Master George paused, looking past the camera or whatever was recording him. “Rutger, please put down that pastry—get ready to cut to the footage you filmed in the fragmenting Reality.” Master George focused back on Tick and the others. “No wonder I constantly find sticky goo on my camera. Now, I want you to watch closely. We have no sound, as Rutger had to get in and out very quickly and almost ruined the film entirely. I will narrate as you observe.”
The image on the circular screen changed. All three of them sucked in a quick breath when they saw Tick huddled next to a tree, shivering, his terrified eyes darting back and forth, looking all around him.
Tick swallowed. He was filthy in the film, his clothes ripped to shreds. Wind tore at his shaggy hair, and his bare feet were covered with grime. Of course, it couldn’t be him—it had to be someone who just looked like him. It had to
be . . .
Master George’s narration cut off his thoughts. “Master Atticus, this trembling wretch is one of your Alterants—created last year when you made the choice to follow the Twelve Clues and solve my mystery. A branching reality was created in which you didn’t make that brave choice, and here you see the result.”
Tick felt like everything around him disappeared, his eyes riveted to the image of himself on the screen, his heart aching for the boy there. How can that be me? he thought. Is it me? It can’t be me. Confusion swirled in his mind like poisonous gas.
“This is a terrible thing,” Master George continued. “One of our goals as Realitants is to prevent this type of fragmenting event from happening. In a very twisted way, this boy is you, Atticus. He has your mind and heart, your goodness and courage. And he doesn’t deserve the fate that’s come upon him. Watch closely.”
The trees around the Alterant Tick started to shake; the brisk wind picked up even more, tearing at Tick’s pitiful, filthy clothes. There was no sound, but Tick saw the boy scream, hugging his arms around himself tighter. Above his head, the wood of the tree vibrated, then broke apart into a million tiny pieces, swept away by the wild wind. The other Tick screamed again, scooting away until he hit another tree. An instant later that one liquefied into a horrific brown goo, splashing all over the Alterant. Another scream, as if the tree burned him.
The real Tick watched in horror at what happened next.
The boy on the screen started to dissolve.
Chapter
5
The Entropy of Fragmentation
The image flashed to black. Master George reappeared, his ruddy face creased and frowning. “I’m very sorry you had to see that.”
Tick felt his back pressed against the wall, felt the slime of sweat on his palms. The movie had stopped before getting too bad, but he’d seen enough. The boy’s skin and hair and clothes—all dissipating into a million pieces, breaking apart, dissolving, whipped away by the wind.
That was me, he thought. That was me.
“Now listen closely,” Master George said. “You may already have heard the term entropy in your studies. It describes the natural . . . urge of the universe to destroy itself, to cease to exist, to deconstruct. All things—no matter what, no matter how strong—will eventually erode into nothingness, into chaos. It is an unchangeable law. All things fade away. This is called entropy.”
Master George looked down at Muffintops, petting her as she purred. “The process of entropy can take a few years or billions of years. Think about your bodies. When you die, your flesh and bone will slowly turn to dust. A towering mountain can stand for millions of years before it slowly but surely breaks down. Nothing can stop the inevitable—entropy wins. Always.”
“What does this have to do with—” Paul began to ask, obviously forgetting they were watching a recording. Master George kept talking.
“Here is the disturbing part. The Thirteen Realities we know about are solid and permanent. But fragmented Realities are not—we’ve told you before how unstable they are, and how they eventually fade away or destroy themselves. Now you know the reason—an extreme heightening and acceleration of entropy. And I mean extreme. It almost becomes a living entity, devouring everything in its path, as you just witnessed. Once fragmented, a Reality doesn’t last long—and its final moments are pure terror for the poor chaps living there. It is an awful thing.”
Master George took a deep breath. “We don’t understand all of it. There’s much to learn, much to discuss. It’s time the three of you started your Realitant studies, and this is the first lesson of many. And most importantly, I wanted you to see firsthand the severe consequences of your choices. If you’d lacked the courage to pass my tests, perhaps . . . well, it is a very deep and complicated situation. But we must stop the fragmenting. Even though we will never feel the pain and terror of those temporary Alterants, it’s very real to them, if only briefly. Makes it hard for me to sleep at night.”
Muffintops jumped out of his arms and disappeared off screen. “Very well, thank you for watching. There are many other mysteries to discuss—like the odd properties of soulikens and the Barrier Haunce. All in good time. We’ll look forward to the gathering of Realitants. Until then, remember your courage, my good friends. Good-bye for now.”
Master George smiled at the camera for a few seconds, saying nothing. His eyes flickered to the side, as if he looked uncomfortable. Finally, he mumbled something out of the side of his mouth. “Turn the camera off, Rutger.”
The screen went black, then red, then silver. The hum of the Spinner died out as the metal rod slowly came to a standstill. All the while, no one said anything.
“What was that?” Sofia finally asked.
Tick ignored her, pushing past and walking out of the dining room. The spaghetti churned inside his stomach, and he didn’t know how much longer he could last before throwing up. A throbbing ache raged behind his eyeballs.
“Tick?” Paul asked from behind.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” was all Tick could get out.
He barely said a word the rest of the evening, ignoring his friends and family equally. The image of that boy on the screen—of himself—screaming and then dissolving . . .
How could he ever get that out of his head?
He went to bed early that night while everyone else watched a movie downstairs.
The next morning, Tick, Paul, and Sofia decided to get out of the house and talk over things—maybe do some research at the library. Tick felt a little better on waking up; every time the disturbing image of his fragmenting Alterant popped in his head, he tried to picture Muffintops. After another excellent Lorena Higginbottom breakfast of eggs and fried potatoes, the three of them headed out.