itle Page Dedication cknowledgments Note to Reader ART I: Zanna and Deeba Chapter 1: The Respectful Fox Chapter 2: Signs Chapter 3: The Visiting Smoke Chapter 4: The Watcher in the Night Chapter 5: Down to the Cellar ART II: Not in Kilburn Chapter 6: The Trashpack Chapter 7: Market Day Chapter 8: Pins and Needles Chapter 9: Location Location Chapter 10: Perspective Chapter 11: Public Transport Chapter 12: Safe Conduct Chapter 13: Encounters on a Bus Chapter 14: Attack of the Manky Insect Chapter 15: A Sort of Delivery Chapter 16: Stuck Contents Chapter 17: The Upside Chapter 18: Highs and Lows Chapter 19: The Evasive Bridge Chapter 20: The Welcome Chapter 21: An Unlikely Place of Work Chapter 22: History Lessons Chapter 23: The Meaning of the Trail Chapter 24: An Interruption in the Process Chapter 25: The Addicted Enemy Chapter 26: Folders and Unfolders Chapter 27: A Wall of Cloth and Steel Chapter 28: The Laboratory Chapter 29: Hope Hiding with a Cauldron Chapter 30: Taking Leave ART III: London, or UnUnLondon Chapter 31: Clearing the Air Chapter 32: Memento Chapter 33: The Powerful Resurgence of the Everyday Chapter 34: Curiosity and Its Fruits Chapter 35: Conversation and Revelation Chapter 36: Concern in Code Chapter 37: An Intrepid Start NTERLUDE: The Booksteps ART IV: Life during Wartime Chapter 38: Class-Marks All the Way Down Chapter 39: Due Diligence Chapter 40: Ghostwards Chapter 41: Monsters of the Urban Savannah Chapter 42: Haunts and Houses Chapter 43: Flickering Streets Chapter 44: Postmortem Bureaucracy Chapter 45: Nasty Rain Chapter 46: Old Friends Chapter 47: The Other Abnaut Chapter 48: Spilling Certain Beans ART V: The Interrogation Chapter 49: Trussed Chapter 50: Malevolent Breather Chapter 51: Out of the Fire Chapter 52: Skeptical Authorities Chapter 53: A Hasty Leave-Taking ART VI: Renegade Quester Chapter 54: Crossroads Chapter 55: Insulting Classification Chapter 56: Incommunicado Chapter 57: The Quiet Talklands Chapter 58: Touching Base Chapter 59: Despotic Logorrhea Chapter 60: Insurgent Verbiage Chapter 61: Hired Help Chapter 62: Into the Trees Chapter 63: The Source of the River Chapter 64: Alpha Male Chapter 65: The Smoky Dead Chapter 66: Skipping Historical Stages Chapter 67: Weapon of Choice Chapter 68: The Functionary’s Tireless Hunt ART VII: Arms and the Girl Chapter 69: The Balance of Forces Chapter 70: The Gossamer Edifice Chapter 71: Men of the Cloth Chapter 72: The Truth about Windows Chapter 73: An Unusual Social Ecology Chapter 74: Spider-Fishing Chapter 75: The Room Nowhere Chapter 76: Dwellers in the Smoke Chapter 77: Fruit Chapter 78: Night Eyes Chapter 79: Constructive Munitions Chapter 80: Rendezvous ART VIII: Fight Night Chapter 81: A Special Boat Service Chapter 82: The Tangle Chapter 83: Wracked Chapter 84: Across the Yard Chapter 85: Six of One Chapter 86: The Unintended Attacker Chapter 87: Words of Persuasion Chapter 88: The Baleful View Chapter 89: The Vengeful Man Chapter 90: Stitch Chapter 91: Reactions Chapter 92: Auto-da-Fé Dreams Chapter 93: Shed Skin Chapter 94: The Dreadful Sky Chapter 95: Nothing Chapter 96: Six-Shooter Chapter 97: Regroupment ART IX: The Home Front Chapter 98: Fit for Heroes Chapter 99: Memory pilogue bout the Author Glossary lso by China Miéville Copyright To Oscar Acknowledgments With huge thanks to Talya Baker, Mark Bould, Lauren Buckland, Mic Cheetham, Deanna Hoak, Simon Kavanagh, Peter Lavery, Claudia Lightfoot, Tim Mak, Farah Mendlesohn, Jemima Miéville, David Moench, Jonathan Riddell of London’s Transport Museum, Max Schaefer, Chris Schluep, Jesse Soodalter, Harriet Wilson, Paul Witcover, and everyone at Del Rey and Macmillan As always, I’m indebted to too many writers to list, but particularly important to this book are Joan Aiken, Clive Barker, Lewis Carroll, Michael de Larrabeiti, Tanith Lee, Walter Moers, and Beatrix Potter Particular thanks are due Neil Gaiman, for generous encouragement and for his indispensable contributions to London phantasmagoria, especially Neverwhere “You just think it’s hard to go between the two ’cause you’ve always thought it must be You’re just saying that ’cause you sort of think you should.” Deeba’s friends stared at her, and at