“Why, yes, old chap—or, should I say, young chap?” Master George chuckled, then turned it into a cough when no one else laughed. “Ah, yes, well—welcome to your future, my dear boy. Welcome to the Realitant Headquarters.”

Tick entered the room, knowing he would never, ever be the same.

Chapter

40

~

Master George

Have a sit-down,” Master George said as he ushered Tick toward a chair between the fire and where Rutger rested on top of his pile of cushions. “The fire should dry your clothing in no time. We’re simply delighted you could make it. We were beginning to worry a bit. The rest of these poor chaps had to listen to Rutger’s interminable stories and recollections all day—quite a tasking thing to do, I assure you.” He winked at Tick as he gestured for him to sit.

Tick sat down with a squish, looking over at Sofia. She waved again, then shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “What in the world have we gotten ourselves into?” Tick smiled back at her, wishing they could talk, but it seemed as though their host had a specific agenda and was eager to begin.

Master George stepped in front of the blazing fire, rubbing his hands together as he took in each person there with a lingering gaze. “We’ve got quite a lot to do in the next few hours, and more explaining than I daresay I look forward to. I haven’t the faintest idea where to start.” He pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Look at that, would you? Already sweating and I’ve yet to say anything of importance.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re standing in front of a
fire,” Rutger quipped, the simple effort of talking throwing his balance off. He tumbled off the pillows and flopped to the floor. “Ouch.”

“’Tis going to be a long night, it is,” Mothball muttered from where she stood in the back, arms folded.

“Rutger, behave yourself,” Master George commanded, his face reddening for just a second before he replaced his irritation with a forced smile. “Now, let us begin, shall we? First things first—a quick go around the room for introductions.” He motioned to Sofia. “Ladies first?”

“Okay,” she said, seemingly pleased by the attention. She stood up and waved at everyone staring at her. “My name is Sofia Pacini, and I’m from Italy. I’m almost thirteen years old, and my family is famous for making spaghetti and several sauces. It’s the best in the world, and if you haven’t heard of us, you’ve got real problems.” She looked at Master George. “Anything else?”

“Oh, no, that’s very nice, thank you very much. Next?” He motioned with his eyes to the boy who must be Paul.

“Uh, yeah . . . do I really have to stand up?”

Master George said nothing, but shook his head.