by Sheila Grau
Ping . . . la-di-da!
So fancy.
“That a wipper-slinger?” the man asked. He took off his helmet, and Jaq saw the most perfect hair he’d ever seen in his life. His jaw dropped at the sight of that hair. So wavy and precise, all the hairs in perfect formation.
Until the wippers had arrived, Jaq had never paid much attention to hair. He knew his hair was a bit scraggly and long, but he’d always liked it that way. He didn’t want to look like Tormy, with his short, neatly parted hair. This guy, though, was something else. Wow, to have hair like that.
Jaq nodded, hypnotized.
“Nice,” the man said. “My name’s Davardi, by the way. Are you selling that wipper-slinger?”
“Huh?” Jaq knew the man had asked him something, but he didn’t hear anything after the word “Davardi.” The name filled his mouth with the most magnificent flavor.
“Are you selling that wipper-slinger?” the man asked again, smiling. He had perfect teeth, too.
“Yep. My mom says I can get thirty damars.”
“In your dreams,” the man said with a friendly smile.
He was right. Jaq’s mom had told him to settle for twenty-five but to start higher.
“Listen,” the man said. “How about a trade?”
“Nah, I need the money. For food.” Jaq rubbed his belly.
“And when the food’s gone, then what? No, what you need is opportunity.” He dismounted and walked over to Jaq. “That’s what I got. I got so much opportunity, it’s busting out of my pockets. Why, look here.”
He held an old-fashioned key with a long shaft. One side was roundish, filled with curlicues; the other had notches that were square and precise, like mathematics. It was a graceful combination of logic and whimsy, and Jaq thought it was beautiful.
But it was just a big key.
Trade my wipper-slinger for an old key? Not likely, Mr. Perfect.
“It’s a special key,” the man said. “Opens the market’s VIP pantry. You’ve seen the place, I’m sure. Back behind the restaurant supply depot?”
“Right,” Jaq said. “I’ve seen that place.” He’d always wondered what was in that big building. He pictured stacks of hushware plates and platters, though, like his mom made at the factory. All the best restaurants used hushware, so that forks and knives didn’t make that clinky-scrapey sound on a plate when people were eating. That kind of sound ruins an otherwise delightful meal.
“They only give out, like, seven of these keys. It entitles the owner to free access to all that food. The place is never empty. Me? I got all the food I need. This key is worthless to me. But I do have a giant wipper problem. I’m desperate. Pests-B-Gone is all out of freasels. Your mother will be very proud of you when she sees this.”
Jaq thought about it. If this pantry thing was true, then he could surprise his mom and grandpa with loads of food. They’d be so happy. And then he could collect food and sell it, maybe making a few damars a week. It wouldn’t take long to earn enough to buy Klingdux back. Maybe.
But something didn’t feel right. Couldn’t this guy get a whole lot more than a freasel for that key?
“I think I’d better just go to the market.”
The man got on the bike. “Your loss. But I understand—you’re a kid. Gotta do what Mom says, and make no mistake! In a few decades, you’ll be ready to think for yourself.” He put on his helmet. “You know, everything I have, I got it all because I made a deal like this once. And when you’ve made it and are a huge success, like me, it’s nice to give something back to those less fortunate, don’t you think? Let others have the chance that you had. Well, take care.” He smiled, and the bike lifted into the air.
He was leaving, just like that. He didn’t really care about trading. He was just a nice and generous rich person, and Jaq was letting the opportunity of a lifetime slip through his fingers.
“Wait!” Jaq said. “I’ll do it.”
His mom would be so proud. Jaq knew it.
Jaq could tell by the way Mom hurled a plate at the wall that she wasn’t even a tiny bit proud. She tossed the key out the window, and Jaq was sent to his corner bed without any ripweed broth, which was how she sent herself to bed, too. That made Jaq feel worse than his head lump.
What had he done? Not only had he lost his best friend, but he’d let his mom down, too. He felt so stupid. So, so stupid. Humiliation and pain cramped his insides, and he couldn’t sleep. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked outside. It was one of those bright nights where one moon was full and the other moon was half full, and it looked like the sky was winking at you. Jaq felt as if the whole world was mocking him, even the great sky god, Smolders.
