Un Lun Dun

by China Miéville

  On a table in the corner, Deeba saw the UnGun and the book. Mortar sat back on a chair, snoring. His head was encased in a fug of smoke. The cage-door entrance to the elevator was closed, and the lift itself was not there.

  The rebrellas went charging and twirling, opening and closing, swinging like swords. They moved more swiftly and impressively even than the unbrellas did. Everyone prefers fighting by choice, Deeba thought.

  They bore down on the figure in the center of the room.

  The Unstible-thing.

  For an instant, it was frozen, examining a beaker full of the glowing gunk from the vat. Deeba stared at it in horror.

  Unstible was grossly swollen, its skin stretched and puffy, pale and blotched and sick-looking. Its lab coat was tight on its body. It stared at Deeba with bloodshot eyes.

  “Deeba!” shouted the book.

  As the rebrellas spun aggressively towards it, Unstible opened its mouth and laughed.

  It moved. Despite its new bulk, it was unnaturally fast. It cartwheeled out of the path of the oncoming rebrellas, seemed to bounce. It sprang on one hand, keeping hold of the glowing container in the other, twisting its wrist as its body turned so the glass didn’t empty.

  It laughed again, with a noise like a sack of dead animals being dragged across coal and broken glass. Unstible flung the beaker at the closest rebrella.

  The glass shattered on the toughened canopy, and Deeba opened her mouth to shout in triumph at how easily it repelled his missile. Then her throat constricted.

  The glowing liquid burst over the black rebrella, and where it touched the treated fabric, it combusted.

  The rebrella went up in oily flames, with a ferocious outpouring of smoke. It burnt in instants, with a squeal of red-hot metal.

  Unstible inhaled mightily, and sucked the fumes that gushed from the burning rebrella into its nostrils. They left behind a heat-coiled, twisted umbrella skeleton, and ash.

  Deeba was aghast. For seconds, the rebrellas were motionless. Unstible moved again, like a ballet dancer, grabbing another glass full of the stuff.

  “Move!” shouted Deeba, and the rebrellas spun off in different directions. But Unstible hurled the flask it held straight and hard, and it exploded across the stitched-up framework of the blue rebrella.

  The liquid spilt across it, and spread fire. “No!” screamed Deeba, as it fell. In seconds it was gone, leaving its ruined metal bones behind. Unstible snorted the smoke in, and its skin stretched even tighter.

  “Boring,” it grunted. “Not very interesting minds. But a useful test. I thought I’d solved it. Thought it would work.” It shook a test tube of the glowing stuff. “Then ’Broll found a sliver of spine…wouldn’t leave me a test subject.” It looked at Deeba and grinned. Its teeth were the color of mud. “Thank you for bringing me guinea pigs.”

  The other rebrella launched bravely at him. It hit his shins with two enormous thwacks, which sounded loud enough to crack wood. Unstible fell.

  Deeba’s heart lurched with hope, but the sick-looking figure bounced straight up again, like an inflatable. It was laughing.

  With monkey swiftness, it grabbed the rebrella, and plunged it into a bucket of the liquid below the vat’s spigot. Flames and fumes gushed up, and Unstible leaned over and breathed them in.

  It turned and grinned. Its face was soot black, its hair singed off. In its smoking hand it held the remnants of the rebrella, a sorry tangle of ruined metal. With a clank, a piece fell off. Deeba recognized the rod with which she had made the yellow unbrella a rebrella, only minutes previously.

  “You think,” Unstible said, “I let things wander around that I can’t stop? That I can’t breathe?”

  Deeba kept her eyes on the horrible figure, but out of the corner of her eye she watched Curdle and the rebrella she couldn’t stop thinking of as hers, the red-and-lizard one, creeping quietly towards the UnGun and the book.

  The motion seemed to catch Unstible’s attention. Deeba held her breath. But the rebrella froze, and Curdle leapt away from it and rolled, wheezing aggressively, towards Unstible, drawing its attention.

  “Curdle, stay back!” said Deeba. As Unstible reached for the carton, she picked up a chair and threw it with all her strength.

  Unstible caught it, by one leg, with one hand. It threw it in the fire, and sniffed as it began to burn. Curdle bounded away and hid behind Deeba’s feet.

