Tick looked up at Mothball then down at Rutger, whose folded arms were resting on his huge belly. “Four clues at once?”
“He’s a bit hasty,” Mothball said. “You see, has to be twelve clues, there does, and we’ve only got a short time to go, ya know.”
“Why does there have to be twelve?”
“’Tis part of the riddle, Master Tick.” She winked at him. “There you are, I’ve just given you my own bit of a clue. Quite clever, I am.”
“Yeah,” Rutger grumbled. “A regular Hans Schtiggenschlubberheimer.”
Mothball snapped her fingers as her face brightened with recognition. “Ah, I remember that name now! Yeah, me dad taught my sis and me all about him, he did. That bloke invented the very first version of the Barrier Wand.”
Rutger shushed Mothball. “Are you crazy? I thought we were done giving out secrets the boy doesn’t need to know yet.”
Mothball shrugged as she winked at Tick again. “It’s got nothing to do with the clues, little man. Give the sir somethin’ to think about, it will.”
“Barrier Wand?” Tick had heard those words before from Mothball. “I won’t even bother asking.”
Rutger turned to Tick, rolling his eyes as he nodded toward Mothball, as if he were shrugging off the escapades of a little kid. “Solve the riddle of Master George, be where you’re supposed to be on the special day, do what you’re supposed to do, go where you’re supposed to go—then you’ll know very well what a Barrier Wand is, trust me.”
“Sounds good . . . I guess.” Tick couldn’t wait to tear open the envelope of clues, but he also wanted to stand there all day and ask them questions. “Isn’t there anything else you can tell me? Anything?”
“Done opened our mouths quite enough, we have,” Mothball said. “Master George will probably step on his cat he’s so nervous about it all.”
“You mean . . . he can hear us? Do you have a microphone or something?”
Rutger laughed, a guffaw that echoed through the trees, like he’d just been told the funniest joke of the century. “You have much to learn, kid, much to learn.”
Tick looked down with mixed confusion and anger. “What’s so funny?”
Rutger stuttered his laugh to a stop, wiping his eyes with pudgy hands. “Oh, nothing, sorry. Nothing at all.” He cleared his throat.
“Well, off we go, then,” Mothball said. “Best of luck, Master Atticus.”
“Yes, yes, indeed,” Rutger added, reaching up to shake Tick’s hand vigorously. “Please, don’t take anything the wrong way. I’m a little funny in the head sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Tick said. “I noticed.”
Rutger’s face grew very serious. “Mothball and I . . . well, we’re rooting for you, kid, a great deal. You’ll make it, and we’ll meet you again very soon. Okay?”
“It’s in one month,” Tick blurted before he knew what he was saying. “May sixth. I have to go to a cemetery and stomp my right foot on the ground, at nine o’clock at night, and say certain words and close my eyes. I just have to figure out what to say, and—”
Rutger held up a hand. “Sounds like you’re on the right track.” He and Mothball exchanged a look, and there was no doubting the huge smiles of pride that spread across their faces.
So far, so good, Tick thought. I just need to know the magic words.
“We really must be going, now,” Rutger said. “Good luck to you, and be strong.”
He and Mothball folded their arms in unison, staring at Tick.
“Okay, see ya,” he said, then paused, waiting for them to turn and go. They didn’t move. “Aren’t you leaving?”
“Better we wait for you to be off,” Mothball said. “Just tryin’ to be proper and all.”
“Man, you guys are weird.” Tick smiled then, hoping they knew they had become two of his favorite people on the planet. He felt the familiar pang of good-bye, then gave a simple wave. “See ya later, I guess. Will you be there if I . . . make it—whatever that means?”
“We’ll be right there waitin’ on ya, we will,” Mothball said. “Be the grandest day of yer life, bet yer best buttons.”
Tick nodded, wishing he could think of a way to extend the visit, but knowing it was time to go. “Right. Okay. Bye.” He turned and walked away, heading back through the trees toward the road.
Tick ran all the way home, his sadness at saying good-bye to Mothball and Rutger quickly melting into anticipation of opening the next four clues.
