The Journal of Curious Letters 1r-1

by James Dashner

  Rutger stared up at the sky as he slowly counted on his fingers. When he got to ten, he quit and looked at Tick. “Can’t tell you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mothball shifted her large body and leaned back against a tree. “Master George sends his regrets on the bit of trouble you had in the northern parts. Never meant that to happen, he didn’t.”

  Tick squinted his eyes in confusion. “Wait a minute, what do you mean by that?” He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about her statement struck him as odd.

  Rutger cleared his throat, trying to take the attention away from Mothball, whose face suddenly revealed she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to.

  “All my good friend means,” Rutger said, “is that we never expected our, uh, enemy to catch up with you so quickly. Don’t worry, though, we’ve, uh, taken care of the problem for now.” He rolled his eyes and turned around, whistling.

  “Didn’t help matters much there, now did ya, my short friend?” Mothball muttered.

  A swarm of confusion buzzed inside Tick’s head, and he felt like the answer was somewhere right in the middle if he could just get to it. “But… what about the Gnat Rat thing, and the Tingle Wraith? You make it sound like-”

  “Come on, now,” Mothball said, straightening back to her full height. “Time’s a-wasting, little sir. Got a lot to talk about, we do.”

  “But-”

  “Mister Higginbottom!” Rutger interjected, spinning his wide body around to look at Tick once again. “I immediately demand you cease these questions, uh, immediately!”

  Mothball snorted. “You just said immediately two times in the same sentence, you lug. Methinks he gets the point without you blowin’ a lung and all.”

  Rutger fidgeted back and forth on his short legs, as if he’d only spouted off to save themselves from getting deeper into trouble. “Just trying to… teach the young master some patience and, uh, other

  … things like patience.”

  “You two are without a doubt the strangest people I’ve ever met,” Tick said.

  “Try living with a million Rutgers in one city,” Mothball said. “That’ll give you weak knees.” She paused, then laughed. “Quite literally, actually, if the little folks are in the punching mood.”

  “Very funny, Flagpole,” Rutger said.

  “Thanks much, Bread Dough,” she countered.

  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.”

  Of course, right then Tick thought of his teacher, Mr. Chu, just as he had when he saw “Chu Industries” on the Gnat Rat. But just like before, he didn’t think it could have anything to do with his science instructor-it had to be a coincidence. “Who is Reginald Chu?” he asked. “And what kind of awful name is Reginald?”

  “It’s not a very fortunate name,” Rutger agreed. “Downright stinky if you ask me. Fits the man, though, considering what he’s done. Started out with good intentions, I’m sure, but he and his company have done awful, awful things.”

  “Well, what’s he done? And what is the Fourth Reality? What are any of the realities? Are there other versions of the universe or something?”

  Mothball sighed. “This is balderdash, really.” She leaned over and put a hand on Tick’s shoulder. “Rutger’s spot on, he is. We just don’t know what to talk about with you. Methinks Master George will explain everything-if you make it that far.”

  “Listen to me,” Rutger said. “Focus your mind on the clues for now. Don’t worry about all this other stuff. You can do it, and it will all be worth it-when the day comes. You’ll be taken to a very important place.”

  Tick felt incredibly frustrated. “Fine, but at least… Can you just answer one question? Just one.”

  Rutger nodded.

  “Can you tell me, in one sentence each, the definition of a kyoopy and the definition of a… a reality. No details, and I won’t ask any more questions about it.”

  Rutger looked up at Mothball, who shrugged her shoulders. “Blimey, just do it. The poor lad’s mind might explode if we don’t.”

  “All right.” Rutger took a deep breath. “Kyoopy is a nickname for the theory of science that explains the background of everything we’re about.” He paused. “And a Reality is a place, uh, or a version of a place, if you will, that comes about because of the kyoopy.” He looked up at Mothball. “Wow, that was good.”

  Right at that very second, something clicked for Tick and he felt like an idiot for missing it before. “Wait a second… kyoopy. You mean… Q… P… right? Q.P.?”

  Rutger looked confused. “Was I saying it wrong before? Yes, yes! Q.P.”

  “Looks like the little sir is on to something,” Mothball said, a satisfied smile on her lips, but Tick’s mind was in another world at that moment. Q.P. He’d heard that phrase before from Mr. Chu, and he couldn’t wait to ask him about it again.

  Kyoopy. Q.P.

  Quantum physics.

  “Now,” Rutger said, clearing his throat, “could we please move on? I believe you’ll be wanting the next clue.”

