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Authors: Sheila Grau

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BOOK: The Boy with 17 Senses
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“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 money. 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

O
n 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.

If he followed this road, eventually it would take him to the trailhead for the Manguno Laguno Nature Preserve. There, a series of trails crept up into the amber-colored hills. Somewhere up in those hills was a wormhole that led to Earth.

“I'm hungry,” Bonip said, peeking out of the backpack. “You didn't pack any food in here.”

“No, I didn't,” Jaq said. “Mellifluous, unique, haberdashery.”

“Say what?” Bonip said.

“I'm hungry, too.”

“So you speak nonsense?”

“Those words taste good to me,” Jaq said. “Rimple muffin.”

“How about ‘Wonderful wipper woefully hungry'?”

“I don't like those
W
words. Or words that start with
B
.”

“Like . . . Bonip?”

“Your name tastes like fish-flavored bark, with a sour aftertaste,” Jaq said. “It's revolting.”

“Well, excuse me. I'm not very fond of ‘Jaq' myself. It's too short for a name. But I guess that suits you, shorty. Plus, you smell bad.”

“Why don't you go home?” Jaq said, stopping to look at the pest, which was hard to do, because he was still perched on Jaq's backpack. “I'm not in the mood to be insulted. Badly.”

“I'm sorry,” Bonip said, climbing onto Jaq's shoulder. “But you started it. I don't want to go back. To be honest, the other wippers won't even have noticed I've been gone, and that will
make me feel worse than starvation. Can we get something to eat, please, please, pretty please?”

“No,” Jaq said. “And by the way, when you say ‘please' over and over, it grates on my nerves like someone chewing with their mouth open. It makes me want to scream, it's so annoying.”

“Oh? Sorry, then. Can we get something to eat? I beg of you? I beseech you? Pretty beseeches? No, ‘pretty' probably tastes bad, too . . . Gorgeous beseeches?”

“How about you don't plead for anything.”

“But I'm hungry.”

“I'm hungry, too.”

They walked on.

BOOK: The Boy with 17 Senses
6.16Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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