Paul exchanged a look with Sofia, having no idea what the guy was talking about.
“Yeah,” a brown-haired woman said, dressed in a T-shirt and blue jeans. “What good are a few spies against Chu and all his weapons?”
Rutger held up his pudgy hands. “You’re right, you’re right. Our spies may only be good for opening a door here, smashing a window there, perhaps rearranging some schedules of workers if they can. No, we’re not saying we’re going to enter the heart of Chu’s lair because of a few spies. But they will help.”
“Then what’s the plan?” Sofia yelled out, surprising Paul.
Rutger looked at her, then scanned the full audience. “We’ll have to, I mean, all of you will have to fight your way in.”
A small roar sounded from the crowd as everyone started talking at once. A couple of people stood up, shouting at Rutger.
Master George slammed a hand against the podium, sending a sharp crack of thunder echoing across the room, silencing the Realitants.
“Please, good people,” Master George said. “Don’t get in a tizzy before you’ve heard the entire plan. Many of us have spent our entire summer working on developing our weapons program, and we’ve come up with some dandies, I assure you.”
Paul looked at Sofia. “Weapons? Sweet!”
Rutger spoke next. “In these boxes are samples of our latest inventions, most of them based on items taken from the Fourth. We have enough to equip an army of thirty-two Realitants, and we think that will be enough to get us to Tick and the Dark Infinity device. And, if I may be so bold as to express my professional opinion, these things are going to kick some serious . . . um . . . er . . .”
“Booty!” Paul shouted.
“Exactly!” Rutger pointed at Paul, grinning. “Now, shall we begin?” He plopped down onto his knees and opened the small shoebox. He reached in and pulled out a tiny, dark ball, about the size of a marble. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger. “This, my friends, is called a Static Rager, and it’s not something you’d want to use for playing catch with little nephew Tommy.”
“Unless you be wantin’ little Tommy to be eaten by a forty-ton ball of dirt,” Mothball added. “Nasty buggers, those are. Could’ve used ’em on the Bugaboo soldiers.”
Paul leaned over to Sofia. “Now this is what I’m talking about!”
Mothball pulled a silver device from her bigger box. It was several inches thick, cylindrical, about two-and-a-half feet long, and had several tubes running down the sides, all coming together in a tapered point at the front; two straps of cloth hung from it.
“This ’ere’s a Sonic Hurricaner,” she said, hefting it up for everyone to get a good look. “Call ’em Shurrics for short. Makes the old Sound Slicer look like a BB gun, it does. Come on, ’ave a look.”
“Yes, yes,” Master George said. “Come up, gather round. We have much more to show you and not enough time. Demonstrations will take place at the canyon bottom shortly. Departure for the Fourth is in three hours. Chop-chop!” He waved his arm toward Mothball and Rutger’s boxes.
Paul was the first one to get there.
Chapter
40
~
A Thin Sheet of Plastic
Tick’s eyes snapped open.
He shot into a sitting position, wondering what had awakened him. Had it been a noise? Did something touch him? He scanned the small room but saw nothing out of place—except for the lamp shining brightly on the dresser. That was it. Someone had turned the light on.
Man, he thought. My brain must still be asleep.
A tiny closet offered the only hiding place, and it was barely large enough to fit a little kid. He kicked off his blankets and walked over to the closet, then ripped the door open. Nothing but a pile of his old clothes and a few fresh shirts and pants.
Sighing, he stumbled backward and flopped onto the bed. Chu created something that controls people’s minds in other Realities, he thought. Making a lamp turn on to wake me up is nothing.
After another minute, he stood, rubbed his eyes and stretched, then started undressing to put on some of the fresh clothes in the closet. As he slipped into a long-sleeved gray shirt and black pants that were as comfortable as sweats, he felt an icy chill in his chest. He had absolutely no idea what to expect or what to do.
He put on his own tennis shoes, slung the leather satchel over his shoulder, and stepped up to the door. There was no handle, just a dull slab of smooth beige material. He reached out, but before his hand made contact, the door clicked and moved, swinging out into the narrow hall. Pale lights in the hall revealed that Mistress Jane’s door was also open; her room was dark.