Clouds could hover outside and pout about it as much as they liked, but not a single drop of wet ever entered the area. You could ask why the forest didn’t simply dry up and die, but it would be a silly question. Any forest that was able to keep rain away could be trusted to have its own method of staying healthy.
Once the last person entered the woods, the glowing blue Gateway sank back into the ground, shrank into a line again, then a dot, and disappeared. The rain stopped, as if a faucet had been shut off; with the Gateway gone, it wasn’t needed.
As the raincoat-wearing people shuffled along the main pathway into the woods, the Breeze blew over them. It dried the moisture from the rain and soothed their jangled nerves, leaving them feeling wonderfully refreshed, even tingly. The people tossed back their hoods and savored the clean air.
No one noticed that one man, dressed in a faded tan hooded overcoat and walking with a cane, absently veered off the path. He stumbled around through the trees and shrubs as the others walked on. There was nobody else around him in the forest when he fell, but philosophers should note that he still made a sound. (It was a rather annoyed swearword, but it counted.)
That man’s name was Ralfagon Wintrofline.
The rest of the group followed the trail into a huge open space with many thick, smooth-topped tree stumps. The stumps were arranged so they faced a single, taller stump on the opposite side of the clearing. This was an important place for these people. Its official name was The Grand Meeting Place Where the Order Shall Convene, Contemplate, Converse, Control, and Sit on Tree Stumps, but most just called it the clearing.
Each person settled comfortably onto a stump. That might sound unlikely, given that tree stumps are made of wood and are thus normally hard, flat, and only good for giving out splinters, but these were no ordinary tree stumps. They were quite spongy and comfy, like sitting on a nicely padded chair. They didn’t recline or anything, but they were rather impressive for a forest.
It was several more moments before Ralfagon Wintrofline appeared. Actually, appeared is too dramatic a description: he slowly limped out of a cluster of bushes over to the tallest stump. He lowered himself carefully to his seat and then slumped forward.
As he pulled back his rain hood, he did not appear important, much less intimidating. His crinkled skin, unevenly cut gray hair, fuzzy gray eyebrows, and blurry gray eyes made him look confused. He slouched when he sat and stooped when he walked, using a scratched-up wooden cane with a shiny handle.
That cane (a gift from an old friend who no longer lived on the planet) was the first sign that Ralfagon was more than he seemed. The oval handle, made of a unique metal, contained a highly detailed—though minuscule—map of the Milky Way galaxy. It was accurate to the last moon, and whenever something in the galaxy changed, so did the handle.
Impressive or not, Ralfagon was the leader of this group. They were the Order of Physics, and he was known as their Keeper. And so Ralfagon Wintrofline, one of the most powerful men in the universe, had a meeting to begin. He cleared his throat, sat up straight, and stuck a finger in his ear.
The Order members waited while he rummaged around in there; he did this every Sunday. “Does anybody have a cotton swab?” he asked in a crackly voice. “The Breeze never dries the insides of my ears.” Almost everyone produced a swab, and he chose one. “Isn’t that rain wet?” he asked as he tended to his moist ear canal.
Nobody answered, but he didn’t notice. Ralfagon Wintrofline was known for his rhetorical questions.
“Much better,” he said after a moment. “Shall we proceed?” He paused, knowing there was something important he had to do…if he could only remember what. “Er, Eldonna, could you come here, please?”
Short, stout Eldonna Pombina walked over and whispered in his ear. “Here are your notes, sir,” she said as she handed him a handful of pages.
“Notes? Why would I need…Oh, of course. Thank you.”
Eldonna nodded, unbothered by his forgetfulness. Ralfagon Wintrofline was known as Professor Ralph Winter to his colleagues at nearby Milnes University, a small, charming university famed throughout all of north Jersey for its excellent vending machines. There, Eldonna Pombina called herself Donna Pom and worked as Professor Winter’s teaching assistant.
She handled most questions from students in Ralfagon’s physics classes. She also made sure he could find his classroom and, when the day was done, his way home.
