“That’s it?” she repeated, her courage returning. “Nothing else?”
Chu nodded. “You’ve been given your test, and I assure you, it’s not a simple task. You must kill Atticus Higginbottom.”
Chapter
21
An Elevator in Stone
Come on,” Mothball said, stopping for the tenth time to allow Rutger to catch up. “You’re slower than a sloth with no legs, you are.”
Truth be told, Mothball appreciated resting for a spell. It was blazing hot in the Arizona desert, and she was hauling a big load of logs she’d gathered from the riverside. Carried down by the Colorado River, stray wood often lodged in one particular bend, and Master George had to have his fires, didn’t he?
Rutger, sucking in every breath, his face the color of boiled cherries, stopped and craned his neck to look up at her. He was like a big ball rolling backward, pivoting on little legs. The man looked absolutely exhausted.
“Can’t . . . really run when I’m . . . carrying all of this . . . wood . . . now can I?” he managed to get out between breathing spells.
Mothball glanced at Rutger’s short arms, holding all of two sticks—one of them barely more than a twig. “Yeah, I’m quite shocked you haven’t called someone on the telly to announce you’ve broken the world’s record for stick-luggin’.”
“It probably is a record for someone from the Eleventh.” Rutger nodded toward the door hidden in the canyon crevice, about forty yards away. The two of them stood at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, its majestic red walls of stone towering over them, reaching so far to the sky they couldn’t see their tops. Having finished gathering firewood, they were making their way back to the elevator shaft entrance.
“I reckon Sofia would call you a flimp right about now,” Mothball said as she resumed walking toward the hidden crevice.
“It’s wimp, you tall sack of bones, and if she did call me that, she’d pay the price.”
“Oh, really?” Mothball called over her shoulder. “And wha’ exactly would you do? Sit on her toesies? Bite her shins, perhaps?”
“I’d do whatever it took to teach the young lady some proper manners, that’s what.”
Mothball made it to the small crack of a cave that led to the elevator and dropped her stack of logs onto the ground. She reached her arms to the sky in a long, satisfying stretch. When Rutger finally waddled over and dropped his pathetic two sticks onto the pile, he put his hands on his waist and took deep gulps of air, as if he’d just completed a marathon.
“Congratulations,” Mothball said. “You’re the first tiny fat man to haul two twigs across a weed-scattered spit of sand. Right proud of yourself, I reckon?”
Rutger looked up at her and grinned. “Push the button, or it’ll be your shins that get bitten.”
Mothball’s booming laugh escaped before she could stop it. She looked around to make sure no stray hikers were around to hear it. “Quit makin’ me laugh, ya little ball of bread dough. Get us in trouble, ya will.”
She stepped through the thin crevice and pushed a button that looked like the nub of a rock. She heard the rumble of machinery and pulleys from deep within the mountain, then the low whine of the descending elevator. She groaned, having expected the doors to pop right open since they’d just exited an hour ago and no one else should’ve used it.
“Blimey, who called up the ruddy thing?” she said as she stepped out of the cave and back into the sunlight. “Probably that rascal Sally, playin’ one of ’is jokes.”
“Oh, calm yourself,” Rutger said, his face finally returning to its normal color. Sweat poured down his face, however, and his hair was matted and wet. “It only takes a couple of minutes. Master George has Sally too busy to mess with jokes anyway.”
“I’ll bet ya tonight’s dessert that when the door pops open, Sally’ll be there with a trick up his sleeve.”
Rutger looked up at her, his face creased in concern.
“D-d-dessert?” he asked, as if she’d just suggested wagering the man’s life savings. “Let’s not get foolish, Mothball.”
“Then you’ll take it?” she asked, folding her arms and peering down her nose at him.
Rutger hesitated, fidgeting as he rocked back and forth on his tiny feet. “Um, no, I think you might be right on this one.” He cleared his throat. “Probably, um, going to throw a bucket of water on us. That silly lumberjack.”
Mothball shook her head, pretending to be disgusted. “You’d throw your own mum in the sewer for a dessert, you would. You can ’ave mine—s’long as you give me some of your bread and jam. Quite tasty stuff, that is.”
Rutger rubbed his chin, deep in thought. After a few seconds, he said, “No, I like the bread and jam, too. Let’s just stick with our own portions. Deal?”
Mothball reached down and patted him on the head. “You’re a good man, you are. A bit short for my likin’, but a good man indeed.”
“Oh, stop—look, it’s here.”
A few feet inside the crevice, a rock wall slid to the side, revealing the lighted cube of the elevator, its walls made of fake wood panels. Master George stood inside, dressed in his usual dark suit, arms clasped behind his back.
Mothball’s surprise quickly turned to concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he said, breaking into a smile that was obviously forced. “Just wanted to come down and get a bit of fresh air.”
