The Journal of Curious Letters (The 13th Reality #1)(47)

“The Thirteenth—” Tick started, his stomach falling into a pit of cold ice.

“Don’t waste another moment of my time with complaints or questions!” Master George finished his flipping and turning of the Wand’s controls and looked at the four recruits. “This attack on my home shows you the urgency of your mission. Follow Mothball’s orders. She has weapons called Sound Slicers if you run into trouble. Please do me a favor and don’t point them at each other. I’d rather you not return to me with your brains turned into runny oatmeal.”

Sound Slicers? Tick wondered. He really wanted to voice a question, but the man in charge barely paused to breathe.

Master George held up a warning finger. “It is imperative you succeed in bringing back the Barrier Wand of Mistress Jane. We must seal her in the Thirteenth Reality forever. Or at least until we can properly prepare to fight against her evil magic hordes. If everything goes as planned, it should be quite, er, easy.”

Tick didn’t like the hesitancy in Master George’s voice. He already felt like a rookie paratrooper about to be pushed out of the plane for the first time over a major battlefield, under heavy fire.

“Atticus, you enjoy chess, yes?” Master George said in a tight voice.

Tick couldn’t think of a question that seemed more out of place. “Yeah.”

“Good. Come here.”

Tick moved closer to Master George, who put the Barrier Wand directly in front of his face. “It’s been my experience that chess lovers are quite good at memorization. Am I correct?”

“Uh . . .”

“Excellent! Now look at each of the controls on the Barrier Wand and memorize their position. Exactly, now—there’s no room for error, none at all.”

“But—”

“Quickly!”

Tick swallowed the lump in his throat and did as he was told, scanning his eyes up and down the length of the golden Wand.

“Hurry, we only have a minute at most!” Master George said.

Pushing his panic away, Tick tried to freeze-frame the image of each dial, switch, and knob in his mind, storing it, burning it in his memory. He was still focusing on the bottom dial when Master George took it away and began switching everything again.

Master George spoke as he worked. “Mothball isn’t . . . agreeable with Barrier Wands, so it’ll be up to you, Atticus, to bring all of you back in case something happens to me.”

Tick felt like someone had just poured acid down his throat.

“Mark your watches,” Master George continued. “If I don’t wink you back here in thirty hours—precisely thirty hours—that means that Rutger and I are in serious trouble. If that happens, Atticus, you will have to use Mistress Jane’s Barrier Wand—which looks exactly like this one—in order to escape the Thirteenth Reality. Adjust it as I showed you, then hit this button on the top.” He pointed at a perfect circle cut into the top of the cylinder. “It will wink you to one of our satellite locations where you will be safe from harm. Understand?”

Tick nodded, scratching his neck through his scarf, nervous and afraid like never before. Another explosion rocked the building, throwing everyone off balance; a brick fell from the mantle of the fireplace, a poof of dust billowing out. Master George almost dropped the Barrier Wand but caught it just in time.

Paul cleared his throat. “And how’re we supposed to steal a Barrier Wand from the most evil woman in history, as you put it?”

“We have a spy named Annika in place. All you have to do is meet her and she will help you retrieve it.”

“Is that all?” Sofia said.

“Listen to me,” Master George said, all semblance of his normal, cheery, quirky self gone. “You have all shown tremendous resolve and courage in making it to me, and I am proud as buttons to know you. But you must do this one last thing before officially becoming Realitants. Show me you can do this, and a life of adventure and intrigue awaits you, I promise. Do we have an understanding?”

The building rumbled again as Tick made eye contact with Sofia, then Paul. They looked as scared as he felt, which for some sick reason made him feel better.

“Let’s do it,” Paul said.

“Yeah,” Sofia agreed. “Psycho Jane’ll be sorry once I get my hands on her.”

They both looked at Tick, waiting for his answer. “You know I’m in,” he said.

“Splendid,” Master George said. “Sato?”

