“Since I had dealings with Tick in Reality Prime,” Mothball said, pausing a second to reassess her bearings. She changed directions slightly and headed down a shallow ravine scattered with boulders among the trees. “I didn’t want to meet his Alterant in any of the other Realities. Not only could it make me go mad, it could lead to the little sir meetin’ his taller self in my Reality. Disaster, that.”

“Why?” Paul asked.

“If two Alterants meet and truly recognize each other for what and who they are, well, then only one of the poor blokes can survive. Still trying to figure out the why and how, we are, but one of them ceases to exist. Sometimes that causes a nasty chain reaction that can rattle the Realities to their bones. Bet yer best buttons some of the worst earthquakes and such you’ve had were because of Alterants seein’ each other. Master George and the Realitants have worked their buns off to avoid such meetings, but Mistress Jane likes to bring Alterants together. She thinks it’s funny. Mad, she is. Crazy as a brain-dead Bugaboo soldier.”

That was the second time Tick had heard Mothball refer to Bugaboo soldiers, but he was too busy thinking about Alterants to ask any more questions.

“Whoa, man,” Paul said. “This is some downright freaky stuff. You’re telling me there’s all these Pauls running around the universe? I better be a big-time surfer in one of them. And a world-class pianist in another.”

“Face it,” Sofia said with a smirk. “You’re a no-talent bum in all of them, just like you are here. Or, there. Or, whatever.”

Paul stuck out his tongue. “Sis, you’re hilarious.”

“Call me ‘sis’ again,” Sofia challenged, raising her fist.

“Sis.”

Sofia pulled back and punched Paul solidly on his upper arm with a loud thump.

“Ow!” he yelled, rubbing the spot. “That’s no fair. I can’t punch a girl back.”

Tick laughed, and Mothball surprised everyone when she did, too.

“Glad my pain can give everyone a nice chuckle,” Paul said, still wincing. “Tick, a word of advice. Don’t mess with Italians.”

“I learned that just from her e-mails. Whatever you do, don’t rip on her spaghetti.”

“Tick,” Sofia said. “I like you. You’re smart . . . for an American.”

Sato completely ignored all of them, never breaking his stoic expression.

Before anyone could throw out another sarcastic remark, Mothball stopped next to a big pile of fallen branches and twigs. She turned toward the messy heap and took a deep breath. “’Ere we are.” She bent over and yanked on a large branch, pulling it off the stack. “A little ’elp would be nice.”

Tick grabbed a branch and everyone joined in, even Sato, who was mumbling something Tick couldn’t understand.