They’d been dying to talk about the note since dinner, but paranoia kept their mouths shut—except for the occasional slip up from Paul. The stranger’s message said people were listening, and now Tick couldn’t sneeze without wondering what the snoopers might think. If the note was even true in the first place.
A barely discernible click sounded as the big hand on the old-fashioned clock struck nine. All three of them turned their heads toward the room’s door, as if expecting the stranger to walk in precisely on time. He didn’t.
Several minutes went by with no sign of their visitor. Paul finally got out of his chair and paced the floor, shaking his head and mumbling something under his breath. He stopped at the desk and wrote a few words on the pad of paper provided by the hotel, then tore the piece off and showed it to Sofia. She shrugged, and then Paul brought it over to Tick.
Don’t we seem suspicious sitting here and not saying anything?
Tick nodded, but didn’t know what else they could do. If people were really spying on them, they’d certainly be alarmed at how silent their prey had become.
I wish the guy would just hurry up and get here, Tick thought.
Paul sat back down in his chair. A few more minutes passed. A shadow crossed over the small slit under the door, catching Tick’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He shifted on the bed and put his feet on the floor, leaning forward, expecting to hear a knock.
Nothing.
Tick exchanged questioning looks with Paul and Sofia, then got up and walked over to the door. It didn’t have a peephole, so Tick reached forward and slowly pushed down on the lever handle. A loud click filled the room like a clap of thunder; he squeezed his eyes shut, not even sure what he was afraid of.
After a few seconds of silence, he jerked the door open and looked into the hallway, ready to slam it shut again at any sign of trouble.
The stranger from the restaurant sat on the red-carpeted floor, his back against the opposite wall. He still wore the dark suit, his shoes so shiny that the hallway light reflected off them and into Tick’s eyes. As soon as he saw Tick, he put his right index finger to his lips—a reminder they weren’t supposed to talk.
Feeling uneasy, but unsure what else they could do, Tick stepped back and opened the door wide, gesturing with a sweep of his arm that the stranger should come in. The large man—bald head and all—got to his feet and entered the room, giving a quick nod to Paul and Sofia. Tick closed the door as quietly as he could.
The man sat on the bed, waving for the others to come and stand around him. As Tick and his friends obeyed, the stranger pulled out a photograph, a few pieces of paper, and a ballpoint pen. He’d already written one note and handed it to Tick along with the picture. In it, the man stood with Master George in front of the fireplace at the Grand Canyon Realitant complex, both of them with wide smiles; Muffintops perched on the mantle behind Master George’s right shoulder.
The message was clear: they could trust the guy.
Paul and Sofia crowded closer as they read the note together:
Your nanolocators done been hijacked. And this hotel is bugged like a bugger.
It’s not Master George winking you willy-nilly. Reginald Chu is behind everything.
You MUST keep passing that sucker’s tests.
At first, Tick felt like he was reading Spanish or French or Chinese—the words didn’t click inside his brain. Such a monumental statement surely couldn’t be said in a quickly scribbled note. He looked at the stranger, knowing his face showed the confusion he felt.
Master George’s friend rolled his eyes and wrote another message, hastily scratching the paper with the pen. Then he held it up for them to read:
You’ve been under the control of Reginald Chu
all along. He’s testing you. Not Master George.
It’s Chu—it’s all been Chu.
Something shuddered in Tick’s chest; the room swayed. Losing his balance, he stumbled backward, falling into the chair where Paul had been sitting earlier.
Everything they’d just been through . . . the pain they’d felt in the forest, the riddles, the metaspides, the weird tunnel with its beast? All of it had been orchestrated by Reginald Chu? They’d suspected all along it wasn’t Master George, but Chu? The man Rutger called the most evil in the universe?
“How—” Sofia said, then snapped her lips closed.
Tick felt like he was watching from a distance, the room still spinning. He kept picturing Mr. Chu, his science teacher, appearing in the woods, filthy and acting crazy. Had that really been him? Or had it been Reginald Chu from the Fourth Reality? Were they Alterants of each other? Was it possible they were the same person?
When Tick had been a small boy, he’d fallen off a ride at the water park, dozens of feet in the air. If he hadn’t landed on the pile of large rafting tubes, he would have smacked into the cement and been one dead kid. It had taken him weeks to get over that “too close for comfort” feeling.
That was exactly how he felt now. To know they’d come so close to being killed by the metaspides and the tunnel monster scared him. What if they hadn’t figured out the name of the pub where they escaped by sitting in that chair? What if they’d left the red square in the glass tube? How would things have turned out if they’d known someone so sinister was behind it all?
Tick leaned back in his chair, staring at the stranger on the bed as if the man could read his thoughts, expecting him to answer everything.
The man nodded, seeming to understand the shocking news he’d brought. He scribbled a few sentences on another piece of paper then handed it to Sofia. Tick and Paul leaned over to see:
By the way, I thought you’d done recognized me.