He went to sleep listening to the sarcastic insults of the wippers outside his window, and he believed every word they said.
The next morning, Jaq woke up hoping it had all been a bad dream. But when he looked out the window, he saw the key still on the ground, where his mother had thrown it. It had broken in half.
He climbed out to take a closer look and discovered that it wasn’t really broken—it was supposed to open. There was a hidden compartment inside.
Jaq picked up the pieces. Dead wippers! There’s a note. He carefully unrolled the piece of paper that was stuffed inside. It read:
My dear Greggin,
I haven’t heard from you in years, so I can only guess that my written reports are getting lost in your office because you are such a busy and successful man. But I know you would never ignore a message in a key, so please, please take heed.
Things have gotten dicey on my expeditions, and I only narrowly escaped last time. But I must return. I told my man that if I wasn’t back by Great Smolders Day, then he should take this key and deliver it to you personally. If that has happened—if you are reading this—then I am in need of rescue, and only a man of your resources and unwavering courage can help me.
I promise it will be well worth your while. I’ve collected amazing riches on this spectacular, giant-filled planet called Earth. Our precious glug is everywhere. On the roads! Under movie theater seats! Stuck beneath their enormous shoes!
The map on the other side will show you to the gate. Find the wormhole. It will bring you here. Look for the building with two enormous golden arches. It’s a glug mine! I should be nearby. Find me!
Yours,
Plenthy
Jaq read the letter three times. How odd. He looked at the map on the back. He recognized some of the landmarks: the marketplace, the river, the hills.
Was this some sort of joke? A gateway to another planet? One that was filled with giants and glug? It sounded like a science-fiction story. Jaq knew there were no such things as gateways to other planets. Or glug mines. Imagine!
Jaq laughed.
But then he thought: Who wrote this note? What if he really was in trouble? And had that swindler known about this note? Jaq couldn’t even think the name “Davardi,” because it was so delightful, and the man was clearly not. He would refer to him only as the Swindler from now on. But if the Swindler had seen the note, wouldn’t he have kept it?
No, Jaq concluded, he couldn’t have known about it.
Amazing riches, the note said. Jaq often dreamed of being rich, of buying his grandfather’s farm back from the Vilcots. Or making enough damars so his mother didn’t have to work so hard. But did he want to travel to a giant-filled planet? No, he did not.
What if he offered this note to the Swindler in exchange for Klingdux? That was all that Jaq really wanted. Maybe that man would be interested in a glug-filled world, as outrageous as that sounded.
About as outrageous as a pantry of free food. That was stupid. How did I believe that?
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try. Jaq decided to track down the Swindler right away.
10
THE SMELL OF FOOD IS LIKE A WARM BREEZE
It was early, so Jaq picked a bowl of brickleberries and left them on the table for his mom and grandpa. Then he put the key and not
e in his backpack and headed out.
He had just reached the front gate when he stopped and shook his leg.
“Are you going to let go now?” he asked the wipper clinging to his ankle. “I’m leaving, and I won’t be back for a while.”
The wipper unlatched his jaw and looked up at Jaq. “Take me with you,” he said.
Jaq shook his leg harder, trying to dislodge the pest. “What? No! I hate wippers.”
“Please? Pretty please? Gorgeous please?” The little fellow looked so pathetic, with his long white ears flopping down and his big, sad eyes.
“Why do you want to come with me?”
“I’m a terrible wipper,” he said. “My insults are lame, and I can’t bite ankles very well.” It was true. He hadn’t even broken the skin on Jaq’s ankle. “The other wippers tease me.”
“You get teased by wippers?” Jaq said. “Gee, what’s that like?”
“It’s terrible.”
“I was joking. I know what it’s like.”
“Oh, right,” the wipper said. “So you know how I feel. You have to take me with you. I won’t be a bother—I promise. I’m quiet and well-mannered and potty-trained.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bonip.”
“You’re the one who said I cut my hair with a stapler?” Jaq asked.
