“And on that note,” Master George said, trying his best to regain his composure, smiling broadly. “We shall begin. Rutger, would you please bring some victuals from the pantry? These good people must be famished.”

Paul clapped loudly and whistled. Sofia, then Tick, joined him.

Master George waited until Rutger had scuttled out a side door. “Let me begin by saying how proud each of you should be of your accomplishment of simply being here today. I sent letters to hundreds of young people, and you four are the only ones who made it this far. Quite an accomplishment indeed. Especially considering the dreadful things I sent to test your mettle.”

Tick perked up at this, remembering his conversation with Mothball and Rutger about how sorry Master George had been about the Alaska incident, which made it seem like he wasn’t as sorry about the other scary things that had happened—like the Gnat Rat and the Tingle Wraith. “You mean . . .” Tick began, but then stopped, wondering if he was out of line.

“Yes, Mister Higginbottom,” Master George answered, seemingly not bothered by the interruption. “It was I, er, we who sent some of the things that must’ve scared you greatly. Objects like the Gnat Rat and Tingle Wraith are much easier to wink to and fro than humans, fortunately. But none of them could or would have hurt you beyond any easy repair, mind you. But the man in Alaska—the one sent by Mistress Jane—now that was an entirely different affair, I assure you. I do apologize for that bit of trouble.”

“Wait a minute,” Paul said. “Mothball here told me my brain would turn to mush if I heard the Tingle Wraith’s Death Siren for more than thirty seconds.”

“A slight exaggeration on her part,” Master George answered with a look of chagrin. “Because of your still-developing brains, you would’ve recovered in no more than three or four weeks—albeit with a lingering headache and blurred vision. And a certain bodily odor we can’t quite figure out . . .”

“You sent those awful things to attack us?” Sofia asked. “But why?”

“Yeah, man,” Paul chimed in. “That’s just not right.”

“Finally,” Sato said. “You people are starting to see why I am so angry.”

“Why would you want to hurt us?” Tick asked, glaring at Master George, sudden confusion and hurt constricting his chest.

Paul’s face looked like someone had just kicked him in both shins. “Dude, how can we trust you now?”