Everything will fail unless you say the magic words exactly correct.
Say the magic words exactly correct. Could “exactly correct” be the magic words? Tick thought it would be really dumb if that were the answer; plus, he’d been told the first letter from M.G. would reveal the special words, not one of the later clues.
Tick closed the book, frustrated. This new message told him nothing he didn’t already know, only that he had to say something specific when the day came, something magic. Other than that, M.G. just seemed to be rubbing it in that he wouldn’t tell Tick what the words were-neener, neener, neener.
Disappointed, wondering if he was missing something obvious, and still baffled at how the present had gotten into his family’s Christmas tree, Tick went downstairs and e-mailed Sofia about the fifth clue. Knowing she probably wouldn’t respond for awhile, he joined his dad in the kitchen, sharing the news as he started snacking on everything in sight.
Sofia wrote him back that night, which would have been early the next morning her time. His heart lifted when he saw her name in the INBOX and he quickly clicked on the message.
Dear Tick,
I got the Fifth Clue, too. Doesn’t say much, does it? I think your idea that the magic words are “exactly correct” is just what you say. Stupid. No way, too easy.
I’m sure you’re excited for the big trip to Alaska with your dad. You’ll probably get lost and eaten by a polar bear. Your funeral will have the coffin closed because all that will be left is your right pinky finger. Just kidding. I hope you escape alive.
I thought I saw a man spying on me yesterday. He looked mean, but disappeared before I got a look. Not good.
Have fun in Ice Land. Write me as soon as you return.
Ciao,
Sofia
Tick reread the sentences about the man spying on her. Sofia threw that in like she was telling him she’d bought a new pair of socks. If some creepy-looking dude was watching her, chances were he’d be coming after Tick next. Unless someone was already spying on Tick and he hadn’t noticed? He felt the familiar shiver of fear run up and down his spine, once again reminded that this M.G. mystery business wasn’t all fun and games.
He wrote a quick note back to Sofia, telling her to be careful and that he’d write her again the second he got back from Alaska. He was just about to log off when he heard the chime of his e-mail program. When the new e-mail message popped up, Tick felt like an icy fist had smashed his heart into pulp.
From: DEATH
Subject: (no subject)
His stomach turning sour, Tick clicked on the e-mail. It only had one line of text.
See you in Alaska.
Chapter 20
The Land of Ice and Snow
Two days later, Tick and Edgar sat in their seats on the airplane, thirty-thousand feet in the air, soda and stale pretzels making them look forward to a much better meal once they landed in Anchorage. Tick sat by the window, his dad’s oversized body wedged into the aisle seat like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon stuffed into the back of a pickup truck. The steady roar of the plane’s engines made Tick feel like his ears were stuffed with cotton.
The two of them had discussed the fifth clue and the strange e-mail from “Death” many times over, with no progress. Tick didn’t know who was more determined to figure everything out-him or his dad. They’d gotten much braver-or dumber-with every passing day, to the point they were willing to ignore an obvious and outright warning like the one received in the e-mail. They were going, and that was final.
“We need to keep a sharp lookout,” his dad said through a mouthful of pretzels. “If either one of us sees something suspicious, yell it out quickly. When in doubt, run. And we need to stay in public as much as possible.”
“Dad, I’d say you sound like a paranoid freak, but I agree one hundred percent.” Tick took a sip of his drink. “I think I’m half excited and half scared to death.”
“Hey, we’re committed, right? There’s no turning back now.”
“Cheers.” They clicked their plastic cups together.
In two hours, they’d be in Alaska.
Seven rows back, a tall man with black hair and razor-thin eyebrows crouched in his tiny seat as best he could, reading the ridiculous in-flight magazine, which was full of nothing but advertisements and stupid articles about places he’d never care to visit. This spying business was deathly boring, and he hated it. No action, no results, boring, boring, boring.
But all of that would change very soon. The Spy would become the Hunter.