each other “She has a point,” Mortar said eventually “You’ve spent all your time wanting to go!” said Jones “’Cause I couldn’t get back,” she said “Now that I can, I’ll go back and forth all the time You seriously think I’m not coming to see you again? Not coming to see this place?” “But such methods,” Mortar said, “they aren’t reliable They may not always work; the rules aren’t always clear—” “Well then, I’ll try others Till one of them does Look, I’m not even making plans I’m just saying there’s no way I’m not coming back There’s things I want to here.” “I’ve been thinking,” Jones said “I’m going to take a trip back to Webminster Abbey I’m going to find Rosa, and get her out And I’d be delighted if you’d join me.” “Of course,” said Deeba “Yes Speaking of which, there’s someone called Ptolemy Yes I was told about who went missing, and I want to find him And I’d like to go back to the Wordhoard Pit, climb down, see what the libraries are like in other places.” “There’s people in Wraithtown I’d like you to meet,” said Hemi, still not meeting her eye “And also, I wondered if maybe you want to go to Manifest Station? We could get a train See another abcity together…” There was a pause, and Deeba smiled at him “Absolutely,” Deeba said “Yeah And loads of other things I’m blatantly coming back And you can come visit me.” She smiled at Hemi again He, and then the others, began cautiously smiling back “You called it our abcity,” Jones said “Before the fight And it is It’s your home too.” “And anyway,” Deeba said, “Curdle and the rebrella are coming with me, and they might get homesick.” “You can’t let feral rubbish cross into London,” Mortar said anxiously “It belongs in another world.” Deeba looked at him and raised an eyebrow, and his voice dried up “I suppose one or two can’t hurt,” he mumbled “So listen,” Deeba said “I’m not saying good-bye to any of you I’ll say ‘See you soon.’ And I mean really soon Let me explain “I told you one reason the Smog grew so strong: ’cause it was getting help There’s one thing we haven’t dealt with Mortar, you said the police burrower was gone?” “Yes We checked where you said it had been The officers must have got out and fixed it, gone home yesterday.” “Right They threatened my family It might have been only to scare me—there’s nothing in it for them to actually anything now But I don’t like it And I don’t like who they ally with For the sake of me, and my mate Zanna, and my family, and London and UnLondon, it needs sorting So I wanted to make a suggestion An arrangement It’s going to involve clearing some rubble in Unstible’s old place, but I think it’s worth it.” Deeba looked at them all Jones cracked his knuckles and raised an eyebrow Hemi pursed his lips thoughtfully Deeba smiled When evening fell, with a huge grinding, the UnLondon-I spun once more With focus and effort, Mortar and the Suggesters directed the bridge Deeba hugged every one of her friends good-bye “Oh,” she said to Hemi She fumbled in her pocket “Tell me you ain’t reaching for that money,” he said She grinned “It’s no good to me,” she said, and held it out “You might as well…” He took her hand gently, and closed her fingers back over it “This way you still owe me,” he muttered “So this way you got to come back, to pay up.” Deeba swallowed and nodded and hugged him again She held her breath, and turned and ran to the edge of the bridge There was a strain, an effort, a whining in the air, and Deeba felt a membrane split, somewhere in reality The bridge dipped across the Odd She ran towards the walkway by her front door, which she could see beyond the girders I dunno what might happen, she thought, giddy, head spinning I could go back I could live there, in a moil house with walls made out of wallets and windows made out of glasses Or in a house like a goldfish bowl I could catch a train from Manifest Station But right now… She stepped off the bridge, and breathed deeply in the London night She looked all around her Curdle exhaled at her feet Deeba smiled “Hush,” she told it “And you.” She held up the rebrella “Remember Over on this side, when other people’re around, you stay still.” She turned The bridge still soared out across the estate Standing