“Where was all this stuff when we went to the Thirteenth?” Sofia asked.
“Most of it’s junk,” Mothball replied. “Experiments and such that couldn’t hurt a fly on a toad paddie. Sound Slicers were our best bet then.”
“Over here,” Rutger called from a couple of aisles down.
Paul almost stumbled over Sofia as they both hurried toward Rutger. The short man pointed up to a shelf holding the same large cylindrical objects Mothball had shown them earlier, with several tubes that tapered to a point on the end, straps hanging off both sides.
“Those are the Shurrics,” Rutger said. “Sonic Hurricaners. Grab two of them, Paul.”
Paul reached out—the shelf was at his eye level—and pulled two of the weapons down. They were much lighter than he’d expected, and he handed one to Sofia before examining his own.
“The two straps go around your shoulders and across your back,” Rutger explained. “It keeps the wide end flat against your chest while you activate the trigger mechanism in your hand.” He pointed to a small plastic rod jutting from the bottom of the Shurric with a red button in the middle, just like a joystick. “It’ll leave your other hand free to throw nasty horrible things at the enemy. This way.”
He walked farther down the same aisle then turned left, where several large black boxes lined the bottom shelf. “Those little marbles are the Static Ragers. We just call them Ragers for short since Stragers is hard to say and sounds really stupid.”
“What do they do?” Paul asked.
“You won’t believe it until you see it,” Rutger said with
a huge smile of pride on his fat face. “They have static electricity compacted inside them under extreme pressure. After you squeeze the suckers with your fist, you have five seconds to throw them. Once unleashed, the Rager uses the lightning-strong static inside to gather hundreds of pounds of materials to it—dirt and rocks and plants, whatever—like the world’s worst snowball as it rolls, growing larger and larger until it smashes into something.”
“Nasty little things,” Mothball muttered. She pointed at Rutger. “This little ball of lard just about smushed me into a hotcake, he did, testin’ the buggers. Not much can stop ’em once they get movin’ and such.”
“How many times do I have to apologize!” Rutger said with a frown. “It wasn’t my fault you decided to relieve yourself in the weeds, now was it?”
Mothball’s face reddened, something Paul was sure he’d never seen before.
“What else do you have?” Sofia asked.
Rutger shook his head. “That’s it, I’m afraid, at least for you two. Some of the others have more . . . specialized weapons, prototypes and such.”
“Ah, dude, why can’t I have one of those?” Paul asked. “Specialized weapons are my speciality.” He grinned.
Mothball swatted Paul on the shoulder. “Zip it. You’re lucky you’re goin’ at all.”
“Before you leave,” Rutger said, “we’ll make sure the Shurrics get strapped on properly and give you a sturdy bag for your Ragers. But it’s time to go down to the canyon floor—Master George wants everyone to test things out before leaving, which gives us just over an hour.”
He started pushing past Paul to head out of the room, but stopped and looked up at Sofia. “Ah, I almost forgot. Master George has something very special he wants to give you. I have to admit I was surprised at his choice, but he said he felt strongly that you should be the one entrusted to use it.”
Sofia’s raised eyebrows, creased forehead, and greedy grin made her look half-shocked and half-thrilled. “What is it?”
Rutger exchanged a long look with Mothball, neither of them showing much expression or saying a word.
Finally, Rutger said, “On second thought, we better let Master George explain it to you. Come on, let’s go down the elevator to the canyon floor.”
Chapter
41
A Cloud of Stars
Do you trust me, Atticus?”
Tick looked at Mistress Jane, almost expecting her to laugh and say she was kidding. They’d been standing in silence for at least ten minutes since reading the Note of Doom. “What kind of stupid question is that? You’re a traitor, and you really seem to like hurting and killing people. No, I don’t trust you.”
Jane scowled, the pale red light making her look like a devil. “Fair enough. Then answer this—do you trust Reginald Chu?”
That made Tick think. “Well, no. He’s as bad as you.”
“Listen to me,” Jane said. “I know I can’t convince you I’m a fairy godmother who loves to make cookies and play hide-and-seek with children. But you’re a smart boy. Think about our situation. No matter the troubles between us—between me and the Realitants—we have a bigger problem, right here, right now. We have to stop Chu before he causes every last person in the Realities to go insane. And I need your help.”
Tick threw his arms up in frustration. “Need my help? You keep saying that. Yeah, somehow I winked people out of the Thirteenth and—” He stopped, not wanting to tell her about how last spring he’d made the burned letter from Master George reappear. “But it was probably just a freak thing and will never happen again. Plus, what good will that do us? You want me to wink you somewhere like I’m some kind of human Barrier Wand?”
Mistress Jane grabbed her black hair that lay over her shoulder and gripped it in her fist like a ponytail. “Atticus, you’re either a brilliant actor or not quite as wise as I thought.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jane reached out and poked him in the chest. “Your whole body exudes Chi’karda. It practically glows on your skin. You’re like a supercharged battery just waiting to unleash your power. I’ve never seen anything like it, and you can’t tell me you don’t feel it.”
Tick suddenly felt very ill, and all he could do was shake his head.
“I visited some of the places Chu sent you to—after you were gone. Back when I was still deciding whether or not to kill you as he’d challenged me to do. How could you have done those terrible things and not realize you’d done it?”
“I have no idea what—”
“Please!” Jane shouted. “The twisted trees, the melted glass with a huge creature stuck in the middle—what do you think did that? A stiff hot wind? It was you!”