Un Lun Dun by China Miéville Read Free Book Online Page A

birds among them, half-familiar from pictures, like herons and vultures. There was at least one thing in the air that didn’t look like a bird at all, something that
caw
ed enormously as it disappeared.
    “So,” Deeba whispered, knocking the post of the bus stop. “What do you think’ll turn up?”
    “Don’t know,” said Zanna.
    “A load of camels?” said Deeba.
    “A boat?”
    “A carriage like in Sleeping Beauty?”
    “A sledge?”
    The girls’ smiles froze when they heard the familiar coughing of a big engine approaching. A double-decker red bus turned the corner.
    “It’s just…” said Deeba.
    “It’s a bus,” said Zanna.
    Obaday Fing looked enraptured.
    “Isn’t it
magnificent
?” he said.
             
    The bus looked severely battered. Where it should have had a number was instead a strange sign that might have been a drawing of a roll of paper or might have been a random pattern. It was an old-fashioned Routemaster of the type that had been retired from London, with a pole and an open platform at the back, and a separate little compartment at the front for the driver, a woman in an antiquated uniform and dark glasses.
    “The helmswoman,” said Obaday. “And with her one of UnLondon’s champions. Protectors of the transit, the sacred warriors.”
    “Morning,” said a man, jumping out of the vehicle.
    Obaday whispered, “The bus conductor.”
             
    The conductor wore an old-fashioned London Transport uniform. It had been torn and fixed many times, and it was clean, but scorched and stained. Strapped to his front was a metal contraption, on which he drummed his fingers. He wore beads, and charms, and a copper truncheon on his belt.
    “Mrs. Jujube,” the man said, pushing back his cap and bowing to the elderly woman. “Always a pleasure. Manifest Station again? And madam?” He inclined his head at the lobster. “Let me guess…the estuary? You know you’ll have to change buses? Please, go on in. And sir…” He turned to Obaday.
    “This is, I must, I cannot tell you,” Obaday stammered. “It is an honor, a real, I cannot, I am overcome! On behalf of all of UnLondon—”
    “Well,” said the uniformed man, in what sounded like polite boredom. “You’re very kind. May I ask your destination?”
    “I am Obaday Fing, and this is my associate Skool, and this is Deeba, and
this
—” He swept his arm at Zanna. “—is the reason for our journey. Your route takes us towards the Pons Absconditus, I think?”
    Obaday rummaged in his pocket and brought out a handful of money. There were francs and marks and ancient English pound notes, and colorful currency Deeba and Zanna didn’t recognize. “One young lady has her own ticket.”
    Zanna held out her travelcard. “
This,
” said Obaday, “is—”
    “The Shwazzy,” the conductor whispered. He grabbed the travelcard and examined it.
    “I know that look,” he said to Zanna, smiling. “Astonished, bewildered, excited, frightened…awed. That’s the taste of the first few days in UnLondon. It takes one who’s swigged it to recognize it. Shwazzy, it’s a great honor.”
    “You recognize it…?” Zanna said.
    “You came here, too?” Deeba said.
    “Where d’you think I got this?” he said, pointing at his uniform, and the box around his midriff. “Where you two from?”
    “Kilburn,” said Zanna.
    “Ah. I’m a Tooting boy originally. Joe Jones—pleased to meet you. I went abnaut—that’s what it’s called, crossing down, or up, or sideways, from there to here—and came to UnLondon, what, must be more than a decade ago.”
    “You did?” said Zanna. “Thank God! You can explain things.”
    “We dunno what’s going on,” said Deeba. “We need to get
back,
I want my mum and dad…”
    “Hey, Rosa!” Jones shouted, and the driver leaned out of her window. “See who we’ve got on this trip?”
    She peered over the top of her glasses.
    “Blond…” said Jones. “Young lady. From out of