near its edge, waving at her, were her friends Joe Jones; Skool; Hemi the half-ghost, biting his lip; Bling and Cauldron, their bodies quite solid; and Obaday Fing, carrying the book Deeba blinked through tears and smiled She raised her hand The UnLondoners waved back She and they looked across at each other, from city to abcity A cat yowled somewhere Deeba glanced in its direction When she looked back, the Pons Absconditus was gone Deeba stood alone on the concrete walkway, in the dark In London Deeba gave a long, shaky sigh She picked up Curdle, put it in her bag She whispered to the rebrella: “Remember!” Then she turned and unlocked her front door 99 Memory Deeba walked slowly through the living room She was trembling She heard voices from the kitchen She paused a moment, and looked at a photo on the mantel It was of her whole family Deeba stared at it in horror There was her mother, her father, her brother, smiling out…and there was she, but it was as if the film was underexposed in that corner of the picture Or as if she stood in shadow Or in fact, as if it was just hard to notice her there, smiling, her arms around her parents The picture was of four people, but it looked as if it was of three Her family were at the table eating supper Deeba almost sobbed to see only three places set She walked in, looked at her parents and Hass, and brimmed with tears of relief, and nervousness She wanted nothing more than to just run across the room to them, but she held back in fear, seeing their faces All three of them were staring at her blankly Her father had a fork halfway to his mouth Food was dripping slowly off the metal tines Her mother held a glass Their faces were almost like voids They looked slack, completely uncomprehending Deeba saw a struggle deep inside each of them I was gone too long! she thought desperately The phlegm effect’s gone permanent! “Mum?” she whispered “Dad? Hass?” They stared It’s only been eight days! she thought Since I spoke to Dad, in the Talklands! But… A coldness hit her stomach But it’s been more than nine since I left Maybe it doesn’t it, to phone The time counts from when you’re gone It’s too late… “Mum? Dad? Hass?” The Reshams quivered, and very slowly winced and blinked, and stared at Deeba, and something seemed to shudder and run through the room One by one her family shivered as if at a chill, and they stretched their faces as if yawning, or shrugging something off “Can’t you sit down like a civilized person?” Mr Resham said It took several seconds before Deeba was sure he was speaking to her “What are you wearing?” Mrs Resham said “You funny girl.” Deeba let out a little sob of relief and grabbed them both, and hugged them harder than she ever had before “Mad girl!” her father said “You’re spilling my rice!” He laughed Deeba hugged Hass, too He looked at her suspiciously “What?” he said “I drew a picture.” It took Deeba a few moments to convince her mum and dad that though, yes, she was crying, she was very happy “I’m just going over to Zanna’s for a minute,” Deeba said as the Reshams picked at the last of their dinner Deeba did so too, her father having wordlessly got her a plate and cutlery, a faint quizzical look on his face when she sat down “You…” her mother said “You think I can’t see through this shameless attempt to get out of clearing up dishes?” “Oh, please Just for a second I need to…give her something for school.” Deeba grew more and more nervous the whole short distance to Zanna’s She had to clench and unclench her hand to stop it shaking before she rang the doorbell It was Zanna herself who opened the door Deeba stared at her, dumb, her mouth open It felt like years since she had seen that familiar blond-fringed face For an instant, a cloud of confusion passed over Zanna’s expression Then she smiled and stood up straighter, looking fresher and better than anytime since she had returned from her own, unremembered, trip to the abcity “Hey Deebs,” she said There was no trace of debilitating breathlessness left in her voice—her lungs sounded completely clear “Man,” she said, “you look happy So…you been doing anything interesting? What? What’s so funny? Why you laughing?” Much later, when Deeba crept out