have.”
22
History Lessons
“Not you personally,” Mortar explained. “But you, Londoners. Even if you didn’t know it.”
“Let me tell the history,” the book said grandly. “Page fifty-seven.” Lectern flicked through to the relevant place. The book cleared its nonexistent throat.
“Abcities have existed at least as long as the cities,” it said. “Each dreams the other.
“There are ways to get between the two, and a few people do, though very few know the truth. This is where the most energetic of London’s discards come, and in exchange London takes a few of our ideas—clothes, the waterwheel, the undernet.
“Mostly such swaps are beneficial, or harmless. Mostly.”
Mortar and Lectern were staring intently at Zanna.
“Back in your old queen’s time,” the book said, “London filled up with factories, and all of them had chimneys. In houses they burnt coal. And the factories were burning everything, and letting off smoke from chemicals and poisons. And the crematoria, and the railways, and the power stations, all added their own effluvia.”
“Their own what?” said Zanna.
“Muck,” said Lectern.
“Add all that to the valley fog, and what you get’s a smoke stew,” the book went on. “So thick they called it pea soup. Yellow-brown and sitting on the city like a stinking dog. It used to get into people’s lungs. It could
kill
them. That’s what smog is.”
“Well,” said Mortar. “That’s what it
was.
But something happened.”
“As I was about to
explain,
” said the book testily. “As I was
saying.
At first, it was just a dirty cloud. Nasty but brainless as a stump. But then something happened.
“There were so many chemicals swilling around in it that they reacted together. The gases and liquid vapor and brick dust and bone dust and acids and alkalis, fired through by lightning, heated up and cooled down, tickled by electric wires and stirred up by the wind—they reacted together and made an enormous, diffuse cloud-brain.
“The smog started to think. And that’s when it became the Smog.”
Lectern shivered and shook her head at the thought. “It’s no surprise it wasn’t…nice,” she said. “Its thoughts are clotted from poisons, and things we’ve burnt to get rid of.”
“It was never going to be our friend,” Mortar said.
“As smoke kept going up,” the book said, “the Smog got bigger and stronger and smarter. But no kinder. It wanted to grow.
“It had always strangulated some people who breathed it in. At first it didn’t set out to, but then it realized that some of the dead would be cremated, and that their ashes would blow up and fatten it…So it became a predator.”
“It knew it would be safer if Londoners thought it was just dirty fog, so it kept its new brain to itself.”
“Mostly…” Mortar sighed and hesitated, appalled by what he had to say. “It had some allies. Believe me, there’s nothing so terrible that someone won’t support it. It has allies here, too.”
“Yeah, we know that,” said Deeba.
“One of them set airjackers on us,” Zanna said.
Mortar and Lectern shook their heads in disgust.
“For ages, the fight went on,” Mortar said. “But slowly, the Smog was losing. Even without knowing you were fighting, you were winning. Then it counterattacked. For five days, half a century ago, it assaulted London. It killed
four thousand people.
Its worst single attack. And still, most of you didn’t even know you were at war!
“After that…” He breathed out and threw up his hands. “Well…it gets a bit vague.”
“He’s right,” said the book. “There are hints, in me, but I’m about UnLondon, not London. There’s nothing clear.”
“We know a little bit, from stories,” said Lectern.
“From travelers,” said Mortar. “Secret histories. The Smog was beaten. There was a secret group of guardians. Weatherwitches. The Armets. It’s an
22
History Lessons
“Not you personally,” Mortar explained. “But you, Londoners. Even if you didn’t know it.”
“Let me tell the history,” the book said grandly. “Page fifty-seven.” Lectern flicked through to the relevant place. The book cleared its nonexistent throat.
“Abcities have existed at least as long as the cities,” it said. “Each dreams the other.
“There are ways to get between the two, and a few people do, though very few know the truth. This is where the most energetic of London’s discards come, and in exchange London takes a few of our ideas—clothes, the waterwheel, the undernet.
“Mostly such swaps are beneficial, or harmless. Mostly.”
Mortar and Lectern were staring intently at Zanna.
“Back in your old queen’s time,” the book said, “London filled up with factories, and all of them had chimneys. In houses they burnt coal. And the factories were burning everything, and letting off smoke from chemicals and poisons. And the crematoria, and the railways, and the power stations, all added their own effluvia.”
“Their own what?” said Zanna.
“Muck,” said Lectern.
“Add all that to the valley fog, and what you get’s a smoke stew,” the book went on. “So thick they called it pea soup. Yellow-brown and sitting on the city like a stinking dog. It used to get into people’s lungs. It could
kill
them. That’s what smog is.”
“Well,” said Mortar. “That’s what it
was.
But something happened.”
“As I was about to
explain,
” said the book testily. “As I was
saying.
At first, it was just a dirty cloud. Nasty but brainless as a stump. But then something happened.
“There were so many chemicals swilling around in it that they reacted together. The gases and liquid vapor and brick dust and bone dust and acids and alkalis, fired through by lightning, heated up and cooled down, tickled by electric wires and stirred up by the wind—they reacted together and made an enormous, diffuse cloud-brain.
“The smog started to think. And that’s when it became the Smog.”
Lectern shivered and shook her head at the thought. “It’s no surprise it wasn’t…nice,” she said. “Its thoughts are clotted from poisons, and things we’ve burnt to get rid of.”
“It was never going to be our friend,” Mortar said.
“As smoke kept going up,” the book said, “the Smog got bigger and stronger and smarter. But no kinder. It wanted to grow.
“It had always strangulated some people who breathed it in. At first it didn’t set out to, but then it realized that some of the dead would be cremated, and that their ashes would blow up and fatten it…So it became a predator.”
“It knew it would be safer if Londoners thought it was just dirty fog, so it kept its new brain to itself.”
“Mostly…” Mortar sighed and hesitated, appalled by what he had to say. “It had some allies. Believe me, there’s nothing so terrible that someone won’t support it. It has allies here, too.”
“Yeah, we know that,” said Deeba.
“One of them set airjackers on us,” Zanna said.
Mortar and Lectern shook their heads in disgust.
“For ages, the fight went on,” Mortar said. “But slowly, the Smog was losing. Even without knowing you were fighting, you were winning. Then it counterattacked. For five days, half a century ago, it assaulted London. It killed
four thousand people.
Its worst single attack. And still, most of you didn’t even know you were at war!
“After that…” He breathed out and threw up his hands. “Well…it gets a bit vague.”
“He’s right,” said the book. “There are hints, in me, but I’m about UnLondon, not London. There’s nothing clear.”
“We know a little bit, from stories,” said Lectern.
“From travelers,” said Mortar. “Secret histories. The Smog was beaten. There was a secret group of guardians. Weatherwitches. The Armets. It’s an
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