by C. D. Bryan
J.R. shook his head in confusion. He was sure Minion hadn’t been in the painting when he looked at it a short time ago. But now he was, and seated behind him were hundreds of other people in nice neat rows.
“J.R. come on,” yelled Pip and Thomas from the other end of the hall.
J.R. glanced over at the Dream Sanctuary painting and to his surprise the images of him, Pip and Thomas were now gone too. “Okay, this stuff is messing with my head way too much.”
He turned for the door, and ran for what he hoped would be a way out of the house on that corner.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A Book Requires a Double Look
J.R. stepped through the open door ever so quietly.
“Boy, it’s pretty dark in here,” whispered Thomas.
“Yeah,” said Pip.
“It’ll be okay,” said J.R. “Let’s just stick together.”
The three of them edged their way into the darkness, coughing on the apparent dust they stirred up when opening the door.
“I don’t think this is the way out, J.R.” said Thomas reluctantly. “We—”
“J.R.?” questioned a loud woman’s voice from deep within the darkness.
J.R., Pip and Thomas huddled and went silent.
“I say . . . Did someone say J.R. as in J.R. Timble?”
Still, the three of them remained silent.
J.R. thought the voice sounded a bit old and wise, a lot like that of an aged school teacher.
“Lights on,” commanded the woman’s voice gleefully behind two thunderous claps.
J.R., Pip and Thomas shielded their eyes from the sudden change to bright light while trying to see the woman. But the room was completely deserted, except for dozens and dozens of lunchbox-sized desks that were floating in midair with books stacked atop of them.
“Ah . . .” said Thomas. “Are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?”
J.R. and Pip nodded.
“And did you guys hear a lady’s voice in here?” asked Thomas.
“Yeah,” said J.R. “I heard it. But—”
“All right, you can open up now,” said the woman’s voice again. “It’s just Mr. Timble. You know . . . J.R. Timble, we studied about him last week. I told you he’d be paying us a visit.”
J.R. still couldn’t see the woman.
“Did you hear that, J.R.?” asked Thomas. “They’ve been studying about you and expecting your visit.”
“Yeah,” said Pip. “But who is they?”
“Here, here,” bellowed the woman’s voice. “I did say it was all right.”
J.R., Pip and Thomas pressed their backs against the nearest wall, as hundreds of books began floating off bookcases, filing cabinets and floating desks. And as the books descended upon the three of them like bats, J.R., Pip and Thomas crouched to the floor.
“Now, now, let Mr. Timble alone. Class dismissed,” yelled the woman’s voice, causing all the books to immediately disband and file onto shelves in bookcases, and disappear around corners until they were all gone.
“Wow, just like the bats we saw in the window,” whispered Pip.
“Yeah,” replied J.R. looking around for the source of the woman’s voice. “And that means we’re still in the house on that corner.”
“Yes, Mr. Timble,” said the woman’s voice. “Yes, Miss Kensington. We hear that all the time—that we look like bats flying in the windows.”
J.R., Thomas, and Pip weaved in and out of the floating desks toward the woman’s voice in the front of the room where J.R. spotted its source. Curious. it was coming from a giant book entitled Whiffler’s Encyclopedia of Knowledge.
“Oh, thank you, my dears, for coming forward,” said the woman’s voice coming from the giant book. “I don’t get out of this display case that often these days. Now, you haven’t much time Mr. Timble. So we have to hurry; he knows who you are and that you’ve met with Minion.”
“What do you mean I don’t have much time? And who knows who I am?” asked J.R. as he scratched his head, realizing he was talking to book. “Excuse me, but what’s your name, please?”
“You may call me Mrs. WEK,” she answered. “Short for my title as you can see, now just a moment.” She jumped up and walked—on end—over to a couple of other similarly large books in the case and cleared her throat.
J.R. could see four velvet-lined spots in the display case; two of them were occupied by books and two were not. It was clear that Mrs. WEK was a resident of one of the empty two, which left one remaining empty spot. Right away he wondered if it was the place for the sacred text Minion mentioned.
Mrs. WEK cleared her throat a second time and another book in the case stood. The title on its cover read, Legend’s Ledger of Dream Security.
