James Dashner - The Journal of Curious Letters

“How?” Tick and Paul asked in unison.

Master George smiled. “Ah, yes, how indeed. It’s time for the fun part, my good people. I have something to show you.” He walked through a small door in the far corner of the room, reappearing a few seconds later. In his hand he held a long golden rod, at least three feet in length and several inches in diameter; it shone and sparkled in the firelight, polished to perfection. Up and down one entire side were a series of dials and knobs and switches, a small label below each one. Once he returned to his lecture spot, Master George held the rod high for everyone to see.

“This, my friends,” he said proudly, “is a Barrier Wand.”

Oohs and ahs sounded across the room.

“This instrument-and the Chi’karda Drive within its inner chamber-is the single most important invention in the history of mankind. I say this without the slightest pause, knowing it’s true. It is the only way a person can travel from one Reality to another. It harnesses and controls the power of the Chi’karda-manipulates it, bends it, wields it, shapes it.”

Master George ran his hand down the length of the device. “ This is how we control travel between the barriers of the Realities-what we call winking, because it literally happens in the blink of an eye. Without this Barrier Wand, and the few others like it, there would be no study of the Realities, no travel between them, no… Mistress Jane problem, actually. If we can remove her Barrier Wand from the Thirteenth Reality, she and her twisted powers will be trapped there for a very long time. Enough time for us to devise a more permanent solution to the problem.”

“How does the Barrier Wand work?” Paul asked.

“Oh, yes, thank you for asking.” Master George held the golden rod up so everyone could clearly see as he pointed out the controls running down the near side. “You simply adjust the doohickey here, then the thingamajig here, then the whatchamacallit here, and so forth and so on. It’s simple really. Trust me-it does work. With this Wand, you can control the Chi’karda to such a degree that it will transport you between Realities.”

“Ooh, can I see it?” Sofia asked, her hands twitching with curiosity to hold the Wand.

“Of course. Come on up, all of you. Have a look!”

Tick shot out of his chair, grimacing at the coldness of his still-damp pants, and got to Master George first. He laughed out loud when he was close enough to read the labels on the instrument. “I thought you were joking.”

“Joking about what?” Master George asked.

“The most important scientific discovery of all time, and the first dial is called the Doohickey?” Tick pointed to a neatly printed label on the Wand.

Sofia chuckled as she pointed at a small switch. “And there’s the Thingamajig.”

“That’s for a very important reason, thank you very much,” Master George said, momentarily pulling the Barrier Wand away from the kids. “It’s so spying eyes can’t figure out how it works. We’ve labeled them that way on purpose.”

“Ingenious,” Paul snickered.

Tick looked over at Sato, still sitting on the couch, arms folded in defiance. “Don’t you want to see it?”

Sato stared at the floor. “Leave me alone.”

Tick shrugged, then surprised himself when he let out a huge yawn. He glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was almost three o’clock in the morning.

Master George seemed to sense Tick’s thoughts. “It’s grown very late indeed, my good associates. It’s almost morning here. I think we should all be off to bed. We can finish our discussion tomorrow. There is still much to learn-and much to prepare for.”

“Wait a minute-” Paul began.

“No, no, no,” Master George said, waving his Wand like a great magician. “We must have fresh minds to continue. To bed it is-no arguments. No need to worry about the dirty plates; I’ll be happy to clean up.”

A hand grabbed Tick’s shoulder and he turned to see Mothball.

“Come on,” she said. “Off we go. I’ll be showin’ ya to yer sleepin’ quarters. Methinks we could all use a good night’s rest, I do. Come on.”

She moved toward the side door. Tick, Sofia, and Paul fell in line behind her, grumbling like two year olds who didn’t want to go to bed.

Sato didn’t move a muscle.

“Looks like Mr. Happy will be sleeping on the couch,” Paul whispered to Tick as they stepped through the door.

Sato fumed on the inside as he sat alone in the big room, the fire spitting, slowly fading to ashes. Master George hadn’t so much as given him a glance, completely ignoring Sato’s obvious distrust and unhappiness. They all ignored him for the most part, thinking they were so smart and so funny. Better than Sato.

Little did they know he’d listened intently to every single word that came out of the old man’s mouth, storing them away inside his computer of a mind, learning every morsel. He had to know every piece of the puzzle if he hoped to accomplish what he’d planned to do from the very first day he’d received the letter from M.G.

He had to make things right. To quench the thirst for revenge that consumed him. To avenge the death of his family.

I need to stay sharp, he thought. Befriend no one. He couldn’t trust anyone, precisely for the very reason his family died.

No, Sato would never make the same fatal mistake his parents had. And he’d never trust another person ever again.

Especially Master George.

These are our digs?” Paul asked.

“I miss my mansion,” Sofia moaned.

Tick agreed. Their “sleeping quarters” didn’t look very inviting. They stood in a small rectangular room in which six cots had been set up, three along each of the longer walls. Folded gray and black blankets and pillows lay stacked on top of each cot. The only other furniture in the room was a desk and a three-drawer wooden dresser. The floor of the room was a flat metallic gray.

“Would you rather sleep out in the raft?” Rutger asked. “We can arrange it.”

“Mister Tick,” Mothball said, nudging him. “There’s some dry clothes in the chest of drawers there. Better be changin’ out of yer soppies, ya should.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Tick walked over to the dresser as everyone else chose a cot and started spreading out their blankets. After a full minute of rummaging through the drawers, the only thing Tick found that was close to wearable was an enormous one-piece nightshirt. “This thing looks like a dress,” he said to Mothball.

“If ya’d rather soak in yer wet undies all night, fine by me,” she replied.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

She nodded toward a short metal door. Sighing, Tick went and changed into his ridiculous pajamas.

Frazier Gunn had listened to the muffled murmurs of people talking all night. His captor had guests, apparently. Almost insane from the months of isolation, Frazier felt like chewing through the metal and killing every last one of them.

I’d need stronger teeth, he thought.

He knew he was going crazy, and he didn’t care. He curled up on the floor like a dog and tried to go back to sleep.

Frazier longed to hear more clearly through the cold metal walls of his terrible prison. The only word he felt confident he’d understood in all these months was Annika. George had mentioned the name several times, and for some reason it resonated through the metal without being distorted beyond recognition.

Annika. An unusual name for sure. Frazier had only known one person in his life named Annika. She was one of Mistress Jane’s closest servants and one of several people, including Frazier, who intensely competed for Jane’s favor.