  “’Broll’s right. You are annoying. Distracting my attention. I had intended to breathe you later, for pudding, but congratulations—you’re an hors d’oeuvre, instead.”

  Unstible stalked towards her, its newly pudgy hands out. Deeba backed towards the wall.

  Her rebrella scuttled the last few meters to the table, leapt up, and hooked the UnGun.

  “What…?” said Unstible, turning, and snarling when it saw what was happening. It leapt with that unnatural grace, like a fat tiger, nails crooked into claws. The rebrella levered itself desperately like a catapult, and sent the UnGun soaring over Unstible’s head.

  The UnGun spun. It rose. Unstible seemed to change direction in the middle of its leap. It snatched at the pistol, its fingers millimeters from it, but the weapon arced just, just over its hand, and began to descend, and Deeba came forward, reached up as the UnGun came down.

  And then it was in her hands, and Deeba aimed.

  92

  Auto-da-Fé Dreams

  Even as Deeba raised the UnGun, Unstible was moving. The enormous figure jumped straight at a wall, and bounced behind the vat like a rubber ball. Deeba tried to keep her weapon trained on it, but it was so quick, and the room so cluttered, she couldn’t. She kept her back to the wall.

  Unstible’s hand emerged from behind an upturned table, and reached for the controls at the bottom of the vat. It was too far. It poked its fat head around the edge of the table, and Deeba’s finger tightened.

  One bullet left, she thought. Only one. Be sure.

  Unstible saw her aiming, and leapt back behind its barricade. Deeba kept her weapon up.

  Come on, she thought. Try for it. But Unstible stayed put.

  “Careful Deeba!” the book called.

  “What’s going on?” she said. “What’s that liquid?” She wished she could talk to it without Unstible hearing, but there was no way.

  “That’s what it’s been working on all this time,” the book shouted. “All the books Unstible’s had people fetching from the Wordhoard Pit. All research. It’s been looking for something to make a magico-chemical reaction.”

  “But why? The unbrellas have to work to make people believe this whole story him and Brokkenbroll are spreading, the whole baddy-goody thing. If they don’t work, no one’ll obey the Unbrellissimo.”

  “I think there’s been a change of plans,” the book said.

  “Why don’t you just ask me?” Unstible growled, and laughed.

  “Don’t talk to it,” the book said. “Just be ready to shoot!”

  “Unbrellas do work,” Unstible said. Deeba could hear it moving. “Protect against bullets. Against missiles. Against coal-rain. Without unbrellas, all the UnLondoners stay hidden, whenever I come. Hide in holes. Hide in cellars. They stay out of sight. No good.”

  “What?” whispered Deeba.

  “I want to breathe. To suck in smoke and know. The lovely burn of books, and houses, and pictures, and people. Silly UnLondoners. Silly Deeba. It’s not like ending. Everything burns, and floats in smoke, into me. I keep it safe. Make it me. I am everything.

  “Everything is so fragile. So I set my fires, to breathe it in, and save it forever in my clouds. But the UnLondoners hide. Too scared. Then put out my fires.”

  Deeba stared at the convoluted rebrella remains.

  “It wants people to think they’ll be okay,” she said. “So they’ll come out.”

  “When ’Broll heard what Unstible was looking for, over your side,” it said, “he came to me, with his plan…But he wanted to rule, by lies. And feed me a little at a time, without
UnLondoners knowing what they did for me.

  “He wanted me to be a secret pet.

  “But I want to grow, and grow, and know. I wasn’t strong enough for a long time. But I’ve been feeding. I want to know and know and grow. Lovely books. Burn and learn, burn and learn. Lovely people, lovely minds.” The horrible crooning hunger in the voice made Deeba sick. “But you all kept hiding. And Brokkenbroll gave me an idea. So I show them, boo hoo, how much they beat me with their magic unbrellas…”

  “Oh my God,” said Deeba. “They’ll all come out…It’s going to attack…to rain…and they’ll all come out, because they think unbrellas protect them…” And it’ll rain its new chemical…and everyone will burn.

  “That’s what it’s been researching,” the book said. “A compound that reacts to Unstible’s formula. It’s not working with the Unbrellissimo at all, it’s double-crossing him, using him. Brokkenbroll thinks the unbrellas are shields he controls…but they’re matches, ready to light.”