“Yes, yes, wach is it?” said the other book in a Scottish accent. “Aye, me binding bock is killin’ me.”
Pip and Thomas giggled.
“Ah, quit your complainin’,” Mrs. WEK responded. “We have a very important visitor.” She broke into a whisper. “Mr. J.R. Timble.”
The book stood at attention and folded its corner down in a salute. “Mr. L. LoDS, firs signacha takin in 1402, at yur servisss, sur,” he sounded off, wobbling back and forth a little.
“Oh, stop blowin’ your bag pipes,” said Mrs. WEK, raising her voice to an order. “Open to your table of contents.” He did as she said. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you berry much.” The E on her cover winked at Pip. “Ok, I see . . . it’s been a while, ah huh. Now we need to see the Black List.”
“Wach?” said Mr. L. LoDS, slamming his cover closed. “No one eber looksees at me block liss, Misses WEK. Wach makes ye think I’ma bout to shorr it taa yuuu.” He turned away.
“Because . . . ya ole mite collector,” she said, looking back at J.R., Pip, and Thomas. “Excuse me, children.” She redirected her attention to Mr. L. LoDS. “Mr. Timble here is up for the Whiffler’s seat, Protector-of-Dreams. And just as soon as you show me the Black List, he’ll be signing in on your Gold List and be on his way.”
“Well, missin duss jackets, ye shudda toll me so firss,” said Mr. L. LoDS, following the rest of Mrs. WEK’s instructions as he swiftly flipped to the Black List.
Mrs. WEK bent over and began mumbling as she read. “Here it is,” she declared, turning around. “Well, this is a case, says in here that you should beware. And that means the one thing that I can‘t tell you.”
“Beware of what?” asked J.R. “And what do you mean you can’t tell me?” J.R glanced at Pip and Thomas then back at Mrs. WEK. “That’s exactly what Minion said. It was his last word before he fell asleep. Beware.”
“Yes, well,” said Mrs. WEK. “You must believe me, Mr. Timble. It is written that in such a case as yours, I’m forbidden from telling you who, the who is or what beware means.” She turned her corners back in apology as she handed him a gold pen. “Now, please be a dear and sign in on the Gold List.”
J.R., signed his name in glittery gold ink, noticing the top of the page was embossed with a coat of arms and the word Whiffler. He finished and placed the pen beside Mr. L. LoDS and just as the pages and cover started to flip close, J.R. saw something and did a double look, he guessed he wasn’t supposed to see it. His eyes widened with shock but he remained quiet.
“That’s it?” asked J.R.
Mrs. WEK’s stiff spine weakened and her posture drooped. “Yes, now you have to hurry. Minion is dying, Mr. Timble—slipping away faster and faster each day. The transition between you and him needs to happen as soon as it can. If he dies without transferring power to you, then the who—that I cannot tell you about—will take over, and millions of children, if not more will lose their dreams forever.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” asked J.R.
“You’re supposed to follow your willing-heart, J.R.,” she said, taking leave to her spot in the velvet-lined case.
“What? Wait a minute. That’s what I’ve been doing all along. Can’t you tell me any more than that?” J.R. pleade
d one last time.
“Hmm . . . you know,” said Mrs. WEK opening her front cover and flipping through several hundred pages until she reached the back. “Take this envelope.”
J.R. did as she asked and reached into the case and picked up an old parchment envelope sandwiched between the last page of her book and the back cover.
“I don’t know what it is,” said Mrs. WEK. “Minion never told me. He just hid it here for safe keeping over ninety years ago and told me that I would know when the time was right to release it. Well, I’m quite sure now is that time. It’s all I can offer you, Mr. Timble. Please hurry.” She covered herself with her dust jacket. “Blessings, dear boy.”
She was silent.
“What is it J.R.?” asked Pip.
“I’m not sure,” answered J.R. “But let’s just find a way out of here first.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Truths are Told and Honors Bestowed
“Pssst. Mr. Timble,” said a girl’s voice calling to him.
J.R. looked in the direction of a bookcase and spotted a book on a shelf waving at him.
“Could you autograph one of my father’s pages, please?”
“Sure, I’d be happy to,” answered J.R.