Bonip nodded.
“Yeah, that was bad.” Jaq laughed. “Okay, you can come.”
Bonip asked to ride on Jaq’s shoulder, and Jaq let him. The wipper was smaller than Klingdux, but having him there reminded Jaq of his pet. It was a bit of a comfort on the long walk until . . .
“You ever think about doing something different with this stuff?” Bonip asked. His tiny paws were combing through Jaq’s shoulder-length hair. “Like washing it, maybe?”
“Shut up about my hair,” Jaq said.
“You’re right. And you should keep it long. It takes attention away from your nose.”
“It’s funny that you think you’re bad at insults.”
“I’m working on it. Was that a good one?”
Jaq shrugged, which sent Bonip off his shoulder and to the ground. He bounced back up, smiling, because wippers are used to being flung, and they are practically indestructible.
Jaq walked with Bonip leaping beside him. They made it to the marketplace, where the scrumptious smells of roasting food and sweet candy seemed to brush against Jaq’s skin. The food smells curled and spun around him politely, as if they were saying, Allow us to introduce ourselves. The feel of food was everywhere. Everywhere except in Jaq’s stomach.
The marketplace was a hushed collection of quiet stores carefully constructed to keep everyone from being overwhelmed by their senses, which happened whenever large groups of people came together. There were smells, but they were subtle and they melted away on a breeze provided by silent fans. There were noises, but the streets were cushioned and stores were equipped with noise-canceling devices that sucked up sound. There were sights, but the colors were muted and the shapes were straight and predictable. People kept conversation to a minimum while shopping, careful not to bombard their fellow shoppers with unsavory tastes or unappealing colors.
Jaq entered this peaceful zone, passing stores selling food, stores selling home decorations, stores selling clothes, and toys, and all sorts of things. Stores with trustworthy addresses and fun and joyful names you could taste when you said them out loud. The marketplace had wide lanes and sidewalk tables for eating. In the middle, there was a big open space with a fountain and benches. Jaq loved the fountain. The hushed burbling of the water created gentle streams of color that filled the air around it. It was like watching fireworks.
As he approached the fountain, Bonip scurried up Jaq’s leg, his back, all the way to his shoulder. The wipper’s fur was sticking straight out, making him look much larger than he was, and really fluffy.
“Let me in the pack. Let me in the pack. Gorgeous pleases. Please, please, please.”
Jaq hated wippers, so he lifted his pack into the air, out of Bonip’s reach from where he was perched on Jaq’s shoulder.
“Please, please, please,” Bonip begged. The little wipper was in a complete panic. “Bad man over there. Please.”
Jaq noticed a group of men over by the fountain. He lowered his pack, and Bonip scurried inside, popping his head out to point at the man. “Him.”
It was the Swindler. Sure as sunlight, it was him, standing next to his fancy hoverbike.
“Why do you think he’s a bad man?” Jaq asked.
“He kidnaps wippers from their families in the wild and dumps them into random fields with lots of other wippers. Then he comes by to sell the farmer a wipper-slinger, and the farmer is desperate, see, so he pays extra. Then the poor wipper is slung to kingdom come every morning, noon, and night. And when he’s not being slung, he’s off crying because the sophisticated farm wippers make fun of the poor country wipper.”
“You?”
“Me? No. Just a guy I know.”
“Right. Hide in the pack if you want, but I’ve got to talk to that guy. He has my Klingdux.”
“The swift monster,” Bonip said in an awed whisper.
“Yeah.” Jaq smiled. “I’ve got to get him back.”
Klingdux was nowhere to be seen, but the Swindler had a fancy new jacket and matching boots. Jaq guessed he could buy a used hoverbike for what they’d cost. He could hear the Swindler talking as he approached.
“Genuine gow leather—feel how soft. It feels like smelling freshly baked bread during a sunrise. Go on, feel it.”
The man he was talking to reached out to touch it, but the Swindler slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch it. Just imagine something really soft. It’s like wearing a cloud.”