He stepped out of the elevator and squeezed past the narrow walls of the cave and into the open canyon. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a satisfied sigh.
“Simply beautiful, don’t you think?” he asked, turning back to look at them. “I really should come out here more often. Good for the heart, I’m quite sure.”
Mothball rolled her eyes at Rutger. “Out with it, Master George. Somethin’s botherin’ ya.”
Master George tried to look startled, an expression that for some reason reminded Mothball of a frightened chicken. Then his face wilted into a frown, and he huffed.
“Goodness gracious me,” he said. “I can’t get anything past you two.”
“That’s a good thing,” Rutger said. “What’s going on?”
Master George put his hands behind his back again and paced in a wide circle for a full minute. Mothball knew better than to interrupt him. He finally stopped and looked at both of them in turn.
“I’ve just read through Sato’s final report of his interviews, and it concerns me greatly. He’s made conclusions with which I can’t disagree, and given me a proposal, in private, that frightens me to no end.”
“You have our full attention,” Rutger said. Mothball nodded.
Master George continued. “I’ve known all along that Reginald Chu was behind the strange things happening throughout some of the Realities. There’ve been whispers that he has a new invention, something terrible—something abominable. And I no longer have any doubt it’s directly related to the people who are going insane. I’m quite sure
of it.”
“What is this invention?” Rutger asked.
Master George paused. “Let’s go back up to the complex. I’d like Sato and Sally to join our discussion. We’ve much to talk about.”
Mothball, troubled, bent over to pick up her large pile of logs, wet from soaking in the river; she grimaced at how filthy they were after lying in the dirt.
“Could you take mine, too?” Rutger pleaded. “It’s hard enough for me to fit through this ridiculous cave as it is.”
“Don’t know if I can handle your twigs,” Mothball muttered. “Might tip me over.”
Rutger happily picked them up, then threw them on top of the stack bundled in her arms. One end smacked her in the nose.
“Blimey, that hurt! Go on with ya, get in the ruddy lift.”
Master George had already entered the well-hidden
elevator, waiting with arms folded and slightly shaking his head, as if observing the antics of misbehaving children. “Please, would you two hurry?”
Rutger sucked in a huge breath, trying to shrink his tummy, then ran forward into the dark slice of air between the two vertical walls of the cave. He made it two feet before he came to an abrupt halt; his legs dangled below him, his body lodged in place.
“Help!” he cried out, like a monster was coming to eat him.
Mothball snorted as she held in a laugh. With glee, she balanced herself, lifted one leg, cocked it, then kicked Rutger in the rear end as hard as she could. As he tumbled forward into the elevator, he managed to say, “Thank you!”
Mothball stepped onto the lift and pushed the up button.
Buzz.
Sato looked up from his bed where he’d been reading through his reports again. The intercom had rung for him. He put his papers aside, swung his legs off the bed and onto the floor, then reached over to hit the button on the wall.
“Yes?” he shouted.
“Ow, do you have to answer so loud?” It was Rutger, his voice a hollow echo of itself.
“Sorry. What do you want?”
“We’re meeting in the conference room in ten minutes. I’ll be providing refreshments, so snap-snap!”
Click.
Sato put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face with both hands. The nightmare of his parents’ death had seemed more vivid lately, the horrific images floating in his thoughts for hours after waking up. They hung in his mind like dirty, tattered drapes blocking out the sunlight. He shook his head and bent over to put his shoes on.
“Another meeting,” he mumbled. “Joy.”
A few minutes later, he slid into a cushy chair around the conference table, reaching out to grab a Chocolate Chip-Peanut Butter-Butterscotch-Pecan-Walnut-Macadamia-Coconut-Delight, one of Rutger’s specialties. The little man always said the name in full, despite its length. No one in the complex cared what they were called because they tasted delicious.
Everyone else was already seated: Mothball and Rutger to his right, Master George across from him, Sally to his left. They were the only Realitants at the Grand Canyon Center at the moment—the others had gone off with various duties and assignments.
“Sorry to bother you, Sato,” George said. “I know you wanted some time for a bit of relaxing after we spoke earlier, but I felt this gathering couldn’t wait.”
“No problem,” Sato muttered. He’d tried so hard to improve his mood lately, but the recent spout of dreams had quashed his efforts. The world seemed bleak and grim—the only thing that gave him reprieve was trying to figure out the mystery of the crazy people.
George rested his clasped hands on the table in front of him. “First, let’s summarize where we are at the moment. Thanks to our good man Sally, here”—he gave a nod to the lumberjack, who seemed lost in thought, his thumb picking suspiciously at his nose—“for putting the Earwig Transponder inside Tick so we could track him better and scramble Chu’s eavesdropping capabilities. For as long as I shall live, I shan’t forgive that man for his violation of Rule Number 462 on those poor kids. Hijacking a nanolocator . . . it’s evil, I tell you!”