This. Was. Awesome. Wylder Wallace was inside the comic book.
It was all so real! The swaying floor, the clickety-clack of the wheels on the track, even this cramped bathroom with its smells of smoke and dust and some kind of perfume.
And now this totally cool woman—with a huge jeweled earring and a pistol—had caught a live rat in her bare hand! As if someone had tossed her an apple! How awesome was that?
The rodent balanced on her palm, flicking its long hairless tail.
The woman raised an eyebrow. “I believe this creature belongs to you?”
“Yes,” said the girl from lunch. “This is Catnip. Sorry about that. He gets excited.” She tickled the animal and let him roam up her arm to settle on the back of her neck.
Wylder didn’t like rats normally, but there was nothing normal about being in a comic book. Deal with it, he told himself. All part of the adventure.
“Catnip—what a quaint name.” The woman extended a hand. “May I ask who you are, young lady?”
“I’m Addy. Addy Crowe.”
Addy. The name suited her, thought Wylder. Smart and maybe a bit odd. The sort of girl who might keep a rat in a shoulder bag.
“I’m Wylder Wal—” he began, but Addy interrupted.
“And you are Isadora Fortuna.”
“You’ve heard of me? That is gratifying! And are you coming to Toronto to watch my balloon ascent?”
Addy hesitated. “Well … I’m from Toronto,” she said.
“I’m from Toronto too. My name’s Wylder. Hi!”
No one seemed to care. The girl in the funny clothes pushed past him to stand next to Isadora in the corridor.
“Auntie, watch out for these folks,” she said in a low voice.
“Nelly, I remind you not to whisper about people. Not so they can hear, at any rate.”
“But they’re demons! That girl’s wearing boy clothes. She knows things she couldn’t know! And … and … she looks like meeee!” The girl named Nelly was pouting, big time.
“Now, now.” Isadora patted her. “You’ve allowed yourself to become entirely exflunctuated! But I own I am intrigued by the similarity. You girls are as alike as two buttons on a shirtwaist. It’s enough to make a person wonder whether you might be related.”
“You might say that,” said Addy. “But not in the way you mean.”
A red metal garbage can with a bunch of arms rolled up and stopped. The lid popped up and down when it spoke.
“SERVIDUDE AT YOUR SERVICE,” it announced. “IS THERE A PROBLEM? MAY I CARRY YOUR BAG? SHALL I CALL A JANITOR OR MEDICO OR DISPOSAL UNIT? THE DINING CAR IS NEXT DOOR.”
“No assistance is required,” said Isadora.
The mechanical thing skittered away, voice receding. “SERVIDUDE AT YOUR SERVICE!”
Nice, thought Wylder. If he had one at home, he’d never have to tidy his room.
He realized that he had not heard from his mom in a while. He checked to make sure. No signal. He was out of range. He slid the phone into his backpack.
Out of range. The thought made him smile. No kidding! An entire world out of range!
The train swung round a curve and straightened out again. Wylder found himself balancing easily, adjusting to the roll and sway. He was getting used to this place.
“And who might you be, young man?”
Isadora was smiling at him. Somebody cared about him at last.
“I’m Wylder.”
“Wilder than what?”
“Huh? Oh no, that’s my name. Wylder Wallace. I’m not really very wild.”
She laughed—a wonderful sound, like a tinkling fountain.
“I’m Isadora Fortuna, and this is my niece, Nelly. Now that we’re acquainted, would you and your friend like to join us for tea and cakes? Nelly, please find us a table for four in the dining car.”
Wylder wasn’t sure about tea, but the cakes sounded good.
“Thanks!” He slipped past Addy into the corridor.
Nelly dragged her boot toes along the aisle ahead of him.
“Maybe we’ll see Flynn Goster,” Wylder went on. “In person. He’s got to be here somewhere. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“I beg your pardon?” Isadora tipped her head, listening intently.
“Is that a real pistol on your belt? It looks real.”
“Did you say Flynn Goster?” Her fingers briefly touched the sparkling blue earring.
“Do you know him? He’s pretty famous. This is his comic—” Wylder caught himself. “I mean, he’s going to be on this train. After all, there’s a lot of gold here, right? Flynn is a kind of a thief. So he’s going to be—What?”
Addy was shaking her head rapidly.
“What?” he repeated.
Isadora pulled him along, and he had to wrench his neck to look back at Addy.
“You are a fascinating young man, Wylder Wallace,” said Isadora.
“I am?”
“Tell me more about Flynn Goster.”
The windows in the train were circular and bulged outward so you could see all around. The countryside was impressive—mountains and gorges and bare rock. It seemed that the train was climbing to the sky. And everything was so darn real.
