Wildflower, Chapter Three

Next heartbeat a burst of yellow light brought Neetra to the last destination Scientooth would likely have expected. It was one of her favourite places in Nottingham, and she regretted there was no time to enjoy it properly now. On the other hand she was lucky Joe was away, because that meant she’d been planning to do so and had already set the room up in readiness.

Under the eaves of the Town Hall, not far below our heroine’s rooftop bed, stretched a sizeable sunken bath.

Neetra at once cranked its wrought-iron tap. What sluiced forth steaming came out black and ten times the thickness of water, splatting like moist soil on the stones below her feet. Looks weren’t everything though, for when the heavy deluge hit it gave up such an exhalation of earthy pungent woodland aromas that Neetra closed her eyes for rapture. This stuff was the greatest. There was nothing like it back home, and since discovering it she’d never gone back to bathwater.

Wishing she was able to appreciate it as slowly and luxuriously as she’d intended our heroine set to work while her bath was churning. With a lit taper in one hand she unbuttoned with the other, hurrying on in her knickers as her skirt flapped to the floor. The room was clouding up as Neetra’s free fingers rummaged for hairpins and slid them out one by one. Carefully now. Remember the open flame.

Ranged on marble ledges, nestled in every sculpted sconce and lined up along the edge of the tub were Christingles of Neetra’s making. Typical that after taking her time over something nice she had to rush through the best bit. With the tip of her taper she touched each one’s candle in turn, working through the rotund ranks as quickly as she could, though tottering all the while from using toes only to wrestle her feet free from boots and socks. Soon the scents of perfumed wicks and orange-peel struck up a sweet strings-section in the pouring peat’s symphony of smell.

Her last row of little gold globes was at ground-level. Keeping her hair out of the way Neetra stooped into a stance worthy of she who’d caused this trouble in the first place. She had to say her sweater was living up to its name. It felt like heavy webbing dragging at her by the armpits, and droplets from her downturned face were no friend to an already tricky task. Finally the last Christingle was aglow. Straightening up Neetra blew out what was left of the taper, cast it aside and skinned her torso bare. The same galactic vogue for tightness which made that part so easy meant it was far more of a struggle to convince the clammy thing to quit clinging to her tresses, but once that was played out Neetra divested herself of her vintage frilly-backs and took the plunge. Warm smooth mud sealed itself about her curvature as she slid in up to her chin, and for two tiny nostrils it was heaven.

Dark chocolate turf newly turned. And talk about the parts plain old water couldn’t reach. Which truly did go for every nook and cranny.

Pity there could be no pampering. Neetra concentrated, and her psychic persona slipped from her physical form. The luminous doppelganger of herself, ephemeral as the vapours swathing the vaults and as bright as any Christingle-point, was in a state of loveliness to compare with the slumbering Neetra she’d shrugged off. That was the way it worked though, and it couldn’t be helped. Besides, it wasn’t like the one she was going after was in much of a position to complain.

On the inadvisability of confronting her face-to-face Scientooth had been quite correct. If however Neetra undertook the same in astral state, anchored to a material body which had so much else to smell, she reckoned she’d be proof against anything Mini-Flash Juniper pumped out. Drawing in a psychosomatic deep breath to puff her spectral self’s cheeks with imaginary air, she pinched her non-existent nose between finger and thumb and ducked beneath the bath’s surface.

Next instant Neetra was soaring over Nottingham’s sun-soaked roofs, the whole of her ablaze in the afternoon sky. She steered schoolyard-wards at once and there in the corner of the Flashball court her fearful fawn was at bay, harried about by hordes of Scientooth’s horrid hunting hounds. The borrowed beige was fair enough, seeing as Neetra had taken her other clothes, but Mini-Flash Juniper wasn’t the only little nymph she’d stranded. A fighting-mad Flashshadow and Mini-Flash Splitsville were by, rendering the ravening ones intangible or opening portals in their path when they pounced. Thus far through these strategies they had shielded Mini-Flash Juniper behind their slight frames, but against such odds the non-combatant Special Program couldn’t hope to hold out long.

Were the pair of them under Juniper’s thrall? Or had that one simply kept her power secret, controlling them by that far more insidious means since the moment they met? Neither option felt quite right to Neetra, but her good friend Shadow wasn’t any traitor, and she’d known Mini-Flash Splitsville long enough to be sure of the same about her. All of which bore thinking about.

In a minute though. First, Neetra descended on the circle of chaos. Male Mini-Flashes hiding inside to watch helpless at the windows were having quite a week.

You! she yelled telepathically at Mini-Flash Juniper’s brain. With me! Move!

The order was obeyed. They took off together, Neetra’s psionic projection fast enough to match even the Special Program for pace, and as she’d gambled the Fringers followed suit in a spiralling skyward column of lube-slathered chops and stringy suspension-spring sinew. Seeing the bloodthirsty brutes in action it was easy enough to forget Scientooth’s boast as to their higher nature, but machines they were, and there was nothing in these Fringers’ programming about Mini-Flash Splitsville or Flashshadow. So they were safe, and Juniper’s sense of self-preservation was functioning fine too. Clever girl, whatever else you could say about her, recognising her only choice was to count on Neetra if she wanted out of her predicament. Not that our heroine didn’t know the type or had expected anything less.

Could that be the very reason it still bore thinking about?

While struggling with whatever that was supposed to mean, Neetra cast a clairaudient glance over her shimmering shoulder. The back of her mind, so to speak, looked pretty good to her despite the competition directly alongside. More importantly, Scientooth’s pack was still hot on their heels as scrolling cityscape below began to give way to tiny chalets and stretches of beach-road. What exactly still bore thinking about, and why?

There was nothing to it. Ditch the pursuers and then give Missy her marching-orders. It wasn’t like Neetra hadn’t dealt with this kind of problem a thousand times.

Think about it. Think about it.

Leading the pliant Mini-Flash Juniper our heroine began to dive. Nothing but blue waves thrashed in her field of vision. The Fringers were clawing back interstitial airspace furlong by relentless furlong, gnashing their grilles. Neetra let them. Not far now. Empress Ungus came into it somewhere.

Something Neetra had heard from Joe.

Fringers were speedy and savage as you liked but Neetra had been up against them before, and these ones were on the brink of learning their lack of smarts carried a cost.

It was what Empress Ungus had said to Joe and Dylan.

That was it.

The corporeal Neetra’s eyes flew open. In a brilliant burst she teleported out of the tub to where her head was at. Suddenly our heroine’s flying insubstantial self was solid and in free-fall, but a fraction of a breath remained for her to clinch Mini-Flash Juniper close and drive the pair of them corkscrewing down. There was no splash, just a second yellow spark, whereat the Fringers rounded off their rampaging race and like Legion crashed headlong into the sea.

END OF CHAPTER THREE