“What in the world was that all about?” Paul asked.
“No idea,” Tick replied. “But we’ve gotta get out of here.”
“You first,” Paul said.
Tick wanted to argue, act brave, be the last one out. Then he realized that’d be the stupidest thing in the world and hurried to sit on the chair. Every second they wasted meant the spider was that much closer.
He had just enough time to see the entire front of the building collapse in a swirl of dust and flashes of metal before everything around him turned bright.
Sofia stood on a slippery slope of rust-colored sand, squinting in the brilliant sunlight at the small, iron chair that stood rigid on top of the dune as if held in place by magic. She’d stood up and gotten away from it the second she’d winked there, not wanting someone else to come through and squish her.
Tick showed up a minute later, an instantaneous appearance that shocked her even though she’d been expecting it. There was no effect-no smoke, no sound. One moment the chair was empty. The next, it wasn’t. Tick’s face looked like he’d just bungee-jumped off the world’s tallest bridge.
“What took you so long? Hurry. Get up,” Sofia said, slipping in the sand as she stepped forward to help him, sliding down the steep dune. The hot sand seemed to find its way through every teeny hole of her clothes and scratch at her skin.
Tick didn’t answer, but stood up and was making his way down the loose sand to Sofia when Paul appeared, a small cut on his right cheek.
“Dang thing got me,” he said, wiping the blood away with his fingers. “Couple more seconds and I’d be…”
He trailed off, looking around him with huge eyes.
With her friends safe, Sofia finally had a chance to take a good look at their surroundings as well.
They stood in the middle of an enormous desert, an endless sea of dunes stretching for miles in every direction. The white-hot sun blazed down so the distant horizons shimmered in a wavering haze. The only thing breaking the monotony of sand was a large, shiny pipeline about a half-mile away. The tube of opaque glass sat above ground, at least twenty feet in diameter, and ran from one direction to the other for as far as Sofia could see.
“Where are we?” Paul asked. “And what is that?” He motioned to the giant pipe.
“Looks like a huge straw,” Tick said. “Maybe a giant sand monster dropped it.”
Sofia ignored them and started walking toward the glass structure. Her heart hammered in her chest, a rise of panic as she thought about their situation. They’d just barely escaped a horrible metallic spider and now they were stuck in the middle of a scorching desert. Anger at Master George rose in her as well. How can he waste our time with this? What if we’d been killed? But deep inside, she didn’t think it was him. Something had gone wrong.
“Wait!” Paul called from behind her. “Where’s Sally?”
Sofia stopped; she’d completely forgotten about the odd man. She turned and said, “Maybe he didn’t want to follow us.”
Paul was standing on the dune next to the chair, looking around. “No way-he winked away before we did.”
“Yeah,” Tick said, also searching. “He went right after you.”
Sofia felt a disorienting chill in her gut. “Well… he never showed up here. I’ve been watching the chair since I winked in.”
Paul stumbled through the soft sand to stand next to Sofia; Tick joined them as well. Both of the boys had baffled looks on their faces, still glancing at the chair now and then as if expecting Sally to show up.
“You’re sure he didn’t wink in?” Paul asked.
Sofia rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Where would he possibly hide?”
“Dude,” Paul whispered, and that one word summed up how they all felt.
“What could’ve happened to him?” Tick asked. “Why would we wink here and not him? And what was up with him poking me in the ear?” He rubbed at the side of his head.
“What?” Sofia asked.
“Right before he winked away,” Tick explained, “he acted all weird and slammed his finger into my ear. It hurt, too. Then he sat down and disappeared.”
“He slammed his finger into your ear? ” Sofia repeated. “While a giant spider monster was trying to kill you?” It was such a bizarre thing, she couldn’t believe she’d heard him correctly.
Tick shrugged. “Don’t ask me-maybe he went crazy from the panic.”
“What if he’s in trouble?” Paul asked. “I like him-we need to help him. Even if he did try to stab you in the brain.”