“Wait!” Addy came up behind them. “Sorry, Ms. Fortuna,” she said. “Wylder and I can’t join you for tea.”
“Whyever not?”
“Yeah, why not?” said Wylder.
“Because,” said Addy, “we have to go somewhere else. We. Belong. Somewhere. Else.”
“No, we don’t. We’re— Ouch!”
Addy had dug her fingers into his arm.
“That hurts,” he said. “What are you doing? Ms. Fortuna might— Ouch! Stop pinching!”
“Children!” said Isadora. “I insist that you join us for tea. There are tasty tidbits to discuss.”
“We’re going to go check with our parents,” said Addy. “We’ll come and find you.”
Wylder was about to deny this, but she grabbed one of the straps on his backpack and pulled him away before he could open his mouth.
“Lovely,” said Isadora. “We’ll expect you momentarily. Toodle-oo!”
She sashayed away down the aisle, her skirt rustling and her pistol swinging at her side.
“Now just what—”
“Shut up, Wylder!” Addy still had him by the strap so he had to walk backward.
“You shouldn’t have mentioned Flynn!” she said. “He doesn’t get on the train until Banff, and we’re not there yet.” She glanced out the window at the snow-capped peaks of the Rocky Mountains.
“Why would Isadora care about Flynn? Unless … Oh gosh, is she the one he falls in love with? I bet she is. She’s pretty cool. Did you see her pistol? But I hope they don’t get together. That romantic stuff drives me crazy. If she’s all, Oh, darling, I love you more than anything, and he’s like, No darling, I love you more! I may be ill. Flynn doesn’t need anyone else. And why did you lie about our parents being here? That’s the coolest part—that they’re not!”
“Stop talking. You are the—” Addy took a deep breath. “Have you thought for a single second about how freaky it is? We don’t belong here. This is a story! We have to get out.”
She raked her fingers through her wild hair.
“Okay,” she said. “Starting over. Hello, Wylder, I’m Addy. Nice to meet you. Now let’s see if we can work out what’s going on. You saw me inside the comic book, right?”
People were giving them odd looks. Addy was the only girl wearing pants on the whole train. Maybe they should find seats.
“Yes,” he said. “Right near the beginning. But I don’t see—”
“Show me. Maybe there’s a clue about how to get back to ComicFest.”
“I don’t want to go back. I want to have tea with Isadora. And meet Flynn.”
“It’s my comic! Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Okay.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Okay. Remember when I said it was nice to meet you? Just now? We-ell … I lied.”
In a series of quick moves she spun him sideways, tugged his backpack off his shoulders, leapt into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
Wylder looked around. Fifty passengers were staring at him. He gave a weak wave.
“Addy, come out!”
He knocked. The door was already opening.
“Sludge balls!” She slumped against the doorway, the comic book in her hand. “I was hoping that you’d be back in the ComicFest hallway, the way it happened before.”
She kicked it over to him and came out of the bathroom.
“Follow the logic.” She pointed to the right-hand page of the comic. “See?” she said. “There we are. Isadora and Nelly have gone off to the dining car, which is weird because there is no scene in the dining car in the original story. And here comes a—”
“SERVIDUDE AT YOUR SERVICE!”
With two sensors on the side of its lid, the little garbage can looked like it had a cheery red face to match its cheery voice.
“ServiDude is such a great name.”
“Thanks.” Addy actually looked pleased for a second.
“IS THERE A PROBLEM? MAY I CARRY YOUR BAG? SHALL I CALL A JANITOR OR MEDICO OR D—”
“We don’t want any service,” she told the ServiDude.
It tipped its red cap and rolled slowly away—the floor tilted as the train headed uphill.
“We have to go, Wylder.”
“What’s the rush? Let me look at that comic again. Just for a second.”
Addy narrowed her eyes, but—amazingly—she let him hold the comic book.
Wow. He was really here. Addy snatched back the comic but who cared? It was time for some cake.
Addy held up the comic to stare at the page they were on. With his eyes on his own character, Wylder lifted his hand—the Wylder in the comic changed a second later—and bumped against the force field or whatever it was. The border of the panel.
The last panel on the page. Did that have something to do with it?
“Oh!” said Addy. “Lightbulb!”
“Huh?”
“You know? In a cartoon, when a character has an idea, there’s a—”
“I know about lightbulbs,” he said. “So what’s yours? The end of the page?”
“Don’t you think? We started up there and now we’re down here in the last panel. Stuck.”
It all made sense.
“There’s one thing we can do.” Wylder reached over her shoulder to turn the page.
“Wait!” cried Addy. “Wait!”