“For me?” A white corner of paper stuck out of a slot above the ServiDude’s eye.

“What’s a VaporLink?” Wylder peered over her shoulder. Or around her shoulder since she was taller than he was.

“It’s Uncle Vim’s version of a telegram.”

“What’s a telegram?”

Addy let Catnip run up her arm. “It’s what they had in the olden days for fast communication, way before e-mail. They have telegrams in black-and-white movies, you know? Like special delivery letters.”

“MISS ADDY CROWE?” said the ServiDude. “PLEASE PULL LEVER TO RELEASE VAPORLINK.”

Addy’s hand hovered in front of the robot’s face.

Catnip, on her shoulder, sniffed excitedly. The lever was the nose.

Pull. Snap back. Whirrr. CLICK.

An envelope slid out from the right eyebrow and fell directly into her waiting hand.

“READ WELL. BE WELL,” said the ServiDude.

“What does it say?” asked Wylder.

“Give me a chance!” said Addy. She ripped open the flap and stared at the paper in her hands. “It’s from Uncle Vim!”

“Wow,” said Wylder. “That’s … nuts!”

Waaay beyond nuts. Addy’s skin tingled up her neck and down her arms. She was holding proof that the whole world was skewy.

Addy held up the VaporLink to show him. In bold capital letters, the paper said: MESS-UP WITH DELIVERY! COMICS STUCK AT TRAIN STATION. HAVE TO GO SIGN DUMB DOCS. COME TO BOOTH IN ONE HOUR.

“Dumb what?” said Wylder.

“Documents,” said Addy. “Dumb docs. He’s not exactly Mr. Businessman. Anything official gets him riled.”

“Wow,” said Wylder. “It’s like he’s texting you across the barriers of time and space! How cool to get a VaporLink from the guy who invented them! That’s like getting a drive home from Henry Ford or flying in the Wright brothers’ airplane or … or getting a box of chocolates from Mr. Hershey!”

“Wylder, I know you think that I’m … that I’m …” What did he think of her? “That I’m sour or something. But this is sludge-pit crazy. Uncle Vim needs me. And we really need to get out of his comic book.”

“MISS ADDY CROWE,” said the ServiDude. “WOULD YOU CARE TO SEND A REPLY?”

Addy’s breath caught in her throat. “I can send a reply?”

“NO FEE FOR THE FIRST TWENTY WORDS. A PENNY A WORD OVER TWENTY.”

“Cheaper than texting,” said Wylder. “Unless you’re on the Unlimited Plan, which of course I am, because my mother—” Addy raised her right eyebrow to shut him up, just the way Ms. Blaine did to silence the sixth-grade homeroom. She hadn’t yet figured out how to raise the left one, but she practiced sometimes in the mirror.

“Where do I write my reply?” she asked.

“PRESS BUTTON TO RECORD REPLY.”

The button turned out to be on the side of the ServiDude’s head. You spoke into a little microphone and your message supposedly got transported into the vapor, somehow showing up in an envelope at the other end. Had Uncle Vim thought of every little detail in this whole world? How could his brain hold all this stuff?

Extremely unlikely that she could actually send a message, but she had to try.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” A Porter ServiDude across the lobby began to call out at a reverberating volume. “ALL PASSENGERS FOR THE GOLD RUSH EXPRESS—THIS WAY, PLEASE. HUM-SHUTTLE TO TRAIN IS DEPARTING IN FIVE MINUTES. THIS WAY, PLEASE.”

“What’s the Hum-Shuttle?” said Wylder.

“A way to get on the train,” said Addy. “It’s like a moving tube, makes a humming sound. Uncle Vim got the idea from a midway ride.”

Catnip nestled under her hair on the back of her neck. She scratched his ears with her fingertip while she considered what to say in the VaporLink. How long had it taken for her uncle’s message to arrive? Was it instant, like a text? Or had he sent it a while ago and was now going bonkers looking for her?

“How long do you think we’ve been here?” she asked Wylder.

“Gee, I don’t know. The train went through the mountains for a while. And then we got shot at and went to the laboratory.”

“And now Banff,” said Addy. “With stinking Nevins—who seems to have got clean away, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

“And Flynn and the stunt and everything. It must be a couple of hours since we got here.”

“MISS ADDY CROWE. WOULD YOU CARE TO SEND A REPLY? PRESS BUTTON TO RECORD REPLY.”

Addy blinked away the prickle in her eyes. This was Uncle Vim’s big day, and everything had gone wrong. She was supposed to be helping him, not screwing up his masterpiece! She cleared her throat and pushed the ServiDude’s ear button.

“Look in your copy,” she said, counting to four on her fingers, “of the Summer Special. I am trapped inside. SOS!” That was thirteen words. “I love you,” she added.

That should do it. The whole explanation would take too many words, but he’d figure it out the second he looked in his comic book. If he actually received her message, that is. And if she and Wylder were in his copy too.

“THANK YOU,” said the ServiDude. “YOUR MESSAGE IS SENT.”

Addy looked at Wylder. Could it work? “What are the chances?”

Wylder shrugged.

“Imagine my uncle’s face,” said Addy. She thought of his eyes popping behind thick glasses, his long fingers dragging through messy hair, a dramatic moan of astonishment.

“Depends on whether we’re in those pictures too,” said Wylder. “In his copy as well as this one.”

Impossible. But maybe. If Vim could see them, could he do something to help? He was goofy and unreliable at the best of times, which is why he made a good uncle. Not hero material. But who else could save them?