Sofia felt the same sadness at Sally’s disappearance. He’d been so humble and sincere; there was just something likable about him. But she also knew that standing there waiting on a nice sunburn wouldn’t help anybody.
“Not much we can do,” she said. “Someone must’ve sent us here for a reason. Let’s go check out that glass thing.” She pointed at the tube that looked like a giant crystal worm stretching into the distant horizon.
“What if Sally shows up and we’re not here?” Paul said.
“He’s an adult,” Tick said. “He can take care of himself or come find us. I agree with Sofia-we should see what that thing is.”
Sofia started walking again. “Come on, then.”
Paul and Tick joined her, all of them marching as best they could up and down the slippery, hot dunes.
Master George sat at the head of a long, wooden table, looking around at the few people he’d asked to join him in this special Council on Things That Matter. His last guest had yet to appear, and Master George hoped he would arrive soon. It had been a near thing, winking him away as fast as he had. A large fire roared in the hearth at his back, but it wasn’t enough to rid him of the chill that iced his heart. Things were going badly. Very badly. He reached down and petted Muffintops, who purred and rubbed her back against his leg.
Most of the other Realitants had left the Grand Canyon complex already, carrying out various orders and missions agreed upon by the larger meeting earlier. That was good. Things would be said here that not everyone should hear.
Mothball sat to his left and Rutger to his right, balanced precariously on his booster seat. To Rutger’s right was Sato, looking as bored as ever, ready to take notes. Then came Nancy Zeppelin, wrapping and rewrapping a long string of her golden hair around a finger; William Schmidt, his ancient face pulled down into a frown that made him look like the Grim Reaper; Katrina Kay, her buzz-cut hair framing a pretty face with eager eyes; Priscilla Persephone, invited only because Master George knew he had offended her enough already (oh, how he hated that snooty smirk on her face; and her hair — it was orange, for heaven’s sake). Finally, next to Mothball on his left, sat Jimmy “The Voice” Porter. His nickname was sadly ironic now because the poor man’s tongue had been ripped out by a slinkbeast in the Mountains of Sorrow in the Twelfth Reality.
“Very well,” Master George said. “I think it’s time we begin.”
“Yes, let’s, ” Priscilla said in her annoying, lilting voice. “We’ve only been waiting on you. Wasting valuable time, no doubt.”
Rutger shifted forward in his seat, a slight rolling motion that brought his arms and hands to rest on the table. “Priscilla, why don’t you open up a can of shut the-”
George quickly interrupted his loyal friend. “Yes, Priscilla, I appreciate your patience.” He wanted to add that perhaps she’d like to take on a mission to the icy wastelands of the Third Reality, but refrained. “We have much to talk about, indeed.”
“Wasting time,” Rutger mumbled under his breath. “I’ll show you
…” The rest was too low to hear, but Master George thought he caught the words rat fink.
“First things first,” Mothball said. “Methinks we best be talkin’ ’bout Master Tick and his friends.”
Master George agreed. “Yes, yes, quite right, Mothball. Based on the evidence, I have no doubt that someone has violated Rule Number 462 and taken hostage the nanolocators implanted in our de
ar young friends from Reality Prime. We can track their general location, but nothing more-and even that signal is weak. We have tried repeatedly to wink them here, but they have remained out of our reach. This act violates no less than three Articles of Principles established by the First Realitant Symposium of 1972. It is outrageous, despicable, irresponsible, reprehensible-”
“We get the point,” Rutger said.
Master George slammed his hand on the table. “Yes! I hope you do, Master Rutger, because this is very serious indeed. Not only can we not wink in our most important recruits in years, but we have a renegade out there capable of such things as hijacking a nanolocator! The technology for such an act-”
“It has to be him,” Nancy Zeppelin interrupted quietly. “Has to be.”
