Tick thought it was fun watching the two friends argue, but he was hoping for answers. “Did you guys get me out here for a reason or what? And what’s up with the phone call from Master George?”

“Been sittin’ here all ruddy day, we ’ave,” Mothball said. “’Ad to spur you a bit, burn your bottoms to get a move on.”

“Couldn’t you have just knocked on my door?”

“What, and get the detectives called in? Spend the rest of me life in a Reality Prime zoo?”

Tick held up a hand. “Whoa, time out—what does that mean?”

“What?” Mothball asked, looking at her fingernails as though considering a manicure.

“What’s ‘Reality Prime’?” His mind spun, the word reality jarring something in his brain.

Mothball looked over at Rutger, shrugging her bony shoulders. “Methinks the little sir’s gotten hit over the head, he has. Did you ’ear me say that?”

“Say what?” Rutger asked, his face a mask of exaggerated innocence.

“I’ve already forgotten.”

Tick groaned as loud as he could. “I’m not an idiot, guys.”

Rutger reached up and grabbed Tick by the arm. “We know, kid, we know. So quit acting like one. We’ll tell you what you need to know when you’re ready, not a second before.”

“So what, I can’t ask questions?”

“Bet yer best buttons you can—ask away,” Mothball said. “Just don’t complain like a Rutger when we say mum’s the word.”

“Now wait just one minute . . .” Rutger said, letting go of Tick and pointing a finger at Mothball.

“I get it, I get it,” Tick said before Rutger could continue. He thought about the list of words in his journal he’d heard from these two, framing questions inside his mind. “Okay, what’s a kyoopy? Can you answer that?”

Mothball and Rutger exchanged a long look, signifying to Tick that this was no longer a black-and-white issue—which would be to his advantage. “Come on,” he urged. “As long as you don’t tell me how to figure out the clues, what does it matter if I know a little bit about what’s behind all this?”

“Fair enough, methinks,” Mothball said. “Master George does seem a bit more willing to let on. I mean, he called you on the telly, didn’t he?” She gestured toward Rutger. “Go on, little man, tell him ’bout the kyoopy.”

Rutger scowled. “Do I look like Hans Schtiggenschlubberheimer to you?”

“Hans who?” Mothball and Tick asked in unison.

Rutger looked like someone had just asked him what gravity was. “Excuse me? Hans Schtiggenschlubberheimer? The man who started the Scientific Revolution in the Fourth Reality? If it weren’t for him, Reginald Chu would never have—” He stopped, looking uncertainly at Tick. “This is impossible, not knowing what we can and can’t say in front of you. Blast it all, I can’t wait until the special day gets here.”