  “They come out to show they’re not afraid,” said Unstible, its voice singsong and horrifying. “And rain comes down and they’ll go up, in light and smoke, and I will gather everyone. And fire will spread, and all UnLondoners and all their houses and their lovely books and all their lovely minds will float in smoke and come and be in me. And I’ll know everything. And be everyone. No one will end. I will be all of you.

  “Is that so bad?”

  Deeba saw visions of the abcity, and all its inhabitants, in flames. The Smog would be colossal, a supergenius, of millions of minds and millions of books, all mixed in its poison, ruling over a kingdom of ash. She went absolutely cold.

  “I’ll be so strong, then,” it whispered. “Strong enough to travel long ways, all of me, and burn, and learn, in a thousand places, in abcities…and cities.”

  It was insatiable, Deeba realized. If it succeeded, tonight, it would become a poisonous, fire-starting smoke god, burning and learning everything it could reach.

  “I’ll learn everything I can get to. Understand?” It began to laugh.

  Deeba couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t just about her or Zanna or her family or even the whole of UnLondon. The Smog knew the way to London, too.

  One bullet, she thought, and thought of what she’d fired already, and wondered what the UnGun would do with what was left. Do…not…miss…

  There was the churn of a motor, and the approach of clanking.

  “Well, that was a total bust,” she heard someone shout.

  Brokkenbroll’s voice came from the elevator shaft.

  “Like I thought, the minister won’t give us any more people. She was a bit concerned when I told them what’s going on, too.” The lift descended into view. Brokkenbroll opened the gate and stepped out, with Lectern behind him, and unbrellas on all sides.

  “In fact,” he said, “she asked me to keep an eye out for Murgatroyd. Can’t find him. She said I should—”

  He stopped. He stared at the chaos of the laboratory, at Unstible, hiding from Deeba, at Deeba herself. For a moment, no one moved.

  “Turn up the gas!” screamed Unstible.

  “Brokkenbroll!” shouted Deeba. “No! It’s a trick!”

  But as Lectern dropped cowering to the floor, Brokkenbroll grabbed the gas valve and twisted it. The flames below the vat roared, and the glowing liquid bubbled more vigorously.

  Deeba swung her UnGun towards Brokkenbroll, then faltered as Unstible leapt into view and ran towards her with bouncing strides.

  One bullet, one bullet, Deeba thought.

  She ducked sideways, aiming down the barrel of the UnGun, until both Unstible and Brokkenbroll were in her line of sight. The vat of glowing chemical was beginning to steam and spit.

  Brokkenbroll’s unbrellas rose like ravens and came for her. Brokkenbroll raised his hand. Unstible was close, snarling, drooling smoke.

  Deeba braced and pulled the trigger.

  93

  Shed Skin

  An almighty explosion rang in Deeba’s ears. The UnGun recoiled.

  From every corner of the air came paper airplanes. Some were tiny; some were made from huge sheets. They were all different colors. Some were made from pages torn from books, some were written on in pen, some were blank.

  There were simple folded darts and intricate models with recurved wings. The air was filled with thousands. They dive-bombed Brokkenbroll and Unstible as if they were carried in a hurricane.

  They swept past the targets, brushing the two men with the edges of their wings, scoring lines. Brokkenbroll cried out.

  Her aim was good. But Brokkenbroll was clicking his fingers, and a phalanx of his unbrellas opened and made a shield. With a drumming like rain, the paper missiles bounced from the reinforced fabric.

  In the center of that shield, Deeba saw the red, lizard-covered rebrella.

  No! she thought in despair. With him so close, he’s controlling it again.

  There were no unbrellas protecting Unstible. The paper edges scraped it hundreds of times. Had it been a man, the stinging onslaught might have hurt it. But it was not. It stood in the middle of the blizzard of darts and laughed. Behind it, the vat bubbled violently, and thick steam poured off it. Unstible sucked, and the green swirls eddied into its mouth and nose. Unstible’s body grew fatter. Its skin stretched.

  “Come on!” Deeba shouted, and shook the UnGun. “Paper planes?” she shouted. “Paper cuts? Drop a ton of books on them or something!” But the onslaught of folded planes was ebbing.