A long moment of silence passed, broken only by the crackling fire. Master George closed his eyes. No one in the room doubted who the culprit could be. But if Reginald Chu had finally decided to use his significant technological powers to branch out and cause trouble in other Realities, then they were all in for a great deal of trouble. Until today, they’d all hoped, perhaps foolishly, that Chu would be happy ruling his own world with an iron fist.
“Yes, Nancy,” Master George finally said, opening his eyes and sighing. “We should all be quite nervous that Reginald Chu would stoop to such a thing. He obviously has plans for our new friends.”
William Schmidt cleared his throat, a wet, gurgling hack that made Master George wince. Then the old man spoke in his ghost-soft voice. “Chu’s spies must have learned of Higginbottom’s mysterious winking ability. Chu would do anything to have him under his control.”
“For all we know,” Katrina said, “Tick is strapped on a laboratory bed as we speak, his brain being examined for anomalies.”
Master George held up a hand, wanting the terrible talk to stop. “We must keep our minds on solutions, my dear associates. Solutions. And we mustn’t give up hope. Master Atticus is a special boy, as are his friends, and their recovery is our number-one priority.”
“What about all the people going crazy everywhere?” Priscilla asked. “That should alarm us a little bit more than a few missing brats.”
Mothball stood up-Master George reached out too late to stop her. She towered over everyone, her suddenly angry glare focused on Priscilla. “One more nasty word about them three children, and I’ll lop off yer ’ead, I will. That’s a promise.”
“Yeah,” Rutger chimed in. “And I’ll bite your kneecaps.”
“Please, let’s all remain calm,” Master George said. “Mothball, please be seated. I appreciate your concern for Atticus and his friends. Priscilla hasn’t met them, of course, so let’s give her time to appreciate their importance.”
Mothball sat, not taking her eyes off Priscilla, whose suddenly pale face made her look like she might never speak again.
“Now, er, we do need to talk of this matter,” Master George continued. “Sato here has put together a summary of his interviews, and the reports of people going insane are numerous, indeed. Something is very wrong, and it’s spreading throughout the Realities at an alarming rate. Almost like a-”
“Disease,” Nancy Zeppelin said. “Like a disease.”
Master George paused, studying the beautiful woman as he thought about what she said. She didn’t look back, staring at the table in front of her with a blank expression.
“Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, quite like a disease, actually. The pattern shows it spreading from a fragmented Reality-all cases link back to it eventually, with no exception. It is exactly like a disease or a virus.”
“Need a sample, then. One of the crazies,” Mothball said.
Before Master George could reply, an urgent knock rapped at the closed door from the hallway. Finally. Perhaps now they would have some answers. He stood up. “Mothball-”
The door opened before she could do anything. A wave of relief washed through Master George as he saw one of his oldest friends enter the room, though he looked like he’d just taken a bath in a pile of dirt-his overalls were filthy.
“Master Sally,” George said, smiling.
Sally grinned through his thick, red beard. “It was harder ‘an findin’ a tick on a grizzly bear, but I did it.”
“Did what?” Rutger asked, shocked.
“I found dem kids a’yorn.”
Part 2
The Beast in the Glass
Chapter 15
Nice Mistress Jane
Frazier Gunn was worried about his boss.
As he walked up the winding stone staircase of Mistress Jane’s tower, enjoying the smell of burning pitch from the torches ensconced on the hard granite walls, he wondered which version of her would answer the door. The flickering, spitting flames cast haunted shadows that seemed alive, hiding and reappearing like dark wraiths. A team of seven servants maintained the torches throughout the Lemon Fortress, even though Jane probably could have lit the place using only her growing abilities in the mutated Chi’karda.
But she had her own way of doing things, and that was that.
Frazier felt a trickle of sweat slide down his right temple as he passed the halfway point. He’d been sick the last few days, unable to keep any food down, and he felt the effect of his illness now. He almost paused to rest, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He kept moving up the staircase, step by step.