Ralfagon turned and shuffled the notes until he found what he wanted. “Ah, yes. Right. Meeting. Very serious.” He looked up at the Order members. “And that’s why we’re here today, through the rain. I’ll see if I can put an end to that wretched downpour.”
Willoughby Wanderby thrust his hand up from his stump seat. He was a middle-size man of middling years with middle-of-the-road features, yet there was something hard about him. He had the sort of stern, forceful manner of a military commander, a world leader, or perhaps a gym teacher. “But Ralfagon, the rain has a purpose—it hides our comings and goings from Outsiders.”
Ralfagon nodded sagely. “Right. So. I’ll keep that going until we stop meeting then, yes? Good. Where was I? Ah, this meeting. I’m afraid it will be our last. Hmm, that takes care of the rain.”
The other members of the Order of Physics spent several minutes sputtering in shock while Ralfagon calmly swabbed his other ear. He found it very satisfying.
TIME-OUT
What was happening? First an Outsider boy appeared so prominently in my Chronicle and now the Order of Physics was coming to an end? This had never happened before, not in the entire history of the Union. And I, of all people, should know—history is my job!
What could this mean? What disasters would it lead to?
Would the universe fall into chaos without the Order of Physics to maintain it? Would the Outsider scientists flounder helplessly without the subtle guidance provided by the Order? Would all of humanity plunge back into the Dark Ages? More importantly, would I need to find a new job? Would I get stuck Narrating nature shows?
My fabled calm was shattered. Something had to be done. I decided to take action in the manner of all Narrators: I popped another piece of gum into my mouth and resumed watching, ready for further action (if necessary).
CHAPTER 3
THE POWERS THAT BE
The Order was still murmuring in confusion when a very tall member on a back-row stump leapt to his feet. Mermon Veenie.
Mermon’s dark hair was slicked back, framing a wide forehead and sharply angled eyebrows. Beneath those were teeny-tiny eyes that looked like black dots drawn in with a Magic Marker rather than things that could be used for seeing. But Mermon seemed to have no trouble glaring at Ralfagon.
He spoke in a loud, growling voice that made you think he might go for your throat after he finished speaking. Or, if he was in a bad mood, while he was midsentence. “Old man, what are you talking about?” he snarled.
Most of the Order members frowned at Mermon’s disrespect; Ralfagon merely raised a finger. “Please sit down, Mermon,” he said calmly, “and I’ll explain.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be leading this group!” Mermon growled. “I, for one, am tired of your nonsense; maybe it’s time I did something about it!” As he spoke Mermon shook a fist at his leader; sparks literally jumped from his knuckles. The Order members seated around him leaned away on their stumps.
Ralfagon’s placid expression changed to a grimace, and though he barely moved, he no longer seemed as stooped and frail. The corner of a thick blue Book peeked out from his overcoat, and the woods crackled with power.
Ralfagon said a series of unintelligible words that sounded like he was speaking backward and forward at the same time while chewing peanut butter. There was nothing peanut buttery involved, however; no, Ralfagon was invoking a formula—he was controlling a law of physics.
Mermon tried to respond but could only flap his mouth uselessly: Ralfagon had taken away his ability to make sound. The Order members all gasp
ed loudly (except for Mermon, who couldn’t).
Next, Ralfagon quickly spoke several other formulas and gestured with his finger. Mermon was flung back ten feet from the group and launched high in the air with the speed of a cannonball. He jolted to a halt far above the clearing and hung there, waving his hands helplessly. He was then spun around and around like a Mermon-shaped top. He stopped abruptly and plummeted even faster than he’d risen; he screamed silently and flailed his limbs all the way down.
Ralfagon snapped his fingers and Mermon stopped instantly, all his momentum gone. He was stretched out so close to the dirt that a passing ant’s antennae brushed against his nose. (The ant just kept on walking; like most creatures in the woods, it had learned to ignore the Order’s activities.) Ralfagon wiggled his finger, and Mermon returned to his feet in the exact position he’d been in before. His once-neat black hair was sticking straight up, and his wide mouth quivered as if he was unsure whether to throw up, burst out crying, or do both at once.
