He laughed, surprising her again. “You are. Higgin-bottom and two of his friends. We got ’em.”
Jane leaned back in her chair, then realized her mask had transformed into a giant smile. She quickly erased it, but that’s how she felt. When Atticus had disappeared back at the Blade tree, she’d had a thousand troubling thoughts flash through her mind. The worst one was that the Haunce had gotten involved, and if that had been the case, very bad things could have happened. But there had to be another explanation if the Sleeks had captured the boy again so soon, so easily.
So . . . easily.
Her brief elation vanished. “Frazier, why in the world would those people come to the Factory? Why come to the Thirteenth Reality at all? Something’s wrong here.”
Frazier’s face so quickly melted into distraught panic that Jane felt sorry for him. “I . . . don’t know, Mistress. I . . . but . . . if we have them, does it matter? We caught them. Whatever they were trying to do, we stopped them!”
Jane stood up. “It’s too easy, too simple. Tell the Sleeks to guard them with every creature they can spare. I want every weapon on the grounds gathered—send more if necessary. Search the entire area. Something is wrong!” She pulled up the hem of her robe and started marching toward the door.
“What . . . where are you going?” Frazier called from behind her.
She swiveled sharply to look at him, her mask full of rage. “No more chances, no more mistakes. The boy must die—he’s too dangerous! We’ll have to be careful so as not to accidentally ignite the powers inside him. But I’m going to kill him till he’s dead, dead, dead!”
She felt a trickle of insanity—and relished it.
Chapter
41
~
An Interesting Gate
Tick’s display of power must’ve made an impression on the tall, wispy Sleeks. They didn’t make a sound as they moved through the forest, and they had even let go of their prisoners’ necks, letting them walk freely as long as they stayed on course. And they came nowhere near Tick himself.
Dawn had finally hit the world, making everything in the forest look dull purple. While the extra light made the journey easier, it also reminded Tick of how long it had been since he’d last slept, and exhaustion weighed on him like soggy clothing. He knew they must be close to the Factory. He couldn’t help but hope that once they got there, they’d throw them in a prison cell where he could get at least a little rest before Jane showed up and they had to do their magic tricks to save the universe.
He’d tried twice to speak to Paul or Sofia, but neither of them would respond, flickering their eyes at the Sleeks as if scared of the consequences. Tick guessed he could understand their hesitation, but he felt no fear of the creatures anymore. It was odd—their creepy look alone should’ve made him shudder with chills every time he looked at them, but his episode earlier with the surge of Chi’karda had pumped him full of confidence.
Those things weren’t going to mess with him again. Right that second, he thought nothing in the world would ever mess with him again. His rational side tried to tell him that he was being stupid, but he pushed it away, wanting to enjoy this feeling of invincibility for a little while longer.
The air around them brightened suddenly, a combination of the trees thinning out and the sun rising higher by the second. Tick looked up and saw the sky for the first time in awhile. A flat layer of bumpy clouds panned across most of it, the eastern edge outlined in fiery orange. Something smelled really awful, growing more pungent as he thought about it. He was pretty sure he’d never been around a rotting animal before, but for some reason that’s exactly what the odor made him think of.
He shot a glance at Paul, wrinkling up his nose.
Paul returned the sour face, then waved his hand back and forth in front of his nose.
Tick returned his attention to the path ahead of him. The Sleeks refused to walk in front of him, instead pointing every once in a while with a rasping, hoarse croak. Tick just loved it—the things were scared of him. Scared of him!
Shut up, Tick, he told himself. Something’s wrong with you.
He knew he didn’t have time to worry about it, but he felt like he’d ingested rotten milk into his system. There was a taint of . . . evil coursing through his veins. Maybe using Chi’karda—and letting it consume him and take over his emotions, his anger—had a price to it.
He shook it off. Things were changing up ahead.
They stepped past a last bunch of trees into a wide open, muddy space, void of any vegetation. A hundred yards or so away stood a tall, jagged wall of lumber, the thick pieces thrown together as if by accident. The wall ran in both directions for at least a mile before curving out of sight. The only break was a large gate made of twenty or thirty black iron bars, the upper tips ending in spikes. Heads of fangen and other monsters had been impaled on each and every spike.
Tick shuddered. Weren’t fangen and other creatures created here? Then it hit him. Just as you might see several auto models displayed in front of a car factory, so were the products being shown off here.
Tick continued walking without missing a beat, each footstep squishing in the mud, his eyes fixed on the heads on the gate. He wanted to remember them for later, for when he would need something to give him incentive to stop what was going on here. Everything about the Factory disgusted him, and for just a second, he felt a flare of Chi’karda ignite inside him. He put it down and kept moving.
He didn’t break his gaze until they’d crossed about half the open area. He wanted to see what the Sleeks looked like in full light. They still walked right behind Paul and Sofia, their tightly wound coils of smoke looking blacker than ever. Their bodies were impossibly long and drawn out, little puffs of dark fog bleeding off them with every step. They wore no clothes and looked like nothing but a ragtag doll made of old, dirty rope. Their silver eyes were the only things that broke the monotony; they flared just as brightly during the daytime as they had in the night.