“Addy, look!” Wylder tugged on her arm. Flynn Goster was surrounded by admirers, causing a slight commotion. A diamond glinted from the tip of his cane as it swung with his stride across the lobby.

“Come on,” said Addy. “We have to figure out how to get home.”

“I’m not coming.” Wylder folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve only just met Flynn. I want to hang out with him a little bit before we go.”

“Hang out? You can’t—”

But Wylder was already on his way toward Flynn.

“Wait!”

She scooted after him.

“THIS WAY FOR THE HUM-SHUTTLE!” The ServiDude made a sound like a sharp whistle blowing. “ALL ABOARD.”

“See?” Addy nudged Wylder. “Your hero is going to be on the train. If you want to hang out with him, we’d better join the crowd.”

“MR. OLIVER MAMMON,” said the welcoming robot. “DELIGHTED TO HAVE YOU ABOARD.”

“Mr. Gos—er, Mammon, sir?” Wylder stepped right up next to him. “Remember me? From back there in the lobby?”

“Sure thing, Cowboy,” said Flynn. “Who could forget a boy with a rat on his head? No time to chat, though. I’ve got a train to catch.”

“The Gold Rush Express, right? Big plans for the cargo, eh?”

“Wylder!” Addy poked him. Did he have any manners? “Sssh!”

Luckily Flynn did not hear. He was sailing toward the Hum-Shuttle passage through a rounded doorway.

“Children!” Isadora’s voice rang out. “Wylder? Addy? Have your parents gone ahead? Come with me, won’t you?”

“MISS ISADORA FORTUNA. DELIGHTED TO HAVE YOU ABOARD,” said the ServiDude.

Wylder grinned like a boy with a dumb crush and scooted after her, but jerked back with a squinched face, as if he’d hit himself hard. Addy, right behind, crashed into him with a thunk.

“We bumped into the end of the page again,” she mumbled. “Step out of the way. Let the rest of them go.”

Isadora was already down the corridor. She looked back, but maybe she couldn’t see them because of the cluster of waiting passengers.

“Why?” moaned Wylder. “Why do we get stuck every time we try to go anywhere?”

Addy pulled him to one side. “Where’s the comic? Give it to me.”

“Rolled up in the side pocket of my backpack,” said Wylder. “And you can’t have it. I don’t want to end up in some creepy lab with metal monsters like the last time!”

“It’s not my fault that some loony cop tried to shoot my rat and flipped over the pages!”

“IF YOU DIDN’T HAVE A RAT, NOBODY WOULD BE TRYING TO SHOOT HIM!”

“You really are a bowl of sludge.”

Catnip had climbed on top of Addy’s head, as if trying to squash the yelling. Addy took a deep breath. “Put. The. Comic. On. The. Floor,” she said.

Wylder looked at her suspiciously but obeyed. Uncle Vim would be dismayed to see how bashed up his precious creation had become.

“Smooth it out a little,” she instructed. “Good. Now, look.”

“It’s hard to concentrate while you have a rat on your head. Is that what I looked like when I met Flynn?”

Addy ignored him. “Like we figured out before,” she said, “whatever is happening on the open page is stuff we can move around in. We had the whole drama in the lobby, and then … hmm …” Addy paused.

At least they hadn’t hit a page bump in the middle of Flynn’s acrobatics with the baby carriage. Thank goodliness, as Vim would say.

“If the action keeps going in the same place, the way it did in the lobby …” Wylder moved his finger over the panels in front of them.

“We can just keep moving?” finished Addy.

“Maybe,” said Wylder. “Does that mean the next scene is somewhere else? Like back on the train?”

“Maybe,” said Addy. “In the original they’re loading extra gold here in Banff. That’s why Flynn boards the train now. The gold stash is bigger.”

“So if we turn the page,” said Wylder, “we avoid the—” He jerked his head to the Hum-Shuttle entrance, where the final passengers were being hustled along. “And we keep going with Flynn and Isadora and all the action?”

“That’s what I’m guessing.”

Addy didn’t have a chance to wonder if she was missing anything, because Wylder leaned forward and scooped up the comic book, turning the page in one determined motion.

THWIP!

Addy’s scalp twinged with pain as Catnip’s claws dug in deep. A dizzying moment of fog, a blurry somersault and then …

They were outside looking at a glorious sunset, the kind you see in postcards. Sailboats scudded across a glimmering ocean. Splashes of scarlet and apricot and flamingo pink lit the heavens. Frogs croaked and cicadas whirred, accompanied by the gentle lapping of water against boat hulls. The air was balmy, with a faint scent of coconuts. And … popcorn?

“We’re not on the train,” said Wylder.

“Rat-sludge!” said Addy. “No offense intended, Catnip.” She reached up to bring her pet gently down from her head and hold him against her chest. “Another flashback I forgot about. Or has it moved? This is not where we need to be.”

“Doesn’t look much like Canada,” said Wylder.

“You’re right about that. It’s Florida.”

Although they had a clear view of a beach and the ocean beyond, they were sitting in the first row of a small stadium, a chattering crowd of sunburned tourists in the seats behind them and a glimmering pool of water in front, so close that Wylder reached out to trail his fingers across its surface.

“Warm,” he said. “Nice.”

Addy gazed up at the diving platform that towered above the pool.

“You don’t have to feel bad about not being on the train with Isadora and Flynn,” she said. “We’re about to see them meet for the first time.”

“Oh no! More mush?”

“Wait and see.”

“So where are they?”

“Any second now.”

“Do you think we could go swimming?” said Wylder.

“How about you read the sign and then ask me again.” Addy pointed at a painted notice nailed to the struts of the diving tower.