The heat was stifling, an invisible fire that suffused the air of the world, filling Tick’s lungs with every breath he took. Once they reached the slope of the red wall, he realized it was much steeper than it had originally looked. Amazed at how easily Jane scooted up its face, he determined to do just as well.
Grabbing rocks that blistered with heat and finding footholds aplenty in the cracked and creviced stone, he found climbing wasn’t so bad. About halfway up the wall, he looked down to see Paul and Sofia right below him. Master George was struggling a little, mainly because he was trying to keep his suit from getting dirty, but the darker patches of sweat under his arms revealed that his suit would need a good wash anyway—though Tick doubted they’d be seeing a Laundromat on the other side of this wall.
What am I thinking about? Tick asked himself as he continued to climb. Laundry? Sweaty armpits? He needed to stay focused.
Jane reached the top ridge above him and disappeared from sight, kicking a trickle of rocks down the slope with her last steps. Tick squeezed his eyes shut until the rocks passed; a couple of pebbles nicked his forehead. He pulled himself up the last few feet and stood on the top edge of the wall, taking in the sight before him. Sofia thumped the back of his leg.
“Scoot over, Tick,” she said. “Give us some room here.”
Tick stepped forward, too focused on the strange setting below him to respond to Sofia. The ground slowly sloped from where he stood, leading to a wide depression surrounded by squat, scraggly trees that barely clung to life, their sparse leaves more brown than green. Scattered across the dusty ground of the natural bowl formation were several groups of people, each group focusing and working on various stations that couldn’t possibly have looked more out of place.
Computers and monitors covered tables scattered around the ground. Other platforms held large, silver machines he’d never seen before, each one loaded with odd appendages and dials and switches. Several viewing screens had been set up, tall and square and white, perched precariously on metal stands. Tick feared the slightest wind would topple them over. In the middle of each screen, Tick saw something he recognized: a small metal rod attached with a suction cup.
Spinners. Devices from the Fourth Reality, spinners used some kind of laser technology to project pictures and video. Jane had said she wanted them to witness something, but Tick hadn’t thought they’d be watching it like that.
Sofia and Paul were standing next to him now, scanning the area as he was. Master George finally made it to the ridge as well. Tick heard him grunting and gasping for breath behind them.
“What’s that in the middle?” Paul asked, pointing.
Tick looked, and when he saw what Paul was pointing at, he couldn’t believe he’d missed it before.
It was a statue of a tree, maybe four feet tall, and made of the blackest material Tick had ever seen. There was no blemish to its darkness, no dust, no flash of light or reflection. Every inch of it was pure black. The trunk of the tree was about a foot thick, and its limbs shot off starting halfway up, branching out over and over until the outermost tips were as thin as toothpicks.
“That’s plain weird,” Sofia said.
“What could she possibly be doing with all this junk?” Paul asked. “Especially a stupid sculpture of a tree?”
Master George had finally caught his breath. “Whatever that tree is, I suspect it’s the most important thing down there. It gives me a very bad feeling.”
“It’s so black it doesn’t seem real,” Sofia said.
Tick noticed Jane had walked all the way down to the outermost group of people next to a row of computers but was now coming back. Her red mask still had that creepy smile, like she was a kid at Disneyland and having the time of her life.
“Come down!” she called. “I’ve got chairs for you!”
Tick exchanged looks with Paul and Sofia. Jane sounded way too cheerful, way too nice. That scared Tick almost more than when she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Off we go,” Master George whispered, giving the three of them a gentle push from behind.
When they made it to the bottom, Jane gestured toward a man holding four folding chairs in his hands, two in each. He had black hair and unusually thin eyebrows, and he wore a faded red T-shirt and jeans. As he started setting up the chairs, Jane introduced him.
“This is Frazier Gunn, my most loyal servant. He’ll be in charge of ensuring you all witness today’s events. I’ll be too busy to see to it myself. But let me make this clear—if you cooperate, no harm will come to you or the Higginbottom family. However, one sign of trouble, and Frazier . . . has his orders.”
Tick’s hatred for her burned inside him, and he had to suppress a rising tide of Chi’karda. He pushed it away, feeling an icy chill settle in his gut. Completely dejected, he numbly walked to one of the chairs and sat down, saying nothing, ignoring everybody. All he could see in his mind were images of his family.
“That’s the spirit,” Jane said. “The rest of you sit down. The show will begin shortly.”