His name was Frazier Gunn, and he’d worked more than twenty years for Mistress Jane. He despised the woman, loathed her, in fact. She was the cruelest, most selfish, despicable, horrifying creature he’d ever met, and yet, his devotion to her was absolute. An odd mixture of feelings, but that’s how it had to be when you served someone who planned to take over the Realities. They needed a leader like her, ruthless and without conscience. He didn’t have to like her-he only needed to pretend to like her.
Because someday he planned to replace her.
Of course, if he ever failed even one of his assigned missions, she’d feed him to the Croc Loch near the Lemon Fortress with no remorse. But he was safe for now and had been promised a great reward if he could unlock the secret behind the bizarre series of letters Master George had sent out to kids all over the world. He had only recently discovered the identities of several recipients, enabling him to further his investigation with stealth and caution. But finally, the time for intimidation and action was at hand.
It’d been a fun trick sending the “Death” e-mail to the boy named Atticus, quite clever in fact. It was the dumb kid’s own fault for putting his information about the letters on the Internet for anyone to find. There’d been a slight risk that Atticus might’ve chickened out and not gone to Alaska, thereby ruining a chance to learn more for Mistress Jane, but Frazier couldn’t resist the calculated threat.
He reached into his pocket to feel the reassuring lump of the special thing he’d brought along to perform the important task he planned. He couldn’t wait to activate it; the devices they’d retrieved from the Fourth Reality were so much fun, futuristic and deadly. The spectacle would make all the hours of spying on the brats around the world worth every minute.
And if it didn’t work, there was always Plan B. Or C.
Or D.
Giving up on the magazine, Frazier Gunn leaned back and closed his eyes. The boy and his father couldn’t very well disappear on an airplane, now could they?
Tick felt so relieved when he and his dad were finally in the rental car, bags safely stowed away in the trunk, heading down the frozen freeway to Aunt Mabel’s house. Even though it was still mid-afternoon, the land around them had grown dark, the sun’s brief journey above the horizon having ended an hour ago.
Tick held a map in his lap, navigating for his dad. Mabel lived on the outskirts of Anchorage in a small suburb that seemed pretty easy to find. Most of the way followed one main road that stretched endlessly before them, the faded yellow lines of the lane markers seeming to flash then disappear beneath the car.
“Well, Professor,” Dad said. “Prepare yourself for Aunt Mabel. She’s quite the character and full of more ideas on how to save your life than you’ll probably care to hear. Just know that she means well and do a lot of nodding.”
“I’m excited to meet her.”
His dad laughed. “You should be, you should be. Trust me, if you want entertainment, we’re going to the right place.”
They’d eaten at a fast food restaurant before heading out from the airport, and Tick still had his soda, from which he took a big long swallow. “You think she’ll mind when we go exploring out to Macadamia?”
“You can bet your life savings she’ll mind, all right, but, oh well. We’ll tell her we didn’t want to waste such a good opportunity to see the sights of this beautiful land she calls home. That’ll get her, I hope.”
“Wh
en do you think we’ll drive out there? Tomorrow morning?”
“Sounds good to me. That’ll give us the whole evening with Mabel tonight, and breakfast tomorrow-she makes a mean plate of eggs, bacon, the works. Hopefully, we can figure some things out and return to her place tomorrow night.”
“I just hope Macadamia isn’t a dead end.”
His dad reached over and patted Tick on the leg. “No, we’ll find something. It couldn’t have been a ghost that sent that letter, now could it?”
“Judging by what I’ve seen lately? Maybe.”
“Good point.”
Tick studied the map. “Looks like you turn into her neighborhood up there to the right.”
Edgar flipped on the blinker as he slowed the car.
A mile or so behind, Frazier Gunn pulled off the road and stopped, not wanting to take any chances of being spotted. He’d wait an hour or so, then find himself a discreet parking space where he could watch the house. The boy and his father would probably spend the night, saving their planned expedition to Macadamia for tomorrow.