Everyone looked over at the disgruntled boy on the couch. He stood up, trying to bring the scowl back to his face but failing; he was just as scared as everyone else. “I’m only going because I don’t trust Master George and I want to make sure you three don’t mess up.” He walked over and joined the small group standing around the Barrier Wand.

“Sato,” Master George said, in an unusually kind voice for someone who had just been insulted. “I know more about you than you understand, and I feel no anger. When you succeed in this mission, I hope to gain your trust, and may I daresay, to become your friend.”

Sato said nothing in reply, looking at the floor.

A horrible sound of crunching metal came from the hallway where Tick had first entered the building, followed by another rocking explosion.

“Best be gettin’ a move on, don’t ya think?” Mothball said.

“Quite right you are, my dear friend!” Master George said, holding the Barrier Wand out in front of him, his arm rigid, so the golden rod stood upright in the middle of the group. “All of you, hands on the Wand! It’ll be much easier if you’re touching it!”

Mothball was first, wrapping her huge hand around the very top of the cylinder. One by one, the others followed her example, clasping the Wand in quick succession—Paul, Sofia, Tick. All eyes went to Sato, who turned and spat on the ground. Then, with all the enthusiasm of putting his hand into a cage full of rattlesnakes, he grabbed the lower edge of the Wand.

“I’m very sorry indeed we didn’t have more time to talk,” Master George said, his tone solemn. “I expected a few more hours at least, but we must move on, mustn’t we? Remember the plan, and remember your courage. May the Realities smile upon you, and may we see each other again very soon.”

Without waiting for a response, Master George pushed the golden button.





Chapter


45










The Thirteenth Reality




Mistress Jane sat on her throne, eyes closed, deep in thought as she waited for her next visitor. What a life mine has become. So many people hated and despised her, wished she were dead. But they simply did not understand. All of her cruelty and harsh rule had a purpose, and someday the Realities would know of her goodness.

All she wanted was to make life better.

What a poor existence the wretches of Reality Prime eked out from day to day. It was a marvel they continued on despite the drab bleakness of their lives—no power, no joy, no color. Jane would change all of that. The new and improved version of Chi’karda made every second a wonderful moment, and it must be shared. It must be spread. The Realitants had always talked about finding a utopian Reality someday, a paradise on Earth; Jane could make it happen.

She was so close to implementing her plan. One by one, she would fragment and destroy the branching Realities until only Prime and the Thirteenth remained. Then, with an army such as never before witnessed in all of history, she would take over Reality Prime, consuming it with the mutated Chi’karda. Only then could the universe be rebuilt, one world at a time, a better place for all.

In a million years, her name would still be remembered with love and worship.

She needed help, of course. She’d sent a letter to a very important person, setting up a meeting on May thirteenth—a meeting that represented the final and most important part of her plan. Only one more week, she thought. If Reginald Chu agreed to her terms at that meeting, nothing could stop her. Nothing. Especially not the pathetic and laughable Master George and his dwindling Realitants. Just hours earlier, she’d finally initiated the attack on his headquarters, an act for which she’d shown much patience, having wanted to do it for years.

One more week until the meeting with Chu. The final piece of the puzzle.

Jane opened her eyes. It was time to speak with Gunn.



Frazier felt sweat seeping into his eyebrows from his forehead, as if the skin itself were melting.

He stood before the huge wooden door with its iron bindings and handle, barely able to breathe as he waited for the horrible thing to open. He had failed, miserably, and there was no telling how Mistress Jane might react. Sometimes she was very merciful to her failures—allowing them to die with a quick snap of her odd abilities in this place. At other times, she displayed much less kindness. Jane had immense amounts of control over the mutated Chi’karda that existed in the Thirteenth, and she loved to . . . experiment.

A muted thump sounded from the other side of the door, followed by the odd sound of something dissolving, like the scratchy rush of poured sand or the amplified roar of a million termites devouring a house. A hole appeared in the middle of the door, expanding outward like a ripple in a pond, devouring the wood and iron of the door as it grew until the entrance to Jane’s throne room was completely open.