Paul walked through the twilit forest of the Thirteenth Reality, Sofia and Rutger to his right, Mothball, Sally, and Master George—using his Barrier Wand like a cane—to his left. No one said a word as they picked their way through the bush and bramble. The massive concussion of sound they’d heard a few minutes earlier was enough to silence anyone for a week. Paul forced his thoughts away from the terrible possible explanations for that sound and concentrated on moving forward.
Ever since he’d returned to the Realitant headquarters, he’d been dying to know what in the world the little button in the box Gretel had given them was for. Old George had sent them to Gretel for a reason, had given them a secret password for a reason, had wanted that box with nothing in it but a plastic green button for a reason. But neither he nor Gretel would tell him what it was supposed to be used for. Phrases like “a need-to-know basis” and “you’ll find out soon enough” were thrown around. But that didn’t satisfy Paul.
Not one bit.
Oh, well. They had much bigger problems on their hands. There was trouble here in the Thirteenth Reality, and any notion they’d had of getting rest and relaxation was out the window. Master George hadn’t needed to tell them that when he said they’d all be winking there to regroup with Sato and find Tick. The situation was surely dangerous.
Paul smiled. It was as if his brain was so used to bad stuff that it wasn’t allowing him to focus on the best piece of news he’d ever received in his life. Tick was alive. Tick was back. Now they just had to figure out this mess and get him home safe and sound.
The woods had slowly thinned over the last hundred yards or so, though the air up ahead seemed slightly murky, like a dust storm had passed through recently, which seemed impossible for a place so green and vibrant with life.
“Shouldn’t we pick up the pace a little?” he asked the small crowd of Realitants.
“No need for haste, my good man,” came the not-surprising reply from Master George. “Our old friend Jane might have placed a few traps along the edge of the forest. Won’t do us much good to run willy-nilly right into them and spring the things.”
Paul was annoyed. “Won’t do us much good if we show up and everyone’s dead, either.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Sofia said. “He’s going to be fine.”
Paul heard a deadness in her voice that scared him. He realized that she had already begun the process of accepting that just because Tick was back and alive didn’t mean he was okay or safe. Paul didn’t look at it that way. If their friend was back, he’d figure out a way to get out of any mess thrown his way. The guy was a freak of nature—in a good way.
“I mean it,” Sofia added.
“Sorry,” Paul muttered. “I’m just anxious to see him. Help him if he needs it.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything.
They finally reached a point where the end of the woods was visible, and all of them saw it at once. A person with a body slung over his or her shoulders, stumbling at the last line of trees. Even as Paul watched, whoever it was fell down and out of his view. For the first time, he could focus on the scene beyond. And it was like a scene out of an old war movie.
Dust-choked air. Bodies littering the ground, many moving sluggishly to get up, some not moving at all. Countless chunks of rock and wood strewn about the grassy fields. And past all of that, the closest edge barely in sight, was a big pile of ruins and rubble. Paul had been here before so he knew what it was—Mistress Jane’s castle, completely destroyed.
Sofia broke into a run, her feet crashing through the weeds and twigs of the forest floor. Before Paul could follow her, she stopped like she’d seen a big snake. Then she was yelling.
“It’s Tick and Sato!”
Tick’s head felt like the end of a stubborn nail that refused to go into the wood straight. Like a hammer had pounded on it, bent it, yanked it straight, then pounded it all over again. He was barely aware of someone picking him up, then later falling again. He tried opening his eyes, but the light was like a sunburst right in front of him, stabbing and making the ache in his skull even worse.
Now he lay face-first on a ground that was prickly with twigs and pine straw. He groaned a couple of times to make sure whoever had tried to help him knew he wasn’t dead, but even the sound of that went off in his head like clanging church bells. A sudden burst of nausea filled his gut.
Please don’t throw up, he thought to himself. Oh, please don’t throw up.