Frazier wanted to see what they discovered there before he put his plan into action. Every little bit of information on what Master George was up to might help Mistress Jane’s cause, and Frazier meant to find out everything he could. When the two adventurers drove back to Anchorage after their investigation, he’d implement the device that sat in his pocket, ready and hungry to get to work.
He grinned at the thought.
~
Tick and his dad stood in front of the door to Aunt Mabel’s home, staring at the plastic flowered wreath that must’ve hung there for two or three decades-its every surface covered in dust. The house itself was a cold and weary pile of white bricks, but the warm light shining through colorful curtains in the windows made it seem like the coziest place on Earth. However, neither of the Higginbottoms moved to push the doorbell just yet.
“Well, here we are,” Dad said. A thick layer of snow and ice covered the yard around them; it looked like a miserably frigid wasteland that hadn’t seen the full sun in years.
“Here we are,” Tick repeated, gripping his suitcase.
“Now, one last warning.” Dad looked at his son. “Aunt Mabel is at least one hundred and fifty years old, she laughs like a hyena, and she smells like three tubes of freshly squeezed muscle ointment.”
Tick grinned. “Good enough for me. I love ancient history and watching nature shows, and I don’t mind the smell of peppermint.”
His dad nodded. “That’s the spirit. Let’s do this thing.” He reached out and pushed the doorbell button.
Three seconds later, Aunt Mabel pulled the door open.
Chapter
21
Old, Funny, and Smelly
Little Edgar!” she yelled, a shriek that sounded like fighting cats. The intense smells of peppermint and homemade cooking wafted out of the house with the warm air, and Tick had to suppress a laugh.
Aunt Mabel looked as ancient as Tick’s dad had indicated, her heavily wrinkled but thin face covered in at least three pounds of makeup, capped off by bright red lipstick covering a lot more than her lips, as if she’d been jumping rope when she applied it that morning. Her small body seemed too frail to support the loud burst of excited salutations that came from her lungs as she hugged both Edgar and Tick.
“So good to see you! So glad you made it safe! About time you came to visit your poor old Auntie!”
Tick returned the hug, suddenly feeling very relieved and at home. She was family after all, and this trip obviously meant the world to an old widow who lived alone. Despite the icy cold weather, Tick felt warm inside and looked forward to getting to know his great-aunt Mabel-though he had to admit she did scare him a little.
“Well, come in, come in!” she said, her fake teeth sparkling as her face lit up like a giddy clown. “I need to sit these bones down-my bunions are inflamed like you wouldn’t believe. Take off your coats and such-especially that hideous scarf, young man.” She gestured to the side of the foyer where they put their coats and bags-Tick left his scarf on by habit, despite what she’d said-then Mabel led them into a small living room where a couple of couches covered in orange velvet beckoned for them to sit. A dusty lamp with beads hanging from the shade glowed a dull yellow from its stand on a chipped wooden end table. The entire house looked like it had been decorated with props from a really old TV show.
Once they were settled, Aunt Mabel brought in three steaming hot cups of herbal tea; it tasted like boiled cardboard but warmed Tick very quickly. He leaned back on the soft couch and put his foot up on his knee, eager to see Mabel in action.
“Well, land’s sake, it’s a delight to see you boys,” she started. “Living up here at the North Pole with nothing but seventeen quilts and a couple of icicles to keep you company makes a woman grow old quicker than she should. And let me tell you, when you were born before any of your neighbor’s grandparents, you can forget having friends come over to play pinochle and watch reruns of Andy Griffith. ” Mabel paused, but only long enough to take in a huge gasping breath. “There’s this boy that lives down the corner-mean as a snake, I tell you. He came over to shovel my driveway after the last storm, but he didn’t put salt on the sidewalk to melt the ice. The nerve of that young troublemaker…”
After coming from the wintry air into a nice warm house, and after a long day of busy travel, Tick felt his eyelids dropping as Aunt Mabel continued to rant about each of her neighbors and their various faults and crimes. He tensed his muscles in an attempt to wake himself up.
