GENERAL ADMISSION

ROMAN EMPEROR–DOMINO THEATER–$8

DOORS 11:30–SHOW 12:00

“Hey, kid,” the man in the booth said. “Wanna step out of the way?”

Pete looked up to see a woman, frowning, next in line. He’d been staring at the words on the ticket, lost in the incredible realness of it.

“Sorry!”

Then he bolted from the Woodruff lobby.

He knew Mr. Bench’s shop was around the corner from Transistor Planet, and he could see that from where he stood outside the hotel. He walked his bike, experiencing a sense of floating, as if even the Goblin Police couldn’t reach him, he was so high.

“Mr. Bench!” Pete yelled, leaving his bike out front and running up to the counter. “Look!”

The purple ticket looked even better in Goblin’s Magic.

“Well, what have we here?” Mr. Bench said, adjusting his glasses. “You don’t say, Pete. It looks like you’re going to see Roman Emperor in person, after all.”

“Yes!” Pete said, trying to keep his cool but failing. “Isn’t it…isn’t it great?”

“It’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bench, for telling me he was coming.”

Mr. Bench smiled. “Well, Emperor may keep secrets, but I do not. And that’s not all you’re going to thank me for. I looked around a little. Found some things you might be interested in. C’mere.”

Mr. Bench knelt behind the counter and returned with a stack of magazines and newspapers and loose pieces of paper.

“Seems there’s more to learn about Roman Emperor than we thought.”

Pete thought he was going to wet his pants. “Holy cow, Mr. Bench.”

The pile on the glass counter was tall. Pete reached out to touch the pages, wanted to absorb it all at once.

“For you,” Mr. Bench said.

“But I don’t have any—”

Mr. Bench shooed this away with a quick hand gesture. “Money is funny, Pete, but it doesn’t make you smile like magic does. Go on. You’d better get. You’ve got a lot of reading to do.”

Between the ticket and the magazines, Pete couldn’t wrap his head around it.

He took the stack greedily.

“Thank you, Mr. Bench. Thank you! You’re the best man…ever!”

Mr. Bench laughed. “Oh yeah? Well you’re not such a bad kid, yourself. Make sure to stop in next week, after you’ve seen the show. I expect you to tell me how he does what he does. Deal?”

“Yes. Deal.”

Pete made for the door.

“Pete,” Mr. Bench said, “pay attention to him. He really might be the best.”

Pete blushed like the compliment was given to himself.

He made it back home with minutes to spare. Time enough to start reading. Mom didn’t get home until five forty-five. Pete didn’t worry about whether she’d notice he’d been in her dresser. He hardly heard her call hello from downstairs.

The material Mr. Bench had just given him was unfathomably right on.