“Someone’s done lumped you over the ’ead with a teapot, they ’ave,” Mothball said, glaring down at Paul with her thin arms folded. “You’ve got a ruddy broken arm.”

“I don’t care,” Paul said. He flexed his fingers while moving his arm up and down. “It’s set. It feels fine. I’m going.”

They stood with Rutger and Sofia next to the armory door; the other Realitants going to the Fourth had already received all they needed.

“Now’s not a time for false bravery,” Rutger said. “This makes your trip to steal the Barrier Wand from Mistress Jane look like a nice stroll down a country lane. This is serious business, and it’s highly doubtful everyone will return alive—if anyone does.”

Paul opened his mouth then closed it, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. He looked over at Sofia. “You’re going, right?”

“Of course I am,” she replied, looking awfully bored considering what was about to happen.

Paul turned back to Mothball and Rutger. “Then I’m going too.”

Mothball surprised him with her booming laugh. “So be it, then. Won’t be me goin’ to tell yer mum you’ve been sliced to bits by one of Chu’s nasties. Come on.”

She stooped to enter the room; Rutger waved Paul and Sofia through before he followed.

The armory was large but cramped with several aisles of metal-grid shelves rising from floor to ceiling, packed with an odd assortment of menacing objects. Some looked like guns, but most resembled trinkets and gadgets from a futuristic toy store: metal shafts with glass spheres attached to one end; awkward chunks of machinery with no rhyme or reason, like 3-D puzzles; cool watches with all kinds of dials and switches, but no timepiece; countless small devices that gave no clue as to their purpose.

“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.