“I have told you before, Mermon,” Ralfagon said quietly but sternly, “I will not tolerate threats to myself or any other Order member. Now, take your seat and behave yourself.”
Mermon dropped down onto his stump and lowered his head in penitence.
Ralfagon spoke his first formula in reverse, returning Mermon’s ability to speak. He then relaxed back into his usual slouch. “As I was saying, we will be stopping our meetings. For a time. This is not my decision. The Council of Sciences had our weekly meeting earlier today; we had a special visitor.” He frowned. “An official from the Board of Administration came with complaints, several aimed at our Order. We were congratulated on our fix of the Bermuda Triangle, but he raised other issues, such as the Atlantis fiasco. The yeti. Forty-two separate incidences of Slinkys not making it all the way down sets of stairs.”
Willoughby Wanderby raised his hand and, at Ralfagon’s nod, said, “I’m confused. Atlantis sank many centuries ago; surely that’s not relevant now? And the yeti…you mean Abominable Snowmen? If anything, those beasts are the Order of Biology’s mix-up.”
Ralfagon sighed. “Nobody’s forgotten Atlantis. I keep getting Time-Life books about it; the shipping and handling alone is outrageous. As for the yeti, Biology’s Keeper, Gilio Skidowsa, claims they’re due to the electromagnetic flux of the northern lights. I just see it as a marketing problem; what do you expect when you call something Abominable?” He sighed again. “The Board official suspended all Science Order activities until a plan can be made to fix things.”
One of the younger Order members, a pretty woman with red hair, shook her head. “Bureaucratic nonsense. Does that mean we can’t do any work today?”
Ralfagon scratched his wrinkled chin. “No, Loisana, I think we can have one last session. Something quick and easy. Let’s boost mobile phone radiation. We all could use the better phone reception, and it’ll certainly cheer up the Outsiders.”
Ralfagon leaned his cane against his stump and gestured, triggering the same powers he’d used to send Mermon hurtling through the air. Now, however, Ralfagon levitated gently until he was standing atop his stump. The other Order members rose from their seats and linked their hands in a circle around him.
Ralfagon raised his hands in the air and wiggled his fingers. The blue Book slid out of his coat, but instead of falling to the ground as any self-respecting, ordinary book would do, it floated to just above Ralfagon’s fingertips.
The others each spoke their own formulas, activating the various laws of physics they commanded. Rather than use this control, they simply combined their energy and willpower with Ralfagon’s. Their circle glowed blue, and under Ralfagon’s guidance, their influence spread quickly across the globe and strengthened mobile phones’ signal strength.
All the Order members’ eyes were closed, so they couldn’t see what I saw: a figure, walking just outside their circle, outlined in the blue light. His coat had an oversize hood that hid his face entirely as he moved toward Ralfagon. He came too close as he passed behind a burly man with dark brown skin and thick eyeglasses; a ripple formed in the blue glow between them.
That ripple disrupted the bespectacled man’s concentration and triggered his formula: a fierce rumble rolled out from behind him as the ground shook. Everyone dropped their hands and opened their eyes, but when the blue glow faded, the hooded figure mysteriously vanished. I was the only one who’d seen him.
The Book dropped into Ralfagon’s fingers. “Robertitus?”
Robertitus Charlsus groaned and adjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry, Ralfagon. I couldn’t help myself.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ralfagon said. “Something disrupted our circle.”
Everyone looked at Mermon Veenie, who shook his head. “I didn’t do anything! I swear!”
Loisana pointed into the distance. “Look at the path!”
There was a jagged tear across the trail a few hundred yards from the clearing; the chasm was at least forty feet across.
“It’s fine,” Ralfagon said, but he frowned. “We never enter on that side of the clearing. Besides, Dunkerhook Woods takes care of itself. By the time we resume our meetings, the damage will probably be gone.”
The Order members milled about; they discussed possible vacation plans and bemoaned now-useless supplies of cotton swabs. They all lived in town, so they’d see plenty of one another, but there was still an air of sadness.