  Chapter 29

  A Bundle of Clues

  The air had grown cooler as the sun made its way across the sky and
toward the horizon. The drip-drip-drip of the melting snow slowed considerably, and Tick shivered as he eagerly waited to see the next clue.

  Mothball pulled out a familiar yellow envelope, though this one seemed thicker than the others, and a separate piece of white paper had been stapled to the upper left corner, its edges flapping loosely as she handled it. After a long look at Rutger, Mothball handed the package over to Tick, who snapped it out of her hand without meaning to look so anxious.

  “Thanks,” he said, fingering the note attached to the envelope. “What’s this?”

  “Flip it over and read it,” Rutger answered. “Thought you could at least figure that out by yourself.”

  “Very funny,” Tick muttered as he did what he was told, lifting the paper to read the few sentences typed on the back:

  Within you will find the next four clues in the sequence, numbers 7, 8, 9, and 10. Now, most certainly you will read these and conclude to yourself that I, your humble servant, have gone batty because they don’t seem like clues at all. I will only say this: EVERYTHING you receive is a clue.

  Tick looked up at Mothball then down at Rutger, whose folded arms were resting on his huge belly. “Four clues at once?”

  “He’s a bit hasty,” Mothball said. “You see, has to be twelve clues, there does, and we’ve only got a short time to go, ya know.”

  “Why does there have to be twelve?”

  “’Tis part of the riddle, Master Tick.” She winked at him. “There you are, I’ve just given you my own bit of a clue. Quite clever, I am.”

  “Yeah,” Rutger grumbled. “A regular Hans Schtiggenschlubberheimer.”

  Mothball snapped her fingers as her face brightened with recognition. “Ah, I remember that name now! Yeah, me dad taught my sis and me all about him, he did. That bloke invented the very first version of the Barrier Wand.”

  Rutger shushed Mothball. “Are you crazy? I thought we were done giving out secrets the boy doesn’t need to know yet.”

  Mothball shrugged as she winked at Tick again. “It’s got nothing to do with the clues, little man. Give the sir somethin’ to think about, it will.”

  “Barrier Wand?” Tick had heard those words before from Mothball. “I won’t even bother asking.”

  Rutger turned to Tick, rolling his eyes as he nodded toward Mothball, as if he were shrugging off the escapades of a little kid. “Solve the riddle of Master George, be where you’re supposed to be on the special day, do what you’re supposed to do, go where you’re supposed to go-then you’ll know very well what a Barrier Wand is, trust me.”

  “Sounds good… I guess.” Tick couldn’t wait to tear open the envelope of clues, but he also wanted to stand there all day and ask them questions. “Isn’t there anything else you can tell me? Anything?”

  “Done opened our mouths quite enough, we have,” Mothball said. “Master George will probably step on his cat he’s so nervous about it all.”

  “You mean… he can hear us? Do you have a microphone or something?”

  Rutger laughed, a guffaw that echoed through the trees, like he’d just been told the funniest joke of the century. “You have much to learn, kid, much to learn.”

  Tick looked down with mixed confusion and anger. “What’s so funny?”

  Rutger stuttered his laugh to a stop, wiping his eyes with pudgy hands. “Oh, nothing, sorry. Nothing at all.” He cleared his throat.

  “Well, off we go, then,” Mothball said. “Best of luck, Master Atticus.”

  “Yes, yes, indeed,” Rutger added, reaching up to shake Tick’s hand vigorously. “Please, don’t take anything the wrong way. I’m a little funny in the head sometimes.”

  “Yeah,” Tick said. “I noticed.”

  Rutger’s face grew very serious. “Mothball and I… well, we’re rooting for you, kid, a great deal. You’ll make it, and we’ll meet you again very soon. Okay?”

  “It’s in one month,” Tick blurted before he knew what he was saying. “May sixth. I have to go to a cemetery and stomp my right foot on the ground, at nine o’clock at night, and say certain words and close my eyes. I just have to figure out what to say, and-”

  Rutger held up a hand. “Sounds like you’re on the right track.” He and Mothball exchanged a look, and there was no doubting the huge smiles of pride that spread across their faces.

  So far, so good, Tick thought. I just need to know the magic words.

  “We really must be going, now,” Rutger said. “Good luck to you, and be strong.”

  He and Mothball folded their arms in unison, staring at Tick.

  “Okay, see ya,” he said, then paused, waiting for them to turn and go. They didn’t move. “Aren’t you leaving?”

  “Better we wait for you to be off,” Mothball said. “Just tryin’ to be proper and all.”

