The Hunt for Dark Infinity (The 13th Reality #2) (11 page)

Paul was the first to join in, then Sofia, both of them grabbing a roasted drumstick and chowing down.

“This ain’t bad,” Paul said with a full mouth, throwing his manners out the window. “Tastes a little stale and smoky, but it’s pretty good.”

Tick reached over and grabbed his own piece of chicken and a roll. Paul was right—it tasted a little old, even a little dirty, but it was like Thanksgiving dinner all the same—and Tick was starving. No one said a word as they munched and chewed and chomped their way through every last morsel of food.

Tick had just sat back, rubbing his belly in satisfaction, when a young boy in a dark suit stepped up to their table and cleared his throat. His dirty blond hair framed a face smeared with grime, and his eyes were wide, as if he was scared to death.

“Whatcha want?” Sally asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “What’s yer bid’ness, son?”

The boy swallowed, rocking back and forth on his feet, glancing over his shoulder now and again. But he said nothing.

“Got some dadgum cotton in dem ears, son?” Sally asked. “I say, what’s yer bid’ness?”

The boy’s arm slowly raised, his index finger extended. One by one, he pointed at the four people sitting at the table. Then he spoke in a weak, high-pitched voice full of fear.

“The Master . . . told me to . . . he said . . . he said you’ll all be dead in five minutes.”

~

Long, Spindly Legs

A
ll four of them stood up in the same instant; this time, Paul’s chair did fall over with a rattling clang.

“What kinda nonsense you talkin’?” Sally asked.

The boy looked up at him, his face growing impossibly paler; then he turned and ran, disappearing in the dense crowd of mulling citizens.

“What was
that?
” Paul said.

“The riddle,” Tick said, leaning over and twisting the paper from Master George toward him. “We have to solve the riddle. Now.”

“Yeah, that’ll be extra easy knowing we’re about to die,” Paul said.

“Quit whining and think,” Sofia said, joining Tick to study the poem.

Tick tried to focus, reading the words through and then closing his eyes, letting them float through his mind, sorting them out. He thought of the lady’s name, Miss Anna Graham . . .

Sofia spoke up, breaking his concentration. “The part about ignoring everything else—it must mean the two lines after it are all that matters—the last two lines. The rest of it seems like nonsense anyway . . . but . . . ‘There lies a secret to unhide . . . ’”

“‘
Inside the words of the words inside,
’” Tick finished for her.

“What is
that?
” Paul said, his neck bent back as he looked up at the ceiling.

Tick ignored him, staring at the last two lines of the poem as if doing so would make them rearrange themselves. Rearrange . . .

Paul slapped Tick on the shoulder, then Sofia, who was also ignoring him. “Guys, cut the poetry lesson for a second and
look.
” He pointed upward.

Far above, odd shapes crawled across the black roof, defying gravity and blotting out the sputtering lights as they moved around. Impossible to make out clearly, the . . .
things
were squat and round with several long, angled limbs that moved up and down rapidly, bending and unbending as they scuttled about. They looked like big spiders, but
false
somehow—artificial. As if their legs were made out of . . .

“Bless my mama’s hanky—what
are
those buggins?” Sally asked.

One of the creatures jumped from the roof and landed on the closest balcony with a metallic clank. As it flew through the air, its awkward limbs flailing, Tick noticed a flash of steel. Another creature followed its companion, then another, then another. By the time the leader had jumped down to the next balcony, the dozen or so others had reached the first one. Balcony to balcony, down they came.

Straight for Tick’s group.

“This is gonna be trouble,” Paul said.

A sharp pain built behind Tick’s eyes, his mind spinning in all kinds of directions. He knew these mechanical spiders must be like the Gnat Rat or the Tingle Wraith, things sent by Master George to test them. At least he
hoped
they were from Master George.

“‘Inside the words of the words inside,’” Sofia said in a burst, her eyes widening in revelation. “‘Inside the
words
of the words inside!’”

The spider-things were two levels away, close enough for Tick to make out their features. The long, spindly legs were jointed metal, supporting a round ball of steel with all kinds of devices jutting from its body—spinning blades and sharp knives. The clanking and clicking and whirring of the hor-rible creatures made Tick’s insides boil.

Sofia grabbed Tick’s arm. “
The words inside.
Those three words are the main part of the riddle!”

The answer hit Tick like a catapulted stone. Anna Graham. Rearranging. Tick had always loved the puzzles in the Sunday paper, everything from Sudoku to number pyramids, but one game had always been a favorite . . .

Anna Graham.

“Anagram!” he yelled, probably looking insane to his friends because of the huge smile that spread across his face. The clanking sounds of the oncoming metal-spiders grew louder.

“Yeah, but who is she?” Paul asked. “How do we find her?”

“No, no,” Tick said. “Not a name—a thing. An anagram.”

“What the heck is an anagram?” Paul asked, stealing a glance at the creatures, now only seconds away from reaching them.

Sofia answered. “It’s when the letters of a word or phrase are rearranged to spell something else.”

“Yeah,” Tick said. “Whatever we’re looking for must be an anagram of
‘the words inside.
’”

“Yes!” Sofia yelled.

But their joy was short-lived. The first spider landed on their table with a horrible crash.

~

The boy named Henry ran, bumping into people, bouncing off them, falling to the ground, getting back up—running, always running. He’d hardly said one word to a stranger his whole life, living in fear of the metaspides and their all-seeing eye. They were always there, waiting, watching.