of bed and looked at the photograph of her family again, while everyone else was asleep and she was basking in having her house around her, the light in the picture had altered Deeba’s image was properly visible, and there were four Reshams again It was beyond extraordinary that she had only a few hours previously been in UnLondon, a place so far away from her bedroom that conventional measures of distance were meaningless She thought, carefully and precisely, of all her friends in turn: Obaday, Jones, the book, the utterlings, Hemi the half-ghost She missed it already, she realized It’ll always be me got rid of the Smog, she thought She felt the lack of UnLondon like a loss But at the same time, she couldn’t remember being so happy as she was then, at that moment, luxuriating under her duvet, in her room, with her family close, and her image back and visible on the photos in the living room She felt as if she glowed with contentment Deeba whispered to Curdle, which was making a nest under her bed Before she turned out her light, Deeba checked her diary She had an appointment coming up EPILOGUE In the heart of Westminster, in the sumptuous, wood-paneled office of Elizabeth Rawley, secretary of state for Environment, it was an unexceptional morning The minister worked through the pile of papers on her desk, checking reports, making notes and suggestions, preparing press releases There was a personal note from the prime minister He was extremely pleased with the success of LURCH, the London-UnLondon Rerouting Carbon Hazards plan Carcinogens and toxic pollution were down across the southeast, the ratings from environmentalists were up, and the government had established an invaluable relationship with a very powerful ally The prime minister was already raising the possibility of deploying their contact in various trouble spots “A chemical weapon that can strategize like a general,” he’d said “Hidden among oil fires! Think of it, Elizabeth!” She did think of it She was very proud of her initiative She didn’t want to count her chickens, but she was hearing whispers of promotion She eyed a door on her far wall Rawley only hoped the PM didn’t find out that communications had dried up since just after Murgatroyd had made his way back in a half-crippled police burrower, cursing Her intercom buzzed “Minister,” her secretary said “There’s someone to see you.” “There’s nothing scheduled…” “She came in the public entrance, Minister She won’t give her name, but she’s insisting on seeing you.” “For heaven’s sake don’t be ridiculous.” “She says she can tell you what’s going on in…in the other city She said you’d know what she means.” Her secretary sounded nonplussed “But only if you saw her now I’m sorry, Minister, she wouldn’t be more specific She insisted I tell you She said something about chimneys, and a war, and—” “That’s enough.” Rawley spoke quickly “Send her in.” She pressed another button “Murgatroyd, for God’s sake get in here We’ve finally got contact.” Murgatroyd entered from his adjoining office, accompanied by secret service men with pistols out and ready: standard procedure when dealing with the abcities After a moment, the main doors opened, and a short, dark, round-faced girl with an extremely determined expression entered She was carrying a red umbrella Elizabeth Rawley stared at her The girl eyed her back Murgatroyed emitted a strangled sound “You!” he screamed He pointed with crooked fingers The girl held up a hand and looked at her watch “Was hoping we’d catch you,” she said “Ten seconds.” After a moment, she said, “Five.” It was that many seconds to nine o’clock An alarm bell sounded The noise of machinery began to approach In the corner of the room, a red light came on The elevator hadn’t worked for days The noise of gears came closer There was a bing as the lift crossed through the membrane between worlds, and arrived The door opened “Hey, you lot!” the girl called happily “You cleared the elevator shaft! I knew you could.” Elizabeth Rawley stared Stepping out of the elevator came a big man in an antiquated London Transport uniform He wore a conductor’s ticket machine and carried a copper rod Beside him was a man wearing printed paper, with