There was an office on the bridge.

In the middle of the road was a collection of desks and chairs, telephones, weird-looking computers, bookshelves, and potted plants. Twenty or thirty men and women were working away. Mostly they wore shabby suits. They read reports and shuffled files. None of them noticed Zanna, Deeba, and the dustbin approach.

The girls could see to the Roofdom; they could see the waterwheel; they could see the outline of Manifest Station and across the skyline of UnLondon.

Eventually, one by one, the people on the bridge looked up. One by one, their mouths fell open. Deeba moved closer to Zanna. The two girls stood quietly, and waited.

“Um…” said Zanna eventually. “Hello. We were told you could help us.”

“Can I…help you?” It was an old man who spoke. He wore a nondescript suit and an extraordinarily long beard. He spoke hesitantly, and his voice contained disapproval, surprise…and, though he was trying to hide it, excitement. “May I ask how you managed to get here? Who exactly are you?”

“My name’s Zanna. This is Deeba. Are you…”

“I am Mortar of the Propheseers. But…but who are you?” He spoke more breathlessly, and quickly. “Where are you from?”

“I’m Zanna, I said. I’m from London. I think you know who I am.” She spoke with sudden authority that made Deeba stare at her. “I’ll show you.”

All the Propheseers gasped as Zanna reached into her pocket—

— and hesitated, and fumbled, and groped in another pocket, and another, more and more frantic.

“Deeba,” she whispered. “It’s gone! The travelcard…it’s gone!”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s gone. It was in my back pocket and now it’s not.” The Propheseers and the dustbin were watching, puzzled.

“That…that ghost-boy!” said Deeba. “He must’ve took it! On the roofs…Excuse me,” she said more loudly, to the old man. “It’s just…my friend had something that sort of said who she was, and, and we’ve been using it to get here, and now it’s been stole, and we…”

Her voice petered out at the sight of the Propheseers’ faces.

“I knew it wasn’t possible,” one muttered.

“Remember,” said another, “the enemy’ll try anything.” She looked at Zanna unpleasantly.

“Who are you really ?” said a third.

“I had a card, ” Zanna said, stricken. She searched her pockets again. “It’d show you…” She and Deeba began to back away.

“Wait.” It was the old man who spoke. “We have to be sure. Lectern! Bring it!”

A woman came trotting towards them through the desks. In her arms, she carried a huge, mottled book.

“Is it her?” whispered the old man.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Hold on…”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.”

Zanna and Deeba started. This new voice was reedy and self-important. It rolled sounds around. It seemed to come out of nowhere. “Check page three-sixty-five,” it went on. The woman flicked to the right place.

“Who is that?” said Deeba. She and Zanna looked around.

“Tall for her age, blond hair,” the voice went on. “Let me have a good look…Decent-enough aura, brustly at the spectrids. Resonating in at least five or six dimensobilities…Let’s check the history. Page twenty-four please.”

“Deeba,” whispered Zanna.

“I know.”

The voice was coming from the book.

“Oh my,” it said, suddenly hushed. “Well tear me up and shove me in a hutch. It’s her. It is.”

The woman slapped the book shut. Her mouth went slack.

“It’s her,” she said.

“It is,” the book said. “It’s the Shwazzy. We’ve found her.”

“You’ve found her?” Deeba said. “I don’t think so. She found you, more like. And it wasn’t easy, neither.”

“What…?” said the old man again. “Lectern, who is that? Why’s she here?”

“I don’t know, Mortar…” the woman said.

“It’s alright,” the disembodied voice interrupted. “She’s in here. Page seventy-seven, ‘Shwazzy’s First Appearance.’ Look her up in the index: ‘Shwazzy, Companions of the.’ Um…something like that, anyway.”

The woman riffled through the pages and read silently.

“It’s right,” she said. “Fits the description. This…is how it’s supposed to go.” She and the man were staring at Zanna, rapt.

“Everyone!” the old man shouted. “Attention, please! I have an announcement! All of you know what’s been happening. All of you know of the danger we face. I’m sure many of you have despaired. That what was promised would never come. There’s no shame in it: it’s understandable. But despair is over.

“The Shwazzy is here ! She’s come!”

One by one, the Propheseers stood at their desks and began to applaud. The UnSun began to rise. It illuminated Zanna’s face full-on, momentarily blinding her. She couldn’t see the clapping Propheseers, but she could hear their shouts of welcome.