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Granny Next
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'Young Thursday came that morning, as I knew she would. She had just lost Landen, as I had lost my own husband all those years ago. She had youth and hope on her side, and although she did not know it yet, she had plenty of what we call the Other Stuff. She would, I hoped, use it wisely. At the time not even her own father knew quite how important she was. More than Landen's life would depend on her. All life would depend on her, from the lowliest paramecium to the most complex life form that would ever exist.'
– from papers discovered in ex-SpecOps agent Next's effects
There was a thump on the door at 8 a.m. A dangerous-looking man was standing on my doorstep. I'd never seen him before, but he knew me well enough.
'Next!' he bellowed. 'Back rent Friday or I'll throw all your stuff in the skip!'
'You can't do that.'
'I can,' he said, holding up a dog-eared lease agreement. 'Pets are strictly against the terms of the lease. Pay up.'
'There's no pet in here,' I explained innocently.
'What's that, then?'
Pickwick had made a quiet plock-plock noise and poked her head round the door to see what was going on. It was a badly timed move.
'Oh, that. I'm looking after her for a friend.'
My landlord's eyes suddenly lit up as he looked closer at Pickwick, who shrank back nervously. She was a rare Version 1.2 and my landlord seemed to know this.
'Hand over the dodo,' he mused avariciously, 'and I'll give you four months' free rent.'
'She's not for trading,' I said firmly. I could feel Pickwick quivering behind me.
'Ah,' said my landlord greedily. 'Then you have two days to pay all your bills or you're out on your sweet little SpecOps arse.
'You say the sweetest things.'
He glared at me, handed me a bill and disappeared off down the corridor to harass someone else.
My bank statements made for depressing reading. I was not good with money. My cards had reached their limit and my overdraft was nearly used up. SpecOps wages were just about enough to keep you fed and with a roof over your head, but buying the Speedster had all but cleared me out and I hadn't even seen the garage repair bills yet. There was a nervous plock-plock from the kitchen.
'I'd sooner sell myself,' I told Pickwick, who was standing expectantly with collar and lead in her beak.
I stashed the bank statements back into the shoe box and took her to the park. Perhaps it would be better to say that she took me – she was the one who knew the way. She played coyly with a few other dodos while I sat on a park bench. A crotchety old woman sat next to me and turned out to be Mrs Scroggins, who lived directly below. She told me not to make so much noise in future, and then, without drawing breath, gave me a few extremely useful tips about smuggling pets in and out of the building. I picked up a copy of The Owl on the way home and was glad to see that the discovery of Cardenio had not yet broken. I smuggled Pickwick back into my apartment and decided that now was the time to visit the closest thing to the Delphic Oracle I would ever know: Granny Next.
Gran was playing Ping-Pong at the SpecOps Twilight Homes when I found her. She was thrashing her opponent soundly while nervous nurses looked on, trying to stop her before she fell over and broke another couple of bones. Granny Next was old. Really old. Her pink skin looked more wrinkled than the most wrinkled prune I had ever seen, and her face and hands were livid with dark liver spots. She was dressed in her usual blue gingham dress and hailed me from the other side of the room as I walked in.
'Ah!' she said. 'Thursday! Fancy a game?'
'Don't you think you've played enough today?'
'Nonsense' Grab a paddle and we'll play to the first point.'
I picked up a paddle as a ball careened past me.
'Wasn't ready!' I protested as another ball came over the net. I swiped at it and missed.
'Ready is as ready does, Thursday. I'd have thought you knew that more than most!'
I grunted and returned the next ball, which was deftly deflected back to me.
'How are you, Gran?'
