Rutger reached out and lightly slapped Tick on the leg. “Well, you figured it out yourself, now didn’t you? Wouldn’t it seem silly for us to not say his name when you already know what it is? Good job, old boy, good job!”

Tick knew he probably had little time available to him and wished he’d sat down to organize all of his questions before going out. He had a million things he wanted to ask, but his mind felt like soup in a blender. “So . . . how many kids like me are left? How many are still getting the clues?”

Rutger stared up at the sky as he slowly counted on his fingers. When he got to ten, he quit and looked at Tick. “Can’t tell you.”

“Thanks.”

Mothball shifted her large body and leaned back against a tree. “Master George sends his regrets on the bit of trouble you had in the northern parts. Never meant that to happen, he didn’t.”

Tick squinted his eyes in confusion. “Wait a minute, what do you mean by that?” He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about her statement struck him as odd.

Rutger cleared his throat, trying to take the attention away from Mothball, whose face suddenly revealed she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to.

“All my good friend means,” Rutger said, “is that we never expected our, uh, enemy to catch up with you so quickly. Don’t worry, though, we’ve, uh, taken care of the problem for now.” He rolled his eyes and turned around, whistling.

“Didn’t help matters much there, now did ya, my short friend?” Mothball muttered.

A swarm of confusion buzzed inside Tick’s head, and he felt like the answer was somewhere right in the middle if he could just get to it. “But . . . what about the Gnat Rat thing, and the Tingle Wraith? You make it sound like—”

“Come on, now,” Mothball said, straightening back to her full height. “Time’s a-wasting, little sir. Got a lot to talk about, we do.”

“But—”

“Mister Higginbottom!” Rutger interjected, spinning his wide body around to look at Tick once again. “I immediately demand you cease these questions, uh, immediately!”

Mothball snorted. “You just said immediately two times in the same sentence, you lug. Methinks he gets the point without you blowin’ a lung and all.”

Rutger fidgeted back and forth on his short legs, as if he’d only spouted off to save themselves from getting deeper into trouble. “Just trying to . . . teach the young master some patience and, uh, other . . . things like patience.”

“You two are without a doubt the strangest people I’ve ever met,” Tick said.

“Try living with a million Rutgers in one city,” Mothball said. “That’ll give you weak knees.” She paused, then laughed. “Quite literally, actually, if the little folks are in the punching mood.”

“Very funny, Flagpole,” Rutger said.

“Thanks much, Bread Dough,” she countered.