Mermon stood apart. He glowered briefly at Ralfagon and then stared off into the clearing, as if searching for something…or someone.
Eventually, the Order members zipped up their raincoats, tugged on their hoods, and marched down the trail toward the border of Van Silas Way. Ralfagon was still frowning and looking vaguely puzzled. The rain started again on the street, the Gateway reappeared, and one by one, the Order members filed through and went on home.
Nobody noticed that Mermon Veenie lingered in the woods, standing off to the side behind a tree. “Sir? Are you there?” he said once the others had left.
“Veenie, you moron.” A toneless, echoing voice boomed out of the empty air, as if somebody was shouting into a large, invisible bucket. “What if they notice you didn’t leave? If one of them came back, they’d hear and thus be able to see me.”
As the words rang out, the speaker became visible—it was the hooded figure. He was completely covered by a black coat; his hood covered his head like a huge, shadowed cave. There was no sign of a face.
For the second time that day, Mermon had to apologize. “I’m sorry, sir. I was worried. Won’t the Order disbanding ruin our plans?”
The hooded head shook from side to side. “Exactly the opposite. This is all part ofmyplan. In a few more days, we will strike. Then we will have the power, and I will have my revenge. But no more nonsense like threatening Ralfagon. Control your bad judgment from now on and await my signal. Now go.”
Mermon Veenie nodded and left through the waiting Gateway. The hooded figure disappeared. Soon after, the Gateway vanished, the rain stopped, and all was quiet in the woods once again.
CHAPTER 4
A MATTER OF PRINCIPAL
The next day was Monday, and that meant school for Simon. He daydreamed as he walked the few blocks between home and Martin Van Buren Elementary, heading for the back entrance. He passed through the school’s large, fenced-in playground where children in the lower grades frolicked.
He paid little mind to the joyous screams and laughs made by younger kids climbing on the large metal jungle gym or playing with the swings, seesaws, and rings. He glanced at the rings: those five-foot-high, four-foot-wide concrete tubes always made Simon think of giant toilet paper rolls turned on their sides, except these were concrete, embedded in the ground, and had no toilet paper on them.
Simon went through the double doors and into the hallway, noting the change in sound. While the playground was alive with squeals of childish pleasure, the school halls were filled with a steady beat of noise. The boys were mostly roughhousing or
shouting to one another while many of the girls stood around in clumps, chatting about clothes, television shows, and even boys.
Simon concentrated on shutting himself off from all that activity, tuning out the sights and sounds. He pressed through the mass of moving kids and squeezed free to his locker, where he started absently emptying his backpack into his locker. A tap on the shoulder startled him.
“You dropped this.”
Simon was jolted back to the world around him. He turned and saw Alysha Davis, whose locker was next to his. She had coffee-and-cream-colored skin and long, wavy brown hair tied back in a ponytail. As he looked up (she was taller than he), all he could think to say was, “Huh?”
Alysha gestured with a paperback book in one hand. “This fell out of your backpack. You feeling okay?”
Simon saw what was in her hand: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. He’d mistakenly packed it with his schoolbooks. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Alysha handed it to him. “Wasn’t that a movie?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over a scratchy, almost incomprehensible announcement coming from the PA system. Simon nodded. She pointed to the words on the cover. “‘Don’t panic’? What does that mean?”
Simon was suddenly embarrassed, wondering what she would think of the stuff he read. He mustered a half smile and shrugged. “It means ‘don’t panic.’” He turned and stuffed the book into his locker.
He could feel Alysha looking at him, but he didn’t turn around. What else was he supposed to say? They’d been friends years ago, but now she was popular and hung out with kids who wouldn’t even look at him. Fashion had somehow become a big thing for her; her new friends judged one another—and everyone else—by the clothes they wore and how they looked in them. It was a world Simon didn’t understand or want to enter.
Simon was saved, in a way, by a bump from behind. He almost fell into his locker as Marcus Van Ny brushed past him to talk to Alysha.
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