But he’d done his job. He’d said the words, delivered the message. In doing so, he’d made enough money to buy medicine for his mom for another six months. He knew the docs were overcharging him, but he had no choice. He didn’t want his mom to die.

The creepy man who’d offered him the job stood in the same spot, lurking inside an alcove between two pubs. The man had paid him half the money beforehand, promising the other half when the deed was done. Henry walked up to him and held out his shaking hand. When they made eye contact, he couldn’t help but take a step backward.

The man looked at the boy with fierce eyes, his brow tensed in anger, his dark hair hanging in his face. A long pause followed, filled with the sounds of the metaspides launching an attack behind him.

“You did it, then?” the man said. “You think you deserve some money, do you?”

“Y-y-yes, sir,” Henry replied.

“So you do, boy. You deserve every penny. I’m a businessman, you know, and I’ve never faltered on a deal in my life.” He reached out and tousled Henry’s hair. “It’s why I am who I am. Where do you think the metaspides came from, anyway?”

Henry shrugged, wishing with all his heart he could get away from this strange, scary man.

The tall stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out several bills, which he placed in Henry’s hand. “Take this, boy, and use it wisely.”

“Yes, sir,” Henry said, turning to run.

The man grabbed his shoulder, gripping tightly. “Grow up smart, boy. Grow up smart, and one day you may work for me.” The man leaned in and whispered into Henry’s ear. “For Reginald Chu, the greatest mind in all the Realities.”

Henry squirmed out of the man’s clutches and ran. He ran and ran until he collapsed into his sick mother’s arms.

~

For an instant, Paul couldn’t make himself move. He stared down in horror at Tick, who was lying on the ground, the weird metal spider thing on top of him. Its eight segmented legs of steel pinned each of Tick’s limbs while a pair
of slicing blades popped out of its silver belly and headed for his friend’s head. Somehow, in the midst of all this, Paul noticed words printed on the back of the spider’s round body:

METASPIDE

Manufactured by Chu Industries

Just like the Gnat Rat.

He snapped himself out of his daze and grabbed the closest chair. Picking it up by the back, he swung it as hard as he could and smashed it into the creature, sending it flying off Tick and clanking along the paved stones of the pathway. Tick scrambled to his feet and joined Paul; Sofia and Sally were right next to them, staring at the thing Paul had just whacked.

The metaspide righted itself, turning to look at the group, though it had no eyes as far as Paul could tell. The thing’s buddies had dropped down to the same level of the indoor mall and joined their leader in a pack, as if readying for a charge. Most of the darkly dressed people had fled the scene, somehow finding the spirit to move quickly when vicious robot spiders came calling. A few stragglers pressed their backs against the walls of the buildings, looking on in terror. The place had become eerily silent.

“I just can’t buy that Master George is doing this,” Sofia said.

“You chirrun ain’t tellin’ me the whole truth!” Sally said.

Paul tried to calm his heavy breathing. He knew the only way to get out of this was to solve that stupid riddle. An anagram of “the words inside.” He quickly started visualizing options in his head, other words those letters could spell:
sword . . . died . . . snow . . . wine . . . news . . . odd . . .

It was easy to come up with individual words, but using every last letter—and only those letters—was really hard without pen and paper.

“What are they waiting for?” Sofia said.

The metaspides stood in a line, at least a dozen of them, their bodies turning and nodding, clicking and clacking, buzzing endlessly. They seemed to be communicating, deciding what to do next. It didn’t make Paul feel very good thinking that those things were smart enough to call plays, like in football.

“I don’t know,” Tick said. “Sally, where can we go? Where do you live?”

Sally grunted. “Ain’t be leadin’ them buggers to my place, no how.”

“Is there a place to hide?” Sofia asked.

“Mayhaps if we go into one of dem there stores or such.” Sally pointed to nowhere in particular.

This triggered a thought in Paul’s head. Maybe they were supposed to figure out the
name
of a place, and go there. Maybe they’d be winked away if they made it.

“Look at all the signs,” he said. “I bet one of them is an anagram of ‘the words inside.’”

Tick’s eyes lit up in agreement. “You’re right! Every little place here has a sign out front. That has to be it!”

An abrupt whirring sound made them all return their attention to the metaspides. The creatures had started to move, slowly spreading out in an obvious attempt to surround Paul and his friends.

“We need to split up,” Paul said. “Run around, level to level, look at every sign. It’ll be easy to find the right one. Just keep saying ‘the words inside’ over and over in your head.”

“What do we do if we find it?” Tick asked.

“Scream like bloody murder. We’ll come to you.”

The metaspides had formed a semicircle, still moving slowly, closing their trap. Every few seconds, on each creature, a spinning saw would pop out, or twin blades would scissor shut with a snap. They were like gang members taunting their opponent.

“Are you in?” Paul asked Sally.

“Ain’t got much choice, I reckon. Fine friends you chirrun turned out to be.”

Sofia spoke, her voice steady. “We need to go.
Now.
”

Paul quickly pointed out directions of who should go where. “Okay . . . ready . . .
Go!”

Paul shot down a pathway to the left, having to run in between two of the robots. They snapped at him, but he slipped through easily. Sprinting, he made it thirty or forty feet before something became very obvious. He turned, baffled.

None of the metaspides were behind him.

They’d all gone after Tick. Every single one of them.

~

Flying Metal

T
ick looked over his shoulder when he got to the end of the bridge, shocked to see all of the creatures following him. He caught a quick glance of Paul standing in the distance, staring.