It’s Sally—ain’t my shaved head a beaut?
Don’t worry, I’ll explain purtin’ near everything.
But you gotta trust me for a minute.
As soon as Tick read it, he knew it was true. The guy sitting on the bed was Sally, head and beard shaved, dressed in disguise. But the thing that made Tick’s mouth drop open was the realization that Sally was a Realitant.
“You’ve gotta be kidding—” Paul whispered. He stopped when Sally shook his head curtly, holding a finger to his lips again.
Sally stood, holding his hands out, palms forward as if to say, Hold on—give me a second. Then he reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a small white box—the type in which you’d expect to find a necklace or bracelet, laid out all nice and pretty on a piece of velvet. He knelt down on the floor, placing the box gingerly on the bed, eyeing it like a ticking bomb he needed to disarm.
Paul elbowed Tick, then raised his eyebrows. Tick shrugged and quickly looked back.
Sally reached over and pulled off the top of the box, scooting as far back as he could.
Something shot out of the box and into the air—Tick lost track of it before he could tell what it was. An odd thump filled the air, like the sound of a distant thunderclap. Tick reached up and rubbed his ears; they felt like someone had stuffed cotton balls in them. He heard a faint buzz, like static on the radio.
Sally stood up, folded his arms, then grinned with satisfaction.
“Finally! Dadgum thing actually worked,” he said. “George ain’t never failed before—I reckon one of these days I’ll quit doubtin’ the old feller. But I didn’t wanna whip that sucker out ’til you knew who I was. We can talk now.”
Tick didn’t say a word—neither did his friends. The last few minutes had been so strange, so . . . weird, what were they supposed to say?
Sally laughed, a deep rumble that Tick swore shook the building. “You three look as twitterpated as a coon done found itself fallen in the outhouse bucket. Right diddly-widdly, I ain’t never seen such a sight before. What ya’ll
a-feared of? I had to play dress-up so Chu wouldn’t get all suspicious-like. Spies and such about, ya know.”
Still, none of them responded. Tick blinked, then swallowed. Then he blinked again.
“Snap out of it!” Sally roared. “We ain’t got no time to sit here throwin’ peepeyes. I got to hurry and gets myself on outta here.”
Sofia was the first one to speak. “It’s just, well, we didn’t . . . we didn’t know you were a Realitant.”
“Not to mention the news you just dropped in our laps,” Paul added. “I think I’m gettin’ too old for this stuff.”
“Nonsense,” Sally said, sitting on the bed and crossing his legs. As soon as he did, he winced and put both feet back on the floor. “Never did get how dem fancy lads like George sit that way. Yipes.”
The static-laced buzzing sound still filled the air; Tick rubbed his ears again. “Why is it okay to talk now? What was in the box?”
Sally huffed. “Boy, you think I got da first nary a clue what dat dang thing was? Round dem Realitant parts, I’m known for my brawn and grits-cookin’, not much on da brains. Ol’ George said pop that sucker open—called it a dang ol’ airborne nano whatchamerbucket—and we can talk. I done did it, and here I sit, talkin’ my silly head off, and we ain’t got nowhere fast.”
Tick took a deep breath before he’d realized it—a sigh of relief. Maybe the world wasn’t over after all.
“Sounds like you have a lot to tell us,” Sofia said.
Sally nodded. “Reckon so. Good gravy on raw beef, I ain’t got a clue where to git to start yappin’ on.”
Tick felt like he understood about one-third of what came out of Sally’s mouth, but he liked him all the same. “Just start from the beginning. How’d you find us in that weird place with the metal spiders? And what’s going on with Reginald Chu?” Saying the name slammed a fist of reality back into Tick’s gut, and his temporary good mood soured.
“All right, den.” Sally shifted on the bed until his back was up against the wall. “Ya’ll git yerselves comfy, and I’ll
tell ya every last bit I got in dis here noggin. Ain’t much, mind ya, but listen up anyhow.”
Sally started talking.
Chapter
26
Needles
Sato didn’t know what else to do—he pounded on the huge metal door of the icy alcove with his fist. A deep, hollow boom echoed down the rocky mountainside. Sato shook his hand, needles of pain vibrating through his cold skin after the impact.
No one answered at first, though Sato hadn’t really expected them to. His theory that George might have made a mistake had taken root, entrenching itself deeper into his heart, sickening him. Freezing to death didn’t sound like the best way to go.
But it wasn’t long before something scraped on the other side of the door, followed by a loud clunk of metal against metal. Sato stepped back as the door slowly swung inward, the wind blowing wispy trails of snow into the dark interior of the mountain. He braced his feet, held his hands up in defense, not having any idea of what might lunge at him from the gloom.
“What’s that?” a raspy voice called out. A pale face appeared, ghoulish with sunken cheeks, like a ghost peeking from beyond the grave. “What’s that, I say?” The man’s whitish eyes darted about. Sato was surprised the light from outside wasn’t blinding him.