the lights of the November Tree and the UnLondon-I, the high towers of Manifest Station.

  Here and there, miles apart, the night was broken with the lights of houses on fire.

  “The Smog,” said Jones.

  “You reckon the Smog’s setting all of them?” Deeba said. “Some are them aren’t even near smogmires.”

  “Could be the Concern,” said Jones. “Smog’s allies.”

  “It’s growing itself,” Deeba said. “Setting fires to suck up smoke. It’s trying to get stronger, ’cause it knows it’s time for war.”

  Even where the conflagrations were extinguished, the remains poured off black smoke for a long time.

  “They have to put them out,” Deeb said, “but then they feed the Smog.”

  Something flitted above them. They tensed, but the sky was clear. The sound came again.

  “What is that?” said the book. Jones drew his copper club.

  “I don’t see any Smog,” Hemi whispered. “But something’s after us.”

  They ran down a narrow avenue of house-things. It was an empty zone of UnLondon, and their footsteps rang hollowly in unlit streets. The strange noises kept coming.

  They bolted down a side street, hurrying Skool along between them, twisting as fast as they could into narrow, convoluted roads. Flitting, hunting presences gusted overhead. They beeped and whirred faintly behind them, but suddenly seemed to circle confusingly, and sound ahead.

  Deeba turned a corner, and stopped in astonishment. Above her in the night sky, a flock of winking green lights approached. They eddied and swirled like fish.

  “Back! Back!” she said to her companions, but more of the lights turned the corner behind them.

  As they neared her, Deeba could see what they were. CCTV cameras, racing through the air like little planes. They surrounded the travelers, every dark lens turned towards them. Deeba heard the faint mechanical wheeze of them adjusting.

  The travelers turned down a tiny alley. The cameras stared mercilessly at the little group of explorers. Especially at Deeba.

  Deeba and her friends ran hard, but it was too late. The cameras had locked onto them, and couldn’t be shaken off.

  “Who are they?” Deeba shouted as they ran.

  “Might be Propheseers,” said Jones. He swore. They had reached an empty space between warehouses, with only one way in or out, and too open to hide in. He stared up at the sky for airships or gyrocopters.

  “I don’t reckon so,” said Hemi.

  There was a rumbling. The ground shook. Everyone cried out, and stumbled.

  In the corner of the empty yard, the concrete vibrated and cracked, then exploded up, sending huge chunks and shards flying. Something massive and pointed burst from beneath it, whining.

  It was a spinning corkscrew drill, the size of a steeple. Behind it was a big cylindrical craft, sliding out of the tunnel it had carved.

  It flashed with blue lights. It rose out of the earth with a familiar nee-naw-nee-naw sound, and emblazoned on its side Deeba saw the symbol of the Metropolitan Police.

  The burrowing thing cut off the way out. A hatch banged open. Two men stuck their heads out, wearing the distinctive domed helmets of the London police.

  “Deeba Resham,” one shouted. “You’re under arrest.”

  79

  Constructive Munitions

  Another, familiar face appeared beside those of the two men in uniform.

  “That’s her!” screamed Murgatroyd. “That’s the little witch! Get her, Officers! Grab her! Tie me up, will you?” he shrieked at her.

  “Mr. Murgatroyd,” the taller policeman said sternly. “Do you mind, sir? You’re not helping.”

  “We should have killed him, see?” Hemi spat.

  Portals swung open the length of the vessel. Deeba and her friends moved closer together as police emerged in riot gear.

  “Miss Resham,” the officer in the hatch called. “I’m Chief Inspector Sound; this is Inspector Churl. We’re with the Special Constabulary for UnLondon Monitoring. We’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “What for?” said Deeba.

  “You’re nicked is what for,” growled Churl. “For terrorism.”

  “What?” said Deeba. The CCTV cameras swarmed back to the police vehicle.

  “Alright, alright,” Sound said. “I’ll deal with this, Inspector.”

  “You’re coming with us, girl,” Churl sneered.

  “Hear that?” screamed Murgatroyd. “You’re never getting out of jail! It’s special rendition for you!”

  “Will you two stop it?” muttered Sound. “Listen, Miss Resham, I’m sorry about all this. Let’s just get it sorted out—”

  “I’m not a terrorist!” shouted Deeba. “Listen—they’re helping the Smog. He is. They’re going to let it take the whole of UnLondon, and he’s in on it, and his boss, Rawley the Environment minister, and you’re going to help them!”

  “You seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a monkey’s,” Churl said. The three men climbed out of the vehicle. “Were you terrified, Murgatroyd?” Murgatroyd nodded eagerly. “There you go, girl: you’re a terrorist. You make me twitchy, and under Article Forty-one of the 2000 Terrorism Bill, that’s all I need. Time for some reasonable force, I think.” He cracked his knuckles.

  “And her friends!” Murgatroyd shouted.

  “Inspector, Mr. Murgatroyd, enough,” Sound said. “We’ve no jurisdiction over locals, and so long as they stay out of our way I’m not bothered.”

