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

Mothball sighed. “This is balderdash, really.” She leaned over and put a hand on Tick’s shoulder. “Rutger’s spot on, he is. We just don’t know what to talk about with you. Methinks Master George will explain everything—if you make it that far.”


“Listen to me,” Rutger said. “Focus your mind on the clues for now. Don’t worry about all this other stuff. You can do it, and it will all be worth it—when the day comes. You’ll be taken to a very important place.”

Tick felt incredibly frustrated. “Fine, but at least . . . Can you just answer one question? Just one.”

Rutger nodded.

“Can you tell me, in one sentence each, the definition of a kyoopy and the definition of a . . . a reality. No details, and I won’t ask any more questions about it.”

Rutger looked up at Mothball, who shrugged her shoulders. “Blimey, just do it. The poor lad’s mind might explode if we don’t.”

“All right.” Rutger took a deep breath. “Kyoopy is a nickname for the theory of science that explains the background of everything we’re about.” He paused. “And a Reality is a place, uh, or a version of a place, if you will, that comes about because of the kyoopy.” He looked up at Mothball. “Wow, that was good.”

Right at that very second, something clicked for Tick and he felt like an idiot for missing it before. “Wait a second . . . kyoopy. You mean . . . Q . . . P . . . right? Q.P.?”

Rutger looked confused. “Was I saying it wrong before? Yes, yes! Q.P.”

“Looks like the little sir is on to something,” Mothball said, a satisfied smile on her lips, but Tick’s mind was in another world at that moment. Q.P. He’d heard that phrase before from Mr. Chu, and he couldn’t wait to ask him about it again.

Kyoopy. Q.P.

Quantum physics.

“Now,” Rutger said, clearing his throat, “could we please move on? I believe you’ll be wanting the next clue.”





Chapter


29




~





A Bundle of Clues


The air had grown cooler as the sun made its way across the sky and toward the horizon. The drip-drip-drip of the melting snow slowed considerably, and Tick shivered as he eagerly waited to see the next clue.

Mothball pulled out a familiar yellow envelope, though this one seemed thicker than the others, and a separate piece of white paper had been stapled to the upper left corner, its edges flapping loosely as she handled it. After a long look at Rutger, Mothball handed the package over to Tick, who snapped it out of her hand without meaning to look so anxious.

“Thanks,” he said, fingering the note attached to the envelope. “What’s this?”

“Flip it over and read it,” Rutger answered. “Thought you could at least figure that out by yourself.”

“Very funny,” Tick muttered as he did what he was told, lifting the paper to read the few sentences typed on the back:

Within you will find the next four clues in the sequence, numbers 7, 8, 9, and 10. Now, most certainly you will read these and conclude to yourself that I, your humble servant, have gone batty because they don’t seem like clues at all. I will only say this: EVERYTHING you receive is a clue.





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?”