His thoughts slid back to Jane’s recent mood swings-episodes of inexplicable kindness mixed in with the usual displays of anger and violence. He’d witnessed with his own eyes several of the bizarre occurrences. Just the other day, he’d almost swallowed his own tongue when he saw his boss help her servant Brainless clean up a broken dish Jane had slammed against the wall. The child’s face had paled during the incident, sure it was a trap, but when they finished, Jane apologized for losing her temper, dismissed her with a wave, and went back to work.
Frazier would’ve been less surprised to see a duck-billed platypus knock on his door and ask for tea.
Rumors of other surprising acts had spread through the castle like flames through a heat-wilted cornfield. Stories of kind words, apologies, thank-yous, compliments. Tales of Jane using her special powers to help servants lift heavy objects. It was crazy. Frazier had known this evil woman for years, and he couldn’t reconcile in his brain how it could be the same person. And yet, interspersed among these un-Jane-like anomalies, there were many moments where she exploded in rage, sometimes worse than ever before.
The whole thing was fishy, and in an odd way, Frazier longed for the days when Jane acted the tyrant every minute of every day. At least then he’d known what to expect.
He finally reached the top step, pausing to take three long breaths to calm his heart. He wiped the sweat from his face, not wanting Jane to see him so weak. After a very long minute, he finally crossed the stone landing and knocked on her wooden door.
It disappeared in a swipe from left to right, as if it had slid into the stone. It was only a trick, however, a manipulation of Chi’karda. Jane loved using her power for such trivial things, always opening her doors in creative and unexpected ways. One time she’d simply made it explode outward in a spray of dagger-like splinters, permanently scarring the poor sap delivering her mail.
Jane stood there, dressed in a simple yellow gown, her feet and hands bare. Her emerald eyes shone, almost glowing like green embers. Something was off, though. For a second, Frazier couldn’t figure out why she looked so odd, but then it hit him.
Jane had a layer of stubble growing across her head, tiny black sprouts of hair. Never-not once since he’d first met her so long ago-had Frazier ever seen so much as one hair on her head. She’d always insisted on baldness for some mysterious reason. Frazier balked and looked toward the floor, almost as if he’d caught her unawares coming out of the bath.
“Good morning, Mistress,” he said, keeping his eyes down. “I’ve come to report the latest on the Barrier Wand, and to, uh, report some interesting news.”
“Frazier, dear Frazier,” Jane said, her voice soft. “Please, come in.”
He looked up to see she had moved aside, gesturing toward her large, yellow velvet couch, beside which a fresh fire burned in the comforting hearth, its bricks freshly painted her favorite color. Clearing his throat, using every ounce of his will to avoid a single glance at her head, Frazier stepped past her and took a seat, sinking into the wonderfully comfortable cushions.
Mistress Jane sat next to him on his right, crossing her legs so that she faced him only a foot away. The fire reflected in her bright eyes, seeming to ignite them into some odd, molten metal. Frazier didn’t like this. No, he didn’t like this one bit.
“Frazier,” Jane said, reaching out to caress his arm, just once, before clasping her hands in her lap. “I know people are talking about me-about my… change.”
Frazier cleared his throat, faked a cough, hoping to buy time. He didn’t know how to respond to this. “Um, yes, Mistress, the servants have said some very… um, nice things about you. They are, of course, very grateful when you, uh, show them kindness.” He stopped; every word that came out of his mouth sounded worse than the one before it.
“Kindness?” she said with a disgusted tone, as if the word were a highly contagious disease. “That’s the best they can come up with? That’s how they honor my attempts to elevate my leadership skills?”
“Well,” he said, doing his best to speak clearly without stuttering. “No, I meant, well, I just meant they’re noticing your efforts, saying many different words-all very glowing words, actually. Your esteem has skyrocketed in their eyes. In, uh, mine, too.”
Jane folded her arms, glaring directly into Frazier’s eyes. “Do you think I’m stupid, Frazier?”
She’s going to kill me, he thought. Right now, after all these years, she’s going to kill me because she’s finally gone completely and totally insane.
“Stupid?” he repeated. “Of course I don’t think you’re stupid.”
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