Tick waited a few seconds, then finally took the cylinder from Sofia. It was cool to the touch and slippery in his sweaty hands. “I don’t think you should do that. Follow me or come after me, I mean.”

“Why?” Paul asked.

“Well, if Chu wants me alone—or . . . with Mistress Jane—then we better do things his way.”

“For awhile, maybe,” Sofia said. She looked as if she might say more, but then closed her mouth.

Tick looked at Sally and held up the silver rod. “What am I supposed to do with this anyway?”

Sally grunted and rummaged through his leather pack again. “Ain’t no way ol’ George be lettin’ me tell ya.” He pulled out a wadded up piece of paper and handed it to Tick. “Read that, ain’t too hard no-how.”

Tick unfolded the paper with shaking hands then read it out loud:

Dear Master Atticus,

You hold in your hands the antidote to Reginald Chu’s nanoplague, which is causing people all through the Realities to go insane. We believe the plague can be destroyed by injecting this silver rod and its contents into the mechanism that controls the virus-like nanoparticles. You need simply to smash the antidote against Chu’s device—Dark Infinity—and let Rutger’s brilliant engineering do the rest of the work.

I need not tell you the incredible amount of danger you are about to undertake. I daresay, I almost feel tempted to abandon the whole thing. But alas, I think you’d agree that we have no choice. The fate of all the Realities may hang in the balance. Atticus, you must do this thing. You must do it, no matter the cost.

Once we see sign of your success, we will come and rescue you. This, my good man, I swear to you.

Your comrade in arms,

Master George

Tick held up the cylinder, studied it closely, ignoring his surge of panic. The odd object had no blemishes, no scratches, no smudges—it was perfectly smooth, perfectly shiny.

“Piece of cake,” he muttered with a pitiful attempt at a laugh. “Waltz into Chu’s house and smash this against something. Piece of cake.”

“Yeah, dude, piece of cake,” Paul said. Tick couldn’t help but wish he could trade places with Paul, broken arm and all.

“You heard him,” Sofia said. “You heard Master George. We’ll be watching your every move, and we’ll come save you as soon as . . .” She trailed off, and Tick wished desperately that no one would say another word.

“I’m going,” he said, pushing the fear away. Now or never. Just move. “I’m going right now. Sally, can I have that bag of yours?”

Sally nodded, then handed over the leather satchel. Tick put the cylinder and the message from Master George inside, zipped it up, then slung it over his shoulder. “I’m going right now,” he said again.