  Unstible’s skin was marked with little wounds, which didn’t bleed, but oozed wisps of smoke. Brokkenbroll peered out from behind his unbrellas.

  He looked at Deeba, holding her useless empty weapon. She desperately tried to snap open its cylinder to reload, but it wouldn’t budge. The Unbrellissimo looked at Unstible, still sucking in the stream of green fumes.

  Brokkenbroll didn’t look triumphant: he looked bewildered, and afraid.

  “What are you…?” he said to the Unstible-thing, and his words dried.

  He snapped his fingers. The unbrellas folded their canopies and made towards Deeba.

  The rebrella did not. Deeba saw it fold up under Brokkenbroll’s nose, and understood. It had infiltrated his shield, to get close to him. When it did not obey him, Deeba saw a look of total horror cross Brokkenbroll’s face.

  He did not have time to do anything. The rebrella whacked him resoundingly in the head. He keeled over backwards.

  Instantly, in time with his fall, the unbrellas stopped moving towards Deeba, and eddied in confusion.

  The rebrella smacked Brokkenbroll several times more, until he was definitely unconscious.

  Deeba could not take her eyes from Unstible’s horrifying transformation. It inhaled like an industrial pump, and swelled into a revolting parody of a human. The smoke pouring from the vat sluiced into its body. The vat itself was beginning to shake, and creak.

  Unstible staggered towards Deeba, but it was too grossly inflated now to walk. Instinctively Deeba raised the UnGun, but it was empty, and she could only lower it again. Unstible smiled.

  “It’s,” it spat out through an inrush of reeking steam, “time.”

  It smiled wider, and wider. It opened its mouth and stretched back its lips, and still kept smiling. Its mouth began to gape, and the skin at the corners stretched, and Unstible’s jaw dropped and its head lolled back, and that mouth opened so wide suddenly its head hinged all the way open, turned inside out, and a huge, dense cloud poured out.

  The Smog inside Unstible was so thick it completely blocked out light. It was dark and tinged with the green of the steam. It gushed out of Unstible as if from an exhaust pipe.

  Unstible’s skin collapsed. There was not a fleck of blood. It fell in on itself, as the fumes, the only things that had filled it for a long time, left.

  The skin lay in a man-shaped rag on the floor. The Smog expanded luxuriously into the room. It seemed impossible that so much smoke had fit in Unstible, no matter how s
tretched. The Smog was everywhere, and Deeba couldn’t breathe, or see.

  She felt the grit of airborne soot and rubbish sting her, and she tried to keep her eyes and mouth shut. The chemical stench was inescapable. She spat. She fell to her knees.

  The room began to shake. For a second Deeba thought it was her imagination, but she could dimly hear the roaring of the huge cauldron as the magic compound boiled into gas, and joined the Smog’s substance.

  There was a bursting roar, and Deeba felt the Smog rush from her, and the air clear.

  Wind tugged at her hair. She opened her eyes, and was staring up into the crawling stars, and the loon, and a dark, soaring cloud.

  Deeba looked around in confusion. Dust was settling everywhere, coating the aimless unbrellas, the ruined furniture, and the room’s other coughing inhabitants. She saw Unstible’s skin where it had fallen.

  The vat was burst. The liquid had reached some critical heat and exploded.

  It had blown off the roof. Deeba looked up again and let out a cry of terror.

  Rising directly above the room, the Smog flew.

  It was growing as it rose, spreading out into its full dimensions. It indulged itself, played, gave itself momentary smoky wings, or claws, or teeth. In the loonlight, Deeba could see thick green spread through it as it mingled the chemical with the rest of its substance. All the fumes in the room were sucked up in its wake, merging with it.

  The factory’s great chimney was trembling. It began to collapse at the top, falling in on itself and roaring as it tumbled down, sending bricks and brick dust into the fireplace a few feet from her.

  Deeba put her head in her hands. But as she cowered, she heard ricochets.

  Her rebrella was open by the fireplace. It was darting from side to side and up and down faster than she could see, using its reinforced fabric to shield her—and coincidentally Lectern, Mortar, and even Brokkenbroll—from the falling bricks. She watched its beautiful life-saving performance in amazement.