‘Hades,’ I whispered, hardly daring to say the word out loud.
‘Hades is dead, Thursday. You killed him yourself. It was a coincidence, pure and simple. They mean nothing—you might as well rail against your dreams or bark at shadows on the wall.’
We drove in silence to the SpecOps building and my disciplinary hearing. I switched off the engine and Landen held my hand tightly.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he assured me. ‘They’d be nuts to take any action against you. If things get bad, just remember what Flanker rhymes with.’
I smiled at the thought. He said he’d wait for me in the cafe across the road, kissed me again and limped off.
8. Mr Stiggins and SO-1
‘Contrary to popular belief, Neanderthals are not stupid. Poor reading and writing skills are due to fundamental differences in visual acuity—in humans it is called dyslexia. Facial acuity in Neanderthals, however, is highly developed—the same silence might have thirty or more different meanings depending on how you looked. “Neanderthal English” has a richness and meaning that are lost on the relatively facially blind human. Because of this highly developed facial grammar, Neanderthals instinctively know when someone is lying—hence their total lack of interest in plays, films or politicians. They like stories read out loud and speak of the weather a great deal—another area in which they are expert. They never throw anything away and love tools, especially power tools. Of the three cable channels allocated to Neanderthals, two of them show nothing but woodworking programmes.’
‘Thursday Next?’ enquired a tall man with a gravelly voice as soon as I stepped into the SpecOps building.
‘Yes?’
He flashed a badge.
‘Agent Walken, SO-5; this is my associate, James Dedmen.’
Dedmen tipped his hat politely and I shook their hands.
‘Can we talk somewhere privately?’ asked Walken.
I took them down the corridor and we found an empty interview room.
‘I’m sorry about Phodder and Kannon,’ I told them as soon as we had sat down
‘They were careless,’ intoned Dedmen gravely. ‘Contact adhesive should always be used in a well-ventilated room—it says so on the tin.’
‘We were wondering,’ asked Walken in a slightly embarrassed manner, ‘whether you could fill us in on what they were up to, they both died before submitting a report.’
‘What happened to their case notes?’
Dedmen and Walken exchanged looks.
‘They were eaten by rabbits.’
‘How could that happen?’
‘Classified,’ announced Dedmen. ‘We analysed the remains but everything was pretty well digested—except these.’
He placed three small scraps of tattered and stained paper wrapped in cellophane on the desk. I leaned closer. I could just read out part of my name on the first one; the second was a fragment of a credit card statement and the third had a single name on it which made me shiver Hades.
‘Hades?’ I queried ‘Do you think he’s still alive?’
‘You killed him, Next—what do you think?’
I had seen him die up there on the roof at Thornfield and even found his charred remains when we searched the blackened ruins. But Hades had died before—or so he had made us believe.
‘As sure as I can be. What does the credit card statement mean?’
‘Again,’ replied Walken, ‘we’re not sure. The card was stolen. Most of these purchases are of women’s clothes, shoes, hats, bags, and so forth—we’ve got Dorothy Perkins and Camp Hopson under twenty-four-hour observation. Does any of this ring any bells?’
I shook my head.
‘Then tell us about your meeting with Phodder.’
I told them as much as I could about our short meeting while they made copious notes.
‘So they wanted to know if anything odd had happened to you recently?’ asked Walken. ‘Had it?’
I told them about the Skyrail and the Hispano-Suiza and they made even more notes. Finally, after asking me several times whether there was anything more I could add, they got up and Walken handed me his card.
‘If you discover anything at all—?’
‘No problem,’ I replied. ‘I hope you catch them.’ They grunted in reply and left.
I sighed, got up and walked back into the lobby to await Flanker and SO-1. I watched the busy station buzzing around me and then suddenly felt very hot as the room started to swim. The edges of my vision started to fade and if I hadn’t put my head between my knees I would have passed out there and then. The buzz from the room became a dull rumble and I closed my eyes, temples thumping. I stayed there for several moments until the nausea lessened. I opened my eyes and stared at the flecks of mica in the concrete floor.
‘Lost something, Next?’ came Flanker’s familiar voice.
I very gently raised my head. He was reading some notes and spoke without looking at me.
‘I’m running late—someone’s misappropriated an entire cheese seizure. Fifteen minutes’ time, interview room three—be there.’
He strode off without waiting for a reply and I stared at the floor again. The baby was making itself known. Somehow Flanker and SpecOps seemed insignificant given that this time next year I could be a mother. Landen had enough money for us both and it wasn’t as though I needed to actually resign—I could go on the SpecOps reservist list and do the odd job when necessary. I was just starting to ponder on whether I was really cut out for motherhood when I felt a hand on my shoulder and someone pushed a glass of water into my line of vision. I gratefully took the glass and drank half of it before looking up at my rescuer. It was a Neanderthal dressed in a neat double-breasted suit with an SO-13 badge clipped to his top pocket.
‘Hello, Mr Stiggins,’ I said, recognising him.
‘Hello, Ms Next—the nausea will pass.’
There was a shudder and the world snapped back a couple of seconds so harshly it made me jump. Stiggins spoke again but this time made less sense:
‘Helto, our m Ms Next—the nauplea will knoass.’
‘What the hell—’ I muttered as the lobby snapped again and the mauve-painted walls switched to green. I looked at Stiggins, who said:
‘Hatto, is our am Mss Next—bue nauplea will kno you.’
The people in the lobby moved abruptly and were suddenly wearing hats. Stiggins jumped back again and said:
‘That is our ame Miss Next—bue hoivplea kno you?’
My feet felt strange as the world rippled again and I looked down and saw that I was wearing trainers instead of boots. It was clear now that time was flexing slightly and I expected my father to appear, but he didn’t. Stiggins flicked back to the beginning of his sentence yet again and said, this time in a clearer voice:
‘That is our name, Miss Next, but how know you?’
‘Did you feel anything odd just then?’
‘No. Drink the water. You are very pale.’
I had another sip, leaned back and took a deep breath.
‘This wall used to be mauve,’ I mused as Stiggins looked at me.
‘How you know our name, Miss Next?’
‘You turned up at my wedding party,’ I told him. ‘You said you had a job for me.’
He stared at me for almost half a minute through his deep-set eyes. His large nose sniffed the air occasionally. Neanderthals thought a great deal about what they said before they said it—if they said anything at all.
‘You speak the truth,’ he said at last. It was almost impossible to lie to a Neanderthal and I wasn’t going to try. ‘We are to represent you on this case, Miss Next.’
I sighed. Flanker was taking no chances. I had nothing against Neanderthals but they wouldn’t have been my first choice of defence, particularly against the charge of an attack on one of their own.
‘If you have a problem you should tell us,’ said Stiggins, eyeing me carefully.