He could only stare.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paul said, though his voice sounded to Tick like it came down a long tunnel.
“What do you think, Einstein?” Sofia replied, her tone full of anger. “Chu wants Tick to go in there, but not us!”
“I know, but what does that mean?”
“Looks like ya’ll hain’t got nuttin’ but trouble comin’ down dem gullets a’yorn.”
The gruff voice from behind shook Tick out of his stupor. He whirled to see Sally standing there, arms folded, looking like he’d just lost that morning’s grits and eggs. Face pale, beard scraggly, eyes bloodshot, the man didn’t seem too happy to see them. He was dressed in his usual lumberjack garb—thick green-flannel shirt, dusty overalls, big brown work boots. A leather satchel hung loosely over his shoulder.
Paul let out a little yelp at Sally’s surprise appearance.
“Sa-Sally? Where’d you come from?”
“Where you think, boy?” He made an unpleasant sucking sound in his throat then spat on the ground. “Ol’ George sent me after you rug rats.”
“How’d you get here?” Sofia asked. “You can’t tell me there’s a cemetery nearby.”
Sally turned and pointed at nothing in particular. “There’s a might nice spat of his fancy kyoopy gobbledygook back yonder ways. You three too busy starin’ at that big pile of sticks to notice me comin’ up on ya.”
Tick shook his head, finally feeling like the world had solidified again around him. That message on the door, he thought. That message! “Why’d Master George send you back to us? I thought we were on our own.”
Sally shrugged his bulky shoulders. “Still are, I ’spect. Just come to pass on a little somethin’, that’s all.” He slid the satchel off his shoulder and down his arm, then opened it up. After a few seconds of rummaging around, he pulled out a shiny silver cylinder, two inches in diameter and six inches long.
“This here whatchamacallit is for you whipsnaps,” he said, holding the small rod out toward Sofia, who stood closest to him.
She shook her head. “If that’s what I think it is, you better give it to Tick. We can’t go with him anymore.”
Sally’s arm dropped to his side, the cylinder gripped in his hand; his eyes squinted in confusion. “What in the name of Mama’s chitlins stew you talkin’ ’bout? You ain’t done forgot the plan, did ya?”
Tick wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat again.
“No, we didn’t forget the plan,” Sofia said with a sneer, then pointed toward the door with the creepy red letters scrawled across it. “But that stupid door says that only Tick can go through it. If Master George wants him to get close to Chu, looks like he’s on his own.”
“You don’t know that,” Tick said, forcing the words out through a cough that rubbed the back of his mouth raw. “Maybe I just need to go in, do something, and come right back out.”
“Doubt it,” Paul muttered.
“Why?” Tick asked.
“I just have a feeling it’s done for us, dude. I think Chu wanted you from the beginning because of your freak show back in the Thirteenth—winking us with a broken Barrier Wand and all. We’re done—I know it.”
Tick looked at Sofia, pleading with his eyes.
“I think he’s right,” she said, frowning.
Sally walked forward until he was close enough to read the message on the door. “Whoever wrote that nonsense ain’t got a bit of learnin’ in him, I can tell ya that. I can barely read dem chicken scratches.”
Sofia raised her eyebrows at Tick as if to say, When did Sally get so smart?
“Messy or not,” Paul said, “it doesn’t beat around the bush. Only Tick can go in there. If we try, we’ll die a, uh, horrible death.”
“That’s only half the problem I’m worried about,” Tick said. “What does Mistress Jane have to do with it? Why just me and her?”
“Reckon you and that no-good tweety-bird’s all Chu cares about,” Sally said with a grumble. He spit again.
Tick squeezed his fists at his side, then rubbed them against his temples. “I can’t do this,” he whispered. “I can’t go in there by myself.” His insides churned with panic, as if internal wires had been crossed, messing up his whole organ system. He felt like a sissy, but the truth of it weighed on him like the chilly air had finally frozen solid around him. I can’t do it, he thought. I can’t go in there without Paul and Sofia!
“Ah, now,” Sally said. “Ain’t no time for that. You ain’t got nuttin’ but brave inside you, boy. Suck it on up, hear?” He held the shiny chrome cylinder out to Tick.
Tick stared at it, not moving a muscle.
Paul walked over and put his one good arm around Tick’s shoulders, wincing with the effort. He leaned over and spoke close in Tick’s ear. “You listen to me, bro. No way we’re gonna let anything happen to you. You’re the one with that transponder thingy in your ear—we’ll go back with Sally and keep an eye on every move you make. We won’t sleep, won’t eat, until we can wink back to get you.”
Tick nodded, then looked at Sofia. She stepped forward and grabbed the silver rod from Sally, then lightly shoved it against Tick’s stomach.
“Paul’s right,” she said, trying her best to throw compassion into her voice. “The three of us will wink back to Master George and watch you like a hawk. First sign of trouble and we’ll come help you.”
Tick waited a few seconds, then finally took the cylinder from Sofia. It was cool to the touch and slippery in his sweaty hands. “I don’t think you should do that. Follow me or come after me, I mean.”
“Why?” Paul asked.
“Well, if Chu wants me alone—or . . . with Mistress Jane—then we better do things his way.”
“For awhile, maybe,” Sofia said. She looked as if she might say more, but then closed her mouth.
Tick looked at Sally and held up the silver rod. “What am I supposed to do with this anyway?”
Sally grunted and rummaged through his leather pack again. “Ain’t no way ol’ George be lettin’ me tell ya.” He pulled out a wadded up piece of paper and handed it to Tick. “Read that, ain’t too hard no-how.”