“… and Missus Johnson down the road-I’m pretty sure she’s a spy for the Homeland Security International Espionage and Intelligence Spy Division. Always snooping, asking questions, you know. Just the other day, I was taking my garbage out to the road as she was walking by. Do you know what she said to me?”-Mabel didn’t pause long enough for anyone to answer-“She had the nerve to ask me how my health was doing. I tell you right here and now I bet she wants to set up a sting operation from this house once I’m dead and gone, buried like a sack of dirty clothes in the town dump. And Mr. King up by the corner-did you know he has thirteen children? And every last one of them the spawn of the devil or my name isn’t Mabel Ruth Gertrude Higginbottom Fredrickson.”
And so it went for at least another twenty minutes, Tick finally having to pinch himself to stay awake. His dad seemed pleased as could be, smiling and nodding the entire time, throwing out a few “Hmms” and “Uh-huhs” every now and then. Finally, as though she’d exhausted her capacity to use her frail body’s vocal cords, Mabel stopped talking and leaned back in her seat.
“Uh, wow,” Dad mumbled, caught off guard that his aunt had actually quit yapping. “Sounds like your life is a lot more interesting than you let on, Aunt Mabel. We’re sure glad we could come and visit you.” He looked over at Tick, raising his eyebrows.
Tick straightened in his seat. “Yeah, I’m really excited I finally got to meet you.” He raised his cup as if saluting, and immediately felt like an idiot.
“You boys aren’t mocking me, are you?” Mabel asked, her eyes narrowing.
“No!” Tick and his dad said in unison.
“Good. Let’s eat some supper.” She squirmed in her seat, but couldn’t move an inch. “Atticus, dear boy, be a gentleman and assist your elders.” She held out a hand.
Tick jumped up and gently helped her stand, then escorted her into the cramped but cozy kitchen.
A wave of mouth-watering smells bombarded them when they entered, and Tick proceeded to eat the most scrumptious meal he’d had in a long time, which was saying a lot considering how good of a cook his mom was. There were freshly baked rolls soaked in butter, grilled chicken with lemon sauce, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes with chunks of garlic-all of it delicious.
Aunt Mabel talked the entire time they ate, covering every topic from her ingrown toenail to how she’d finally lost her last tooth to decay, but Tick barely heard her, enjoying three more helpin
gs of the fantastic dinner.
Frazier crept up to the car of his prey, his eyes flickering to the house of the old woman. He’d watched their shadows leave the front room and head deeper into the house, probably to the kitchen for dinner. The thought made his stomach rumble and he resolved to bag this place and find something to eat as soon as he’d accomplished his task. Even expert spies like himself had to chow down every once in a while.
He crouched behind the left front tire, making sure the body of the car stayed between him and the house. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the special device-an oval-shaped metal container, about eight inches long and three inches wide, a seam wrapped around the middle. On one side of the seam, several buttons and dials poked out. Frazier looked at the familiar label on the other side-the label that marked items taken from the Fourth Reality:
Manufactured by Chu Industries
He split the little machine into two pieces along the seam, slipping the part with the controls back into his pocket. The other half, with its dozens of wires and clamps coiled inside like poisonous snakes ready to wreak havoc, didn’t look nearly as menacing as it should, considering what Frazier knew it could do to something like a car. More precisely, what it would do, indirectly, to the people inside the car.
Frazier snickered, then reached underneath the tire well to place the Chu device as far and as deep as he could toward the engine. He pushed the small button in the middle and heard a hiss followed by a metallic clunk as the gadget reached out with tiny claws and adhered itself to the car. A spattering of tiny clicks rang out as the machine crawled its way to where it needed to go.
Smart little devices, these things. In a matter of moments, the beautiful but deadly trinket would find exactly what it needed.
The Journal of Curious Letters 1r-1 Page 11