Un Lun Dun by China Miéville Page A

old word for helmet, and they were like London’s
armor,
you see? And we’ve heard how they won. They had a magic weapon.”
    “The
Klinneract,
” announced Lectern.
    Lectern and Mortar looked at Zanna. Eventually they looked at Deeba. They seemed a bit disappointed by their lack of recognition. “As I say,” Mortar went on. “It was a
secret
group.
    “So with magic and a secret war, Londoners drove the Smog away, but they didn’t manage to kill it. It got away.”
    “By coming here,” the book said.
             
    “There was so much rubbish in it, it could slip through the crevices through which moil comes to UnLondon,” Mortar said. “It was weak for a long time. It arrived…depleted.
    “At first, even we Propheseers didn’t think it was a threat. The book…we saw no clear references to it.”
    “We’ve talked about that,” the book whispered. “You’re being unfair.”
    “That wasn’t my
point,
” Mortar muttered. “Can we discuss this later?”
    “Yeah, please do,” Zanna said.
    Mortar cleared his throat. “It crept into chimneys. It looked for smoky fires to feed at. We ignored it. But it was preparing. It remembered the way to London. It would send a few wafts through the gaps, and they’d reach your factories and suck the smoke down. Drank from you as well as us. It took years. It was patient.
    “We should’ve realized. But the first we knew what was happening was when…it started providing its own food.”
    “It…what?” Zanna said. “How?”
    “It started fires. Or it got its followers to.”

    “There’s so much rubbish in the Smog, it can concentrate it and move things. Pick things up. It’s got as many chemicals in it as the best laboratory, and it can mix them, make poisons and flammables and tar and whatever. It can squeeze the coal and metal and ash it carries, and throw it around.
    “It rains petrol, lights it by squeezing metal dust into shards and dropping them until they spark. We realized, at last, what we were facing. And it made sense of warnings in the book, too.”
    “Yes, it did,” said the book. “So less of your ‘It wasn’t mentioned,’ please.”
    “We’ve been fighting it awhile now,” Mortar went on. “Since we understood. With vacuums, and extinguishers, and everything we can find. But then about a year ago, it suddenly stopped attacking.”
    “Isn’t that good?” Deeba said.
    “No, ’cause it’s waiting for something,” Lectern said. “It’s planning something.”
    “And this we know because?” the book said expectantly.
    “Because it’s in the book?” Zanna said.
    The book said “Bing!”
    “Sometimes the words are riddles,” Lectern said. “But there’s not much controversy over ‘The choker will rest, then rise, and fire, and grow, and return.’”
    “Who was the man on the bus?” said Zanna.
    “Someone who thinks it’ll help him,” Lectern said. “But there are heroes, too. For every one like him, there’s someone like Unstible.”
    “We heard that name before,” Deeba said.
    “Who’s Unstible?” Zanna said.
    “Our greatest mind,” said Mortar. “Benjamin Hue Unstible. Propheseer. Also inventor, scientist, explorer, statesman, artist, banker, furniture designer, and cook. You see, you have to remember we know very little about London’s secret war with the Smog. Unstible researched and researched, all the stories he could find, about the Armets and their secret weapon, and about the Smog itself. He knew more about it than anyone else, ever. In the end, he decided that our best chance to defeat it was to know how it had been beaten before.
    “He was sure the Smog would move against us. So he decided to find the Armets.
    “That’s why he crossed over, to search. More than two years ago. We haven’t heard a word from him since.” Mortar looked forlorn. “Hopefully we’ll hear from him…any day now.”
    “And he was right, too,” Lectern said. “The Smog
is
attacking again. And now we