The Things we Find, Chapter Four

As soon as Joe’s plans were known in Nottingham, a change came over the city. Neetra felt it as she walked to the Media Centre one evening, brownstone edifices on either side of her shading in tone with the reddening russet sky, their portals and window-arches already black. There was more in the air than autumn leaves. It reminded our heroine of the long-ago October she created Nottingham on Earth, just as it was perhaps this Nottingham’s first October now. Destiny somehow always seemed to come into that time of the year. On the outside steps stood a figure and a membrane Neetra knew well.

“It’s quarter to six, Jen!” she greeted this one with a laugh. “I’d be on the bus by now!”

Mini-Flash Juniper turned to her, porcelain cheeks once again aglow. Neetra had hoped she’d see more of that when she persuaded her to remain in Nottingham.

“I’ve counted eleven since I finished work,” Juniper stated. “Eleven Mini-Flashes have gone by wearing Four Heroes patches on their clothing. The ones I taped to the covers.”

Her voice was hushed with awe, and Neetra could have warmed her chilly hands on the fire of righteous accomplishment that so evidently burned in Mini-Flash Juniper’s slight breast.

Our heroine grinned. She’d brought something for her on that very same note, so took it out from where girls and boys alike kept things in this galaxy. Neetra was willing to swear she was turning into a Mini-Flash, though in all fairness it might have just been that the place didn’t do pockets in any big way. It was the sew-on patch that had come free with her own copy of the latest issue.

“You can have mine,” she told Mini-Flash Juniper, handing it to her. “Now you’re part of it too. I bet those other Mini-Flashes would be thrilled to get to know the girl who made it happen! Just stitch it onto some clothing of your own. I mean, if you ever get any or start wearing it.”

On Juniper’s expression of breathless gratitude Neetra went inside, still smiling.

Sludge-Man had the full-page ad for Joe’s big event all ready on an easel, and it looked great. The date, the venue, and a promise phrased in this galaxy’s time-units which Neetra with a little difficulty converted.

“The most exciting thirty-seven seconds of your life,” she read out. “And it will be, Sludge-Man. Everyone’s already excited. They’ll love this, you’ve got it just right. I’d better make sure I finish my translation on time, in that case. By the way, I’ve just seen the new girl. Mind if I take a look at how she’s been doing?”

Sludge-Man showed her to Mini-Flash Juniper’s workstation. She had opted for no more than a cubby-hole, and apart from her tiny desk it was stacked high on every side with copies of the upcoming issue. Most of their front covers already bore a cunning contrivance of clear plastic and thin card, somewhat like 3D glasses only with a third lens which would sit around the middle of the wearer’s forehead. It could only ramp up anticipation yet another notch to receive these items in advance, and learn that for maximum enjoyment next week they were going to be required.

“Croldon Thragg’s assured us these will work,” said Neetra, surveying the specs which were taped at perfect right-angles to the bottom corner of the comic. “No need to go through them, Sludge-Man. There won’t be a single one she’s stuck on crooked.”

So saying our heroine surveyed the surface of the desk. Arranged in a veritable tribute to minimalist geometrics were a box of loose 3D glasses which Mini-Flash Juniper hadn’t got around to yet, the tape-dispenser, Juniper’s own spectacles because she only wore them for close range, and her teacup. According to Sludge-Man each afternoon appearance of this last prompted huge-eyed astonishment and an exclamation that surely he’d brought her one six hours ago.

There was also a pile of scrap paper, as there had been on Mini-Flash Juniper’s previous desk. Curious, Neetra picked it up.

Gone were the tessellated mosaics. In their place, profuse and intricate as ever they had been, a staggering calligraphic compendium of fonts and hands and scripts sprawled over every side.

Spelling out, again and again, nothing but the name: “Thomthar.”

“One problem at a time,” Neetra decided.

END OF CHAPTER FOUR