A book zipped out from behind her and into J.R.’s hands. Its gray cover was embossed with a gold title that nearly put J.R. in shock as he read it out loud, “Life, Love and the Dream by J.R. Timble.” He looked at Pip and Thomas, who were both speechless as he turned to the inside cover and signed; Live your life to the fullest and never let go of your dreams. Best Wishes, J.R. Timble. And as quickly as the book arrived, it was gone.
J.R. looked at Pip and Thomas, his hands still in the position where he held the book. “Did you see that?” he asked, “It had my name on the cover.”
“Yeah, J.R., we saw it,” answered Thomas. “I mean, really, how big of an ego do you have to have to write an inscription to yourself in your own book?” He laughed.
“But I’ve never seen that book before. Maybe it’s the sacred text. Do you think it’s something I write in the future?”
“J.R.,” said Pip, “all I can say is, Qui-Ocka-Locka-Dea. That’s what my grandmother used to say to me when I did or said something dumb.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Thomas. “Is it good advice or something?”
“Well, not really,” said Pip. “Then again, come to think of it, maybe it is.”
“So what’s it mean?” asked Thomas curiously.
Pip smiled. “Qui-Ocka-Locka-Dea translates into, Quit acctin’ like a idiot . . . quit acting like an idiot. My grandmother had a Cajun accent so it always sounded kinda funny like that.”
“Quit acting like an idiot . . .” repeated Thomas, laughing uncontrollably. “Qui-Ocka-Locka-Dea.”
J.R. pushed the envelope into his pocket. Then he and Pip grabbed Thomas and pulled him through the oak door entrance as his contagious laugh started the three of them laughing together.
But silently J.R. was eager to open the envelope, and more over he couldn’t help but feel worried about what he saw in Mr. L. LoDS’ book, and the beware warnings from Minion, and now from Mrs. WEK. What did they all mean?
J.R., Pip and Thomas stood in a very bright and very clean white room. Its only content was a tall rectangular mirror in the center, which was levitating on end and rotating ever so slowly.
Their laughing quickly died as the oak door slammed closed behind the three of them.
“Are you guys sure we used the right door?” said Thomas
“There was only one door, Thomas,” answered Pip.
“Oh.”
J.R. glanced at Pip and Thomas and then pulled the envelope out of his pocket.
“So, what is it, J.R.,” asked Pip. “Open it?”
“I don’t know, there’s just a wax seal on the back with the words, Secret Society of Dream Security, stamped on it.” He opened it and pulled out a thin, polished piece of green glass. “This is all there is.”
“That’s it? A piece of glass,” asked Thomas.
“Yeah, and it has a message etched in it,” said J.R., looking at the mirror then back at the glass and reading: “Motion-Glass, place me on any mirror to unlock my power.”
J.R. looked at Pip and then Thomas who was already backing up against the door.
“All right, here it goes then,” said J.R. pressing the Motion-Glass against the mirror.
A couple of seconds passed and nothing happened.
“Maybe you’re doing it wrong,” suggested Pip.
“How can I be doing it wrong, there’s only one thing it says to do,” laughed J.R. as the entire mirror began turning green with a gelatin-like spring to it. Then, without warming, his hand and arm quickly sank into the gelatin-like glass. “No, no, I change my mind, I don’t want to do this.” But it was too late. He sank in up to his shoulder and felt something inside the mirror grab his arm. “Help me, guys; something’s got me.”
Thomas and Pip ran to his side and grabbed him around his waist and pulled.
“Ugh . . . let . . . go . . . of . . . me,” yelled J.R. at the top of his voice. But to his surprise, whatever was inside, steadied him and pushed him back to a normal stance, even pushing his hand completely out of the mirror. And as s it did so, a glassy hand protruded from the mirror followed by an emerging figure of a body.
“Hey, jackrabbit . . . it’s good to see you,” said the figure as it morphed into a human being.
“Grandfather?” asked J.R. in utter shock.
“Yes, J.R., it’s me,”
“But I thought—”
“Yes, I know,” said his grandfather. “I’m sorry about all the theatrics and having left you without saying goodbye. I knocked on your bedroom door a few times that night, even tried to open it, but you didn’t answer, so I guessed you were already sleeping.”
J.R. thought about last night, or at least what he recalled as last night.