  “Except,” shouted Churl, “unless I’m very mistaken, that is Joseph Jones, originally of Tooting, now of no-fixed-abode. You’re a Londoner, sonny-jim, and that means you’re mine. Bring ’em!”

  The rows of police began to march towards the travelers, truncheons raised.

  “How do they know you?” Deeba hissed. “The phlegm effect…?”

  “There are ways round it,” said Jones, backing away. “This lot never forgave the conductors; they weren’t going to let themselves forget us, either.”

  “Miss Resham,” Sound urged as the police bore down, faces invisible behind their masks, “listen to me. I know you’ve got certain concerns—there are certain parties you think you may have irritated—and I want to assure you we can protect you.” He stared at her. “D’you understand? Let me help you.”

  Deeba’s eyes widened. Protection…? she thought with a sudden stab of emotion.

  “There are too many,” Jones said grimly. “We can’t get out.”

  “What about your family?” Sound said to Deeba over the slow approach of the police. “Don’t you want to get back to them, eh?” He watched shock and hope come and go on her face. “You know,” he said gently, “I’ve got a daughter about your age. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if she were down here.” He held out his hand.

  Deeba stared. His words reminded her painfully that her family were not worrying about her, and that was suddenly unbearable. She looked at Sound, beckoning her.

  “Oh, them,” said Churl. “Those three other enemie
s of the state resident at your address. Cause any trouble, I’m going to enjoy ensuring their arrest and detention.”

  “Leave them alone,” Deeba screamed at him. “You can’t—”

  “Inspector, hush up,” hissed Sound. “Miss Resham, come quietly now, let me sort all this out, and you have my word—I’ll make sure we lose that paperwork about your mum and dad. And don’t you look at me like that!” he added curtly to Churl, staring at him until his assistant looked down sulkily. “None of us wants this, Miss Resham. You never wanted all this! I know there’s just been a big misunderstanding, and I can sort it. Let me take care of it. And meanwhile you’ll be safe, in our custody, and you can see your mum and dad. We’ll make sure you’re all protected…and your friend, too. Understand?”

  “Protection…” Deeba said at last. Sound clicked his fingers, and the police paused in their approach.

  “Guaranteed,” he said.

  “Deeba…” she heard Hemi say, but she ignored him.

  I could go home, she thought. I could see Mum and Dad, and they’ll remember me.

  “Please,” Sound said to her. “I can’t stand seeing a nice young lady like you in this mess. The longer this goes on now, the harder it’s going to be to keep your parents out of this…” He glanced at Churl, rolled his eyes, and shook his head in a minute apology to Deeba. “Come on now.”

  “This is taking too long,” Murgatroyd said. “Just get them—”

  “Quiet,” Sound interrupted him. “This is a police operation, and I am in charge.” He held out his hand again. “Miss Resham, let me take you home.”

  Home, Deeba thought, with a feeling so sweet and painful she almost made a sound.

  What if…, she realized she was thinking,…what if I do?

  What if I go with him?

  If I don’t go back, they’ll take Mum and Dad away, she thought desperately, glancing at Churl’s unpleasant features. And Hass! I can’t let them do that…And even if I could get away from them now, I might not ever get out…and Mum and Dad’ll be in prison and they won’t even know why, and they’ll forget me.

  The thought was too appalling. She stared at Sound, and tried not to look at her companions.

  How can I beat the Smog? she thought. Even with Jones and Hemi and everyone? It’s way too strong. But with the whole government and the police protecting me…I could be safe.

  “Deeba, don’t,” said Hemi in a horrified voice.

  She couldn’t look at him. There was a silence. The police waited.

  “I’m sorry, Hemi…” she said at last, her voice tiny. “It’s my family…It’s a way back…And look at us. Look at me. I’m not the Shwazzy. We’ve got no chance against the Smog…But they can protect me. And Zanna.”

  “Don’t you see what they’re doing?” said Jones.

  “Remember what the Smog said,” said Hemi urgently. “It’s still coming!”

  “But they can keep me safe,” she whispered.

  “Come on, Miss Resham,” said Sound gently. “Let’s get you home.”

  It’s my only chance, Deeba thought. Hemi, Jones, don’t hate me, it’s my only chance…

  She took a tiny step towards the waiting police, and caught sight of Jones’s face. She winced at his expression. I can’t just walk away and let them take him, she thought. But…but if I don’t go home now I’ll never make it.

  Deeba looked away from the smug cruelty on Churl’s face and up at Sound. He kept his hand out for her, his face creased in concern. Come on, he mouthed gently, and Deeba came.

  And then, for one fraction of a second, she saw Sound flick his eyes sideways, and glance at Murgatroyd, as Murgatroyd glanced at him. Just for a tiny instant, but the expression was unmistakable.

  Sound and Murgatroyd had shared a moment of triumph.

  Deeba stopped dead.

  “What is it, Miss Resham?” Sound said, in the same gentle voice, but Deeba ignored him and looked at her friends in horror.

  Sound’s fleeting look had brought home to Deeba something she already knew.

  They’re allies, for God’s sake, she thought. It was Rawley giving Sound his orders, and Rawley was in cahoots with the Smog. The Smog that had tried to burn Deeba alive.