He closed the door to his room and sat at his desk, wishing he could somehow transport Sofia from Italy so they could rip this thing open together. The thought made him want to kick himself for not asking Mothball and Rutger about their interactions with Sofia or any other kids. He wondered if Sofia had received this package yet. He’d have to e-mail her as soon as he was done taking a look.
He opened up the envelope and pulled out four pieces of cardstock, exactly the same as all the other clues. Each card had its own message typed in the middle of the page, with a number written in blue ink directly above it with a big circle around it, indicating its place in the sequence—seven through ten. Tick wondered about the significance of the order as he spread everything out on his desk in front of him, then read the first one, the seventh clue:
Go to the place you have chosen wearing nothing but your underwear. Oh, calm yourself, I’m only giving you a bit of rubbish. Don’t want you to think I’m without a sense of humor. No, quite the contrary—you must dress warmly because you never know where you’ll end up.
Tick paused, thinking. The first line had made his stomach turn over before he realized Master George was just kidding around. That’s all Tick needed was to go running across town in his undies to hang out at a graveyard in the middle of the night.
Nothing else about the clue seemed mysterious or riddle-like at all, giving weight to the little note that had been stapled to the front of the envelope. This one seemed like nothing more than a warning to dress warmly. But according to the attached note, everything was a clue, so it had to have some kind of hidden message.
Just when I think I’m getting the hang of it, he thought, shaking his head. He moved on to the next one, the eighth clue:
Eventually you will fail. I say this because the vast majority of those who receive these letters will do so, utterly. For those extreme few of you who may succeed, I will conveniently explain away this clue as a small typing error. For you, it was meant to say, “Eventually you will not fail.”
Tick surprised himself by chuckling out loud. This Master George guy had quite the sense of humor and sounded like he was as quirky as an elf in Santa’s workshop. Tick couldn’t wait to meet him.
As for the clue itself, there was nothing to figure out, no mysteries—not even any advice this time. More and more, Tick was beginning to think he’d missed something important he was supposed to get from these messages.
He moved on to the ninth clue:
Ordinary kids would’ve given up by now. I know what is haunting you, what is chasing you, what is making your life miserable. Cheer up, friend, much worse lies ahead.
This one made Tick sit back in his chair and pause for a very long time. It was the shortest clue yet, but packed with so much. The kindness of Master George showing empathy for what Tick was going through and the terrible things he’d seen. The encouragement that Tick wasn’t just an ordinary kid. The pride knowing he’d stood up and endured. And finally, the almost humorous warning that he’d only seen the beginning and “much worse” was still to come.
Tick felt like three starving warthogs had been unleashed inside his brain, grunting and thrashing to find food. He wanted to know the truth, to know everything, so badly it made his head hurt, and he felt frustrated to no end. He’d just read the next three clues, and yet seemed no closer to discovering the magic words. If his family hadn’t been downstairs, Tick would’ve screamed at the top of his lungs.
Almost reluctantly—almost—he read the final piece of paper from the envelope, the tenth clue:
Remember to bring two items with you, stowed carefully away in your pockets, while you say the magic words. Sadly, I must refrain from telling you what the items are. I can only say this: they must be impossible to pick up, no matter how strong you are, but small enough to fit in your pockets, since that is where they must be, on penalty of death (or at least a particularly nasty rash). I realize this riddle is very easy, but my cat just messed on the Peruvian rug in my parlor, so I haven’t much time to think of a better one. Good day.
Messed on the Peruvian rug in his parlor? Tick was beginning to like Master George more and more every second.
And the man was right—this one was too easy. Tick got up from his desk, excited to e-mail Sofia. Then he would show all the new clues to his dad.
It took him ten minutes to finally persuade Kayla to quit playing her Winnie the Pooh computer game, and another couple minutes to clean the sticky spots off the keyboard from her fingers. She’d broken the no-food-at-the-computer rule and helped herself to a Popsicle while maneuvering Pooh and Piglet through the horrible dangers of the Hundred Acre Wood.