  “Man, you guys are weird.” Tick smiled then, hoping they knew they had become two of his favorite people on the planet. He felt the familiar pang of good-bye, then gave a simple wave. “See ya later, I guess. Will you be there if I… make it-whatever that means?”

  “We’ll be right there waitin’ on ya, we will,” Mothball said. “Be the grandest day of yer life, bet yer best buttons.”

  Tick nodded, wishing he could think of a way to extend the visit, but knowing it was time to go. “Right. Okay. Bye.” He turned and walked away, heading back through the trees toward the road.

  Tick ran all the way home, his sadness at saying good-bye to Mothball and Rutger quickly melting into anticipation of opening the next four clues.

  He closed the door to his room and sat at his desk, wishing he could somehow transport Sofia from Italy so they could rip this thing open together. The thought made him want to kick himself for not asking Mothball and Rutger about their interactions with Sofia or any other kids. He wondered if Sofia had received this package yet. He’d have to e-mail her as soon as he was done taking a look.

  He opened up the envelope and pulled out four pieces of cardstock, exactly the same as all the other clues. Each card had its own message typed in the middle of the page, with a number written in blue ink directly above it with a big circle around it, indicating its place in the sequence-seven through ten. Tick wondered about the significance of the order as he spread everything out on his desk in front of him, then read the first one, the seventh clue:

  Go to the place you have chosen wearing nothing but your underwear. Oh, calm yourself, I’m only giving you a bit of rubbish. Don’t want you to think I’m without a sense of humor. No, quite the contrary-you must dress warmly because you never know where you’ll end up.

  Tick paused, thinking. The first line had made his stomach turn over before he realized Master George was just kidding around. That’s all Tick needed was to go running across town in his undies to hang out at a graveyard in the middle of the night.

  Nothing else about the clue seemed mysterious or riddle-like at all, giving weight to the little note that had been stapled to the front of the envelope. This one seemed like nothing more than a warning to dress warmly. But according to the attached note, everything was a clue, so it had to have some kind of hidden message.

  Just when I think I’m getting the hang of it, he thought, shaking his head. He moved on to the next one, the eighth clue:

  Eventually you will fail. I say this because the vast majority of those who receive these letters will do so, utterly. For those extreme few of you who may succeed, I will conveniently explain away this clue as a small typing error. For you, it was meant to say, “Eventually you will not fail.”

  Tick surprised himself by chuckling out loud. This Master George guy had quite the sense of humor and sounded like he was as quirky as an elf in Santa’s workshop. Tick couldn’t wait to meet him.

  As for the clue itself, there was nothing to figure out, no mysteries-not even any advice this time. More and more, Tick was beginning to think he’d missed something important he was supposed to get from these messages.

  He moved on to the ninth clue:
>
  Ordinary kids would’ve given up by now. I know what is haunting you, what is chasing you, what is making your life miserable. Cheer up, friend, much worse lies ahead.

  This one made Tick sit back in his chair and pause for a very long time. It was the shortest clue yet, but packed with so much. The kindness of Master George showing empathy for what Tick was going through and the terrible things he’d seen. The encouragement that Tick wasn’t just an ordinary kid. The pride knowing he’d stood up and endured. And finally, the almost humorous warning that he’d only seen the beginning and “much worse” was still to come.

  Tick felt like three starving warthogs had been unleashed inside his brain, grunting and thrashing to find food. He wanted to know the truth, to know everything, so badly it made his head hurt, and he felt frustrated to no end. He’d just read the next three clues, and yet seemed no closer to discovering the magic words. If his family hadn’t been downstairs, Tick would’ve screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Almost reluctantly-almost-he read the final piece of paper from the envelope, the tenth clue:

  Remember to bring two items with you, stowed carefully away in your pockets, while you say the magic words. Sadly, I must refrain from telling you what the items are. I can only say this: they must be impossible to pick up, no matter how strong you are, but small enough to fit in your pockets, since that is where they must be, on penalty of death (or at least a particularly nasty rash). I realize this riddle is very easy, but my cat just messed on the Peruvian rug in my parlor, so I haven’t much time to think of a better one. Good day.

  Messed on the Peruvian rug in his parlor? Tick was beginning to like Master George more and more every second.

  And the man was right-this one was too easy. Tick got up from his desk, excited to e-mail Sofia. Then he would show all the new clues to his dad.

  ~

  It took him ten minutes to finally persuade Kayla to quit playing her Winnie the Pooh computer game, and another couple minutes to clean the sticky spots off the keyboard from her fingers. She’d broken the no-food-at-the-computer rule and helped herself to a Popsicle while maneuvering Pooh and Piglet through the horrible dangers of the Hundred Acre Wood.