Tick caught Sofia’s eyes, then Paul’s, silently telling them that this was it, things were about to get interesting. As he swiveled his head back toward the approaching gate, he wondered about the Sleeks. What were they? Had they been created here in the Factory? Mistress Jane had used her powers to set this all up. Was it something Tick could learn if he wanted to? Surprisingly, the question intrigued him and, for the briefest of moments, excited him. The thought chilled his heart.
Yeah, something’s wrong with me, he thought. He caught a powerful whiff of something totally foul, making words like rotten and decay pop into his head. Pinching his nose shut with two fingers, he took the last few steps until they were standing just in front of the looming iron gate. Oddly, the only thing he could see through the bars of the gate was a grove of trees.
“All right, Sleeks,” he said. “What now?”
One of the smoky creatures walked ahead of him, seeming to float along, then clasped its smoky fingers into fists and leaned forward as it screeched out a breathy series of harsh words, completely indecipherable.
“That guy needs a cough drop somethin’ awful,” Paul said, the first time he’d spoken in a good hour or two.
“How do we know Jane will come here to see us?” Sofia asked. “For all we know, she could just tell them to kill us and be done with it.”
Tick winced at the thought, but he had confidence that wouldn’t happen. “She’ll want to know what I did to ruin her black tree thing. That, or she’ll want to rub it in our faces before she slaughters us herself. She’ll come, don’t worry.”
The Sleek moved to stand with its companion behind Tick and his friends. Tick turned his attention to the gate, feeling each breath draw in and out as he anxiously waited for the thing to swing open.
A low rumbling noise seemed to come from everywhere at once, like the sound of cranked-up machinery. The ground vibrated, then intensified to an outright shake, making Tick’s feet almost bounce in the mud. He warily took a step backward
, then a few more. Paul and Sofia did the same until they were about twenty feet from the iron bars. The gate remained closed. The sound of thrumming machinery grew louder.
“Seems like a lot of work just to open a stupid gate!” Paul yelled.
Tick nodded but didn’t respond, his gaze riveted ahead, the anticipation making him feel waterlogged in his chest. His concentration was so focused on the gate itself that he didn’t notice what was happening at their feet until Sofia shouted for them to look down.
A huge section of the muddy ground was shifting, the front edge right in front of the gate lowering, tilting on a fulcrum in the middle of the section. Tick and his companions rose as the other end sank like a giant seesaw. The angle steepened at an alarming rate, approaching forty-five degrees before anyone could react.
“Get—” Tick began, but couldn’t finish, his feet slipping out from under him.
He fell on his butt and scrambled to hold onto something, but his fingers found only wet, slippery mud. He looked up, frantic, and saw a big chunk of black smoke heading for his face. It hit him like a hard shot from a firm pillow, and then he was sliding toward the gaping hole that had opened at the foot of the gate.
He slipped through the slimy sludge, Paul and Sofia right next to him. Down, down, until they reached the edge and plummeted into dark, empty air.
Chapter
42
~
Strips of Fire
The fall lasted only ten feet or so, but it was the longest and worst second of Tick’s life—a terrifying second when he felt like he’d either drop forever or be smashed to a bloody pulp far below. He barely had time to curl into a protective ball before he slammed into a dirt-packed floor. He felt the wind knock out of him and heard the grunts of his two friends. He only peripherally noticed the section of ground above them slam shut with a metallic clang, leaving them in complete darkness.
Groaning, he rolled over onto his side, knowing he’d been lucky to avoid a broken bone or worse—even though at the moment, his whole body hurt.
“You guys okay?” he called out.
“Fine,” Sofia answered.
A few seconds passed, then Paul said, “I think I broke my spleen.”
“What?” Tick forgot his aches and pains and sat up.
“I’m kidding, dude. I’m fine. I don’t even know what a spleen is. Does anybody know what a spleen is?”
Tick spoke before he knew what he was saying. “It’s a highly vascular lymphoid organ between your stomach and diaphragm.” He paused. “Sorry. Been reading a lot of science books lately.”
“I already knew that,” Sofia said.
“Yeah,” Paul replied. “I’m sure you did, Miss Italy. What do you think happened to Master George?”
Tick got to his feet, the jarring pain of the fall starting to fade for the most part. “He’s probably being held somewhere else. This can’t be the place they want to keep us. Why would they have a prison cell right below the gate?” He held his hands out, trying to feel for anything in the darkness.
“I bet it’s a trap,” Sofia said. “Ya know, for people who come here who aren’t supposed to. Like us. Makes sense to have it below the spot they’d most likely come to if they wanted in.”
Paul must’ve been exploring, too, because he bumped into Tick. “Oops, sorry.” He patted Tick on the shoulder then walked a different direction. “I don’t know, Sofia. Maybe it’s just a marker or something, and the way you actually get into the Factory is to come down here.”
Before Tick could say anything, a loud clang filled the air, and a source of faint light made him look to his left. A huge door had swung open, and a dark figure stood in the widening crack, mostly in shadow because the glowing, orange light source was behind him. Or her. Or it. Tick couldn’t quite tell yet.