  They’re on its side, Deeba thought. All of them! It’s a trick! Sound’s the one making promises? The one I was going to let take my friends? Take me? Stupid! They’re all working together.

  Why would they protect me?

  She raised the UnGun in both hands, looked Sound in the eye, and fired.

  A roaring BANG echoed. Deeba had tried to plant her feet more firmly this time, but she still couldn’t stop herself being flung onto her back.

  Fire stabbed from the UnGun.

  From the ground around the police rose bricks. They soared upwards, layer after layer, incredibly fast, brick, mortar, brick and mortar in rows, walls lurching out of nowhere.

  They zoomed up in front of the stunned officers, a low wall, then a tall wall, then a high building, tiles bursting into place with a noise like popcorn. Deeba glimpsed Sound’s appalled look as he was enclosed.

  In less than a second, the yard was filled with a tall, solid house containing the police officers and Murgatroyd. Their vehicle was a little way off, empty.

  There were the outlines of windows in the building’s walls, but there was no glass in them. They looked as if they had been bricked up decades previously. A door was concreted over.

  Deeba and her companions stared. The bricks and slates were cracked and old. A fire escape curled from the roof, its black iron banisters ornate and old-fashioned.

  Everyone looked at Deeba. Even Curdle turned its spout towards her. Deeba carefully turned the UnGun’s safety catch back on.

  “I think,” she said slowly, “I must’ve got a bit of brick into the UnGun, after all.”

  She looked at her companions. “Sorry about that,” she said quietly. She wasn’t talking about ammunition.

  “It’s alright,” Jones said, and smiled.

  “They’d have got any of us like that,” Hemi said.

  “We’ll get you back safe. Really safe. And,” Jones said, “we’ll get you back in time.”

  Deeba listened at the new house, but could hear no noise. She kept her face from her friends, so they wouldn’t see how she was feeling, at having thrown away the opportunity to get back. Even knowing it had been a trap, she was still absolutely bereft.

  “Maybe all the rooms have blocked doors,” she managed to say. “But they’ll get out eventually. And you heard what they said about getting my mum and dad…”

  “Hold on a sec,” said Jones. He trotted to the side of the burrowing vehicle.

  “They wouldn’t have helped you,” Hemi whispered. He put his hand on her shoulder. “They would have given you to the Smog, when they were done questioning you. And your family, too.”

  “I know,” Deeba managed to say. “I do know. It’s just…first chance I’d seen to get back…hard to say no…”

  “It’s Rosa really knows her way around machines,” Jones said, fussing at the panels below the contraption’s huge spiral nose. He got one open, and made an aha noise at the mess of wires and tubes that sprang out. “But in my experience,” he continued, “this sort of thing generally doesn’t go down well with engines at all.”

  Jones gripped a fistful of wires, gritted his teeth, and sent a huge surge of current into the metal innards. There was a series of flashes and a resounding bang, and smoke began to gush from the hatch, and the machinery’s seams. For good measure, Jones tugged out a handful of the charred, half-melting wires. He blinked and staggered a little.

  “Now,” he said. “I’m not saying that’s unfixable, but it’ll take ’em awhile, I’d think, even after they get out of their new abode. A little breathing space for your loved ones, Deeba. So let’s use it, to get you back to them, sharpish.”

  They took the fire escape over the roofs.

  As she went, Deeba glanced at the burrowing machine
and wondered how often the secret squad came through to UnLondon. The vehicle had to dig not only through the crust of the earth, but through the Odd, through the membrane between the city and the abcity. If I just climbed back behind it, Deeba wondered, into its tunnel…could I walk all the way home?

  But even if it would work—which she doubted—Hemi was right. It was still a trap. The Smog would still come after her, and there was no one to keep her, her friend Zanna, or her family safe but her. She had a job to do. And UnLondon needed her.

  Deeba and her comrades descended nearby in a tangle of loud, late-night/ early-morning streets full of shoppers and partygoers. Deeba realized she had missed crowds.

  Even in such a boisterous area, filled with the tunes from several different music machines, and UnLondoners dancing in even more astounding costumes and colors than normal, Deeba could feel an edge of anxiety that had not been there when she first visited the abcity. Many people carried unbrellas. People watched each other suspiciously.

  “UnSun’ll be up soon,” Jones said. “We should find some cover.”

  “Look,” said Hemi. “Can you feel it? People know something’s up. See people all tense? Rumors are out. Word’s probably spreading about what you did up by Webminster Abbey, Deeba—people probably don’t know who to trust anymore. But they know something’s up. They know there’s a battle coming. Maybe some of them even reckon they’re going to have to pick sides.”

  80

  Rendezvous

  While the UnSun was up, they sheltered in emptish houses. When they emerged, they stuck to backstreets and moved as fast as they could, at Deeba’s urgent insistence. Signs of trouble were everywhere. The abcity was growing more tense.

  There were few people in the streets, even allowing for the fact that they went by night. Once, scouting ahead, Jones flapped his hand frantically and the travelers hid in the deeps of an alley till a group of binja trooped past the entrance, their weapons out, following a Propheseer Deeba vaguely remembered from the Pons.