His friends looked on with awe. The Swindler smiled. He was chewing glug, and he blew a giant bubble, popping it in front of the guy’s face. Then he laughed. “Who wants to buy my glug?” He took the wad of chewed-up glug out of his mouth and held it up. “All nice and chewed. Ready for business.”
A bidding war erupted as people offered him money for his glug. It was a nice-looking wad of glug, Jaq had to admit. With enough of it, a person could make a soundproof glug room. All the great palaces and mansions had glug rooms. Jaq sighed just thinking about it. Imagine, no stray sounds drifting in to taint your senses with unpleasantness. You could fill the room with whatever sounds you wanted—a buffet of music, a soft quilt of chimes, a vista of melodies.
“Sold!” the Swindler said, and the exchange was made. The crowd dispersed, and Jaq drifted over.
The Swindler looked up. “Oh, great,” he said. “It’s the stupid kid.” He turned to walk away.
“Hey,” Jaq said. He pulled out the key. “I want my freasel back.”
The Swindler turned around. “Sorry, kid. A deal’s a deal. Besides, I already sold the squirmy little beast.”
“Sold him?”
“Yeah, you think I wanted him for myself? Please. Feel this jacket. No, don’t touch it. Just imagine what an expensive jacket feels like. Does a person who wears a jacket like this need a freasel?”
“You tricked me,” Jaq said.
The man shrugged. “And it was so easy, too. But, hey, you learned something, didn’t you? Think of it as an expensive lesson in not trusting strangers. You can thank me later.”
“Where’s Klingdux? Where’s my freasel? Please, Mr. Swindler, I’ve got to get him back.”
“Listen, kid, your freasel is gone,” he said. “Go buy another one. I don’t think his new owner wants to sell. He went to a lot of trouble to get that animal.”
Jaq’s heart sank. “Vilcot.”
The Swindler chuckled. Jaq watched him as he drifted off on his hoverbike, laughing like a maniac.
Tormy Vilcot had Klingdux.
Oh no. Jaq felt like his heart had been yanked out of his chest, thrown on the ground, and then trampled by that evil kid. How was he going to get Klingdux now? Tormy didn’t care about mo
ney. He had so much of it already.
Maybe, after Tormy had Klingdux for a while, he would get bored with him and sell him back. Maybe Jaq could get another wipper-slinger and pretend like he was happier than ever, and Tormy would want to trade. No, that might hurt Klingdux’s feelings. He could never do that. Besides, Klingdux was the best wipper-slinger in the world. Who would ever want to trade him?
Just a stupid kid like me.
Jaq realized that losing Klingdux was only one of his problems. He and his family were still hungry. He had to find a way to get food, and he knew there was only one option left.
He had to go to the wormhole and find this glug-and-giant-filled land called Earth.
11
A YELLOW DAY IS A GOOD DAY FOR A QUEST
On Epsidor Erandi, going on a quest is a youthful rite of passage. It comes after the “Giving Up the Blankie” rite of passage (which can take years) and also the “Sleeping Without the Night-Light” rite of passage (also years). During the “Quest” rite of passage, the adolescent is given a map, a compass, and a bag of healthy snacks. The child is then led into the backyard and told to find his or her way back to the house. Often, the parents are waving from the back porch, to make certain that their offspring makes it back safely. Successful children are awarded trophies and hugs and told how clever they are.
Adolescent quests aren’t really a thing on Zanflid, but sooner or later every kid gets snatched by a wild zaroopka on the way to school. The many-tentacled beast then stuffs the kid under a log while it fetches its babies for mealtime. Kids usually get away before they’re eaten. The zaroopka has a terrible sense of direction and often forgets where it stashed its food.
Earth is a bit of a mixed bag when it comes to youthful quests, and on Yipsmix they’re actually discouraged. Nevertheless, Jaq left the marketplace and embarked on one. He didn’t really want to, but he had no other choice.
He walked down a road shaded by tall lem trees. The trees had dark brown trunks and sage-green leaves that whispered in the breeze. The sound of rustling leaves made soft blue dots appear in the branches, and it was pretty. But Jaq wasn’t really paying attention. He was looking at his map.