“Yes, I heard them but I was too scared to open the door,” said J.R.
“Yes, well . . .” said his grandfather. “You’re mother and I agreed I had to leave. Truthfully, staging my death was the only way. It was for everyone’s good, mainly yours, in order to protect you.”
“To protect me?” said J.R. “Are you a Whiffler, Grandfather?”
“No, No, J.R., that’s your destiny as you know by now, not mine.”
“Then how did all this happen?” asked J.R., fumbling through all the things he wanted answered. “You? The glass? The—”
“Yes . . . that,” said his grandfather. “Well, you obviously came upon a piece of Minion’s Motion-Glass. It’s how we teleport through space and time, to different locations, realms and even universes. As for me, I work for Minion. I am what we call a Whiffler’s Ambassador.”
J.R. was baffled, and eager to hear it all. “Oh, Grandfather, these are my friends, Heather Louise Pip Kensington and Thomas Dean.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” said J.R.’s grandfather. “You may call me Mr. C, it stands for Cosmos. Like the flower.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. C,” said Pip.
“Good to meet you Mr. flower,” said Thomas. “I mean Mr. C.”
“Yes . . . Now I’d love to give you all the details you want, J.R.,” said his grandfather, “but Minion doesn’t have much time and there’s the matter of a little ceremony he told me to perform. So, if you don’t mind . . .” He motioned for Pip and Thomas to line up next to J.R. “I need all three you to stand in a row right in front of me so I don’t have to bend over too far. That Motion-Glass traveling affects my fiberglass.” He smiled at the three of them. “Get it?” He laughed, pointing back at the mirror then grabbing his back, “I have fibromyalgia . . . Motion-Glass travel affects my fiberglass.”
J.R., Pip and Thomas stared at him with blank faces.
“Yes,” said Mr. C. “Well I guess I need to work on my delivery. Anyway, in a straight line, please.” From under his robe, Mr. C pulled out a short crystal rod wit
h a polished redwood ball and crystals on its end. He raised the rod in a reverential manner and chanted a few undistinguishable words.
“Excuse me Mr. C,” said Pip. “But what are we do—“
“Oh yes . . . Right,” responded Mr. C. “Please forgive my haste. We are going to ambassadorize you and Thomas. You see, when J.R. transitions to take the seat as Whiffler he’ll need two ambassadors to help him in the transition and since I’m family I can’t do it, so that rules me out. So without further ado . . .” He cleared his throat. “Heather Louise ‘Pip’ Kensington and Thomas Dean, do you both swear to believe in and never forget your dreams and aspirations in life, to work hard at achieving them, and to make the best decisions you possibly can? And do you swear an allegiance to the Whiffler and your fellow species? So help you, your holy spirit?”
J.R. peered at Pip who had a what-have-I-gotten-myself-into look on her face.
“Yes, I do swear it, so help me, my holy spirit,” Pip responded formally
“Very good, Pip, great form, great form,” said Mr. C. “And Thomas?”
“Yes, I do swear it, so help me, my holy spirit,” said Thomas.
“Wonderful, then, by the power vested in me by the Whiffler, the signatories of the Gold List, the Grand Covenant of the Ambassador’s League, and your willing-heart,” he tapped Pip and Thomas each on the heart with the crystal rod, “I now dub thee Honorary Ambassadress of the Whiffler’s Promise, and proclaim you, Pip, keeper of goodwill and self-helping hearts. And proclaim you, Thomas, keeper of endurance and courage for willing-hearts.” Mr. C. stepped back and placed his hand on his chin as if he had forgotten something. “Oh yes, right.” He reached deep into the pocket of his robe and handed both Pip and Thomas a small book entitled HAM. “Here, read this. It’s your Honorary Ambassador’s Manual. It will be quite useful, I am sure of it.” Mr. C, turned to leave and raised his finger before turning back. “Almost forgot.” He smiled in embarrassment. “Honorary Ambassadress Pip and Honorary Ambassador Thomas, no person is an island. That means no person can achieve his or her dreams without the help of others. You have proven that you have the capability to help others, and it is one of the reasons you have been granted the post that you now hold. If you hold your position in disregard in any way, it will be stripped from you and you will be black listed. Do I make myself clear?”