needles and pins for hair There was a boy with them, a pale boy in flickering clothes And leaping out from behind them… Was that a dustbin? With arms and legs? And stern eyes glinting from under its lid? Rawley took it all in Murgatroyd drew his gun and aimed it at the girl There was a shot, and the ping of a ricochet The girl held her umbrella before her The agents raised their pistols The conductor leapt out with a flurry of fists and feet, and the sound of crackling and bursts of sparks Bodyguards tumbled to the floor unconscious The dustbin somersaulted and, with a frenetic succession of windmill kicks, laid out a line of men and women The girl spun her umbrella so fast it looked as if it were the umbrella pulling her She smacked weapons effortlessly out of several agents’ hands Elizabeth Rawley stared in shock In less than three seconds, most of her staff were incapacitated “I’ll kill you!” Murgatroyd spat, and fired again The girl spun, and blocked with the umbrella, then swung like a truncheon It caught Murgatroyd under his chin, and sent him soaring He sailed backwards, over Rawley’s desk, crashed into the wall behind her, and slid to the floor, groaning The dustbin handsprung over Rawley’s desk and stood with one foot on Murgatroyd The conductor stood poised, ready to strike The boy and the pin-headed man ran to the door, checked it, and wedged it closed The girl stepped closer and stared into the minister’s eyes She jumped up and landed on the desk She twirled the umbrella, stretched like a fencer with it pointed directly at Rawley’s throat “Minister,” said the girl “We need to talk.” ABOUT THE AUTHOR CHINA MIÉVILLE is a two-time winner of both the Arthur C Clarke Award and the British Fantasy Award, as well as the Locus Award and several other honors He is the author of King Rat, Perdido Street Station, The Scar, Iron Council, and the anthology Looking for Jake He lives and works in London Glossary Bin / Dustbin: Trash can / garbage can Bog off: Go away Bollard: A little post to divert traffic on a road; a traffic cone Class-mark: The numbers on the side of a library book Climbing frame: A jungle gym Comprehensive: A school for children aged 11 to 16 or 18 Do a bunk: Run away Estate: Several big apartment blocks—a housing project Git: Unpleasant person Knackered: Exhausted Lairy: Cheeky and aggressive Manky: Disgusting Minging: Dirty/smelly/unpleasant Mobile: Short for “mobile phone”—a cell phone Nutter: Somebody acting crazy Quite: When Americans say something is “quite good/bad/etc.,” you mean it is “very” good/bad/etc When Brits say it, we sometimes mean it in just the same way—but then sometimes we mean something is only “fairly,” or “moderately,” or “kind-of-but-not-extremely” good/bad/etc It can be confusing Rubbish: Trash / garbage Rum: Strange Sarky: Sarcastic Scrum: A confused situation involving lots of people Shtum: Silent Soft (“Don’t be soft”): Foolish Take the Michael: Mock, make fun of Tarmac: What they make airport runways out of, but we use it to describe normal roads, too Tower block: Big apartment block Yonks: A long time ALSO BY CHINA MIÉVILLE King Rat Perdido Street Station The Scar Iron Council Looking for Jake: Stories Un Lun Dun is a work of fiction Names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously Copyright © 2007 by China Miéville Illustrations copyright © 2007 by China Miéville All rights reserved Published in the United States by Del Rey Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York DEL REY is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc www.delreybooks.com eISBN: 978-0-345-49723-9 v3.0 ... said as Zanna looked around in the smelly dark “And maybe…I dunno, maybe it had a camera or something…and…” Deeba stopped, as what she was saying began to sound more and more unlikely “Come help... Chapter 86: The Unintended Attacker Chapter 87: Words of Persuasion Chapter 88: The Baleful View Chapter 89: The Vengeful Man Chapter 90: Stitch Chapter 91: Reactions Chapter 92: Auto-da-Fé Dreams... located in the back of this book In an unremarkable room, in a nondescript building, a man sat working on very non-nondescript theories The man was surrounded by bright chemicals in bottles and