The door opened all the way until it came to rest flush against the wall, their visitor standing alone in the doorframe. Something was odd about the thing, and when the light behind it flared brighter, as if someone had stoked a fire, Tick got a good look for the first time.
It was man-sized and man-shaped, but any other comparison to a human being ended there. The creature had no eyes, no nose, no mouth, no ears. Its arms were stumps without hands. Winding strips of what looked like thick cotton covered every inch of the thing’s body, protruding from the skin, moving and swaying back and forth like flags in the wind. Each strip was about a foot long, and they shot out from the body as if charged with static electricity.
“What . . . who . . .” Sofia began but didn’t finish.
Tick and Paul remained silent.
The creature turned its head, looking without eyes at each of them in turn, its odd strips whipping the air like they were trying to escape and fly away.
A rush of chills ran along Tick’s arms and shoulders.
A female voice came from somewhere down the tunnel, echoing and bouncing its way to them like scurrying bats. The voice was strong, but whispery. Scratchy. Creepy. It said only two words.
“Firekelt, burn.”
In that instant, Tick remembered the water monsters that had tried to kill his mom and dad. Jane had called them waterkelts. Kelts must be some term she used for her new creations. And if this one was a firekelt—
Bright, flaring light cut off Tick’s thought.
Each strip of cloth on the creature’s body from head to toe ignited into searing hot fire, like a thousand old-fashioned wicks soaked in oil. Flames licked out in every direction, the blazing ribbons whooshing and spitting and hissing so that the monster looked like Medusa with fiery snakes.
Intense heat radiated from the firekelt and washed over Tick in waves as he backed away, Sofia and Paul right by his side. Sweat beaded on Tick’s forehead, dripping into his eyes.
The creature took one step toward them, sudden and quick. Then another. The strips continued licking at the air like tiny solar flares, raging with fire but not burning up in the least.
“What do we do?” Tick shouted.
“Got a bucket of water on ya?” Paul responded.
“It won’t hurt you,” said a voice from behind the flaming monster, that same scratchy voice that had instructed it to burn in the first place. Tick guessed it was Mistress Jane, and when she spoke again, he had no doubt. “Firekelt, extinguish.”
A great swooshing rush of air swept through the door and swirled inside the big room. It intensified, seeming to come from all directions at once and gusting back and forth like a hurricane. Tick instinctively reached out and grabbed Paul for support, feeling as if he were about to be swept off his feet. Sofia joined them, and they huddled together in a strange group hug.
The wind tore at the firekelt, whipping its flames toward Tick and the others. The odd wicks flapped tightly, parallel to each other as they tried to tear loose from the body of the creature. The fires flared brighter at first, but then flickered and sputtered under the enormous pressure of the windstorm. Each flame traveled down the course of the strips until they reached the ends, holding on for dear life. The creature waved its arms in frustration, helpless. Then the final small blazes winked out, throwing the room back into relative darkness.
The wind stopped without warning. The sudden silence that descended almost popped Tick’s ears. Hesitant, he let go of his friends. He looked at the firekelt, mostly in shadow again because of the faint orange light still coming from behind it.
The creature stood tall, defiant. Each flameless wick began to move about again as if a slight breeze still remained.
Mistress Jane spoke again, her raspy voice making Tick want to cough and clear his own throat. “The firekelts are mostly used for lighting purposes only. You’ll have to pardon my desire to show them off—I’m quite proud of my creations. Now, feel no alarm when it lights up again. Firekelt, burn.”
Sparse flames ignited on the tips of the wicks then worked themselves brighter and brighter, consuming the cloth-like tentacles for several seconds until they were fully on fire again. The lig
ht seemed even brighter this time; Tick finally had to look away, splotches of afterglow in his vision.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the firekelt turn away and walk out of the room, taking most of the light with it. Then the robed and hooded figure of Mistress Jane replaced the creature, standing in the doorway, the front of her completely in shadow. She clasped a tall staff made of wood in her heavily scarred right hand.
“Welcome to the Factory,” she said, as sincerely as a tour guide. “I’m sorry our last meeting didn’t go so well. I promise things are going to be different this time. Yes, things are going to be very, very different.”
Chapter
43
~
The Fifth Army
Sato had finally asked all the people from Mothball’s Reality to sit down, cross-legged, so he could actually see them as he spoke. Even then, the tops of their heads came to the middle of his chest, which made it all the more absurd that he was suddenly their leader. But there they were, rows of soldiers sitting on the checkered marble-like stone of this bizarre place, all eyes upon him.
After a long break, he’d reassembled the group. He had no clue how long it’d be before Tick—or whoever—winked them away. Or even if it was really going to happen.
No, he believed it. Tick’s voice had been alive in that note, as had the urgency he felt. Something big was about to happen, and Sato had to get these people ready to help with it.
“You gonna stand there all day or talk to us?” said Rutger, sitting in the front row, just a few feet from Sato.
“Hold on! I’m thinking. If you wanna get up here and lead this army yourself, then do it!”
Instead of being taken aback, Rutger nodded, as if in approval. As if he were proud of his own son standing up here. This annoyed Sato greatly.