The ground beneath Addy moved in a familiar way. She pushed damp hair out of her eyes, the smell of drenched wool carpet close to her nose. She knew where she was. She’d seen this room being drawn. She stared up at the wallpaper. Yep, she’d helped her uncle fill in the intricate pattern, a million interlocking wiggles that looked like something you’d find under a microscope.
“Help!” Wylder’s voice croaked somewhere behind her. She rolled over, water squishing out of her jeans. Oh no! There was a rip down the thigh, starting practically at her underwear! The alligator’s claw must have—
“I’m drowning!” Wylder cried.
“Not anymore,” said Addy. “You’re on dry land.” She tugged together the edges of the long tear, trying to sound as if she weren’t sitting there practically pantless. “Not-so-dry land, actually. And not really land either.” Who would have guessed it would be a relief to be back on the train?
Wylder lay on his back, hair plastered to his forehead. “I had a terrible, terrible nightmare!”
“It really happened,” said Addy. “But—”
Sludge! Where was Catnip? She snatched at the strap of her shoulder bag and dragged it over. As she pulled, the bag began to move on its own, the best little quiver Addy had ever seen. She scooped Catnip out and blew on his wet fur.
“That’s what I call a drowned rat,” said Wylder.
“Very funny.” Still holding together the rip in her jeans with one hand, Addy laid Catnip across her knees and gently rubbed him. Had he really grown today? Where had he found food? She felt like she hadn’t eaten in about a week.
“Why is everything soaked? Where’s my backpack? And where are we?” Wylder sat up.
“Stateroom 2. Isadora’s. I grabbed the comic.” Addy looked around. “Here, it’s under me. That’s lucky.” She held the damp comic between her thumb and forefinger like something nasty. “I grabbed it from the gator pool. That must be why we’re all wet. I flapped it around to dry while you were spitting up algae. And—bam!—here we are, back on the train.”
“The gator pool.” Wylder shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”
“You are so dumb and so lucky. That alligator was as big as this room!”
“Yeah, I noticed that.” He banged the side of his head, trying to get the water out of his ear. “And Flynn was the ringmaster?”
“After you fell into the water like an oversized toad, I tried to grab you, but this claw came up and …” Addy put her bag on top of the tear in her jeans. “And then Flynn did his hero thing, reaching in to save you. Only he tripped on your backpack and went flying.”
“My backpack? It was my fault?” Wylder buried his face in his hands for a moment, but then lifted it again, eyes curious. “And what was the whole jewel deal? Flynn stole it, right?”
“For this issue, Vim gave Flynn a cool new gadget called a Zimmer. It’s shaped like a key but worn like a watch.”
“Oh, I saw that on his wrist!”
“It can open anything. So—zim, zim!—he unlocked the duke’s case and ‘Bye-bye, sapphire.’ ”
Then Wylder remembered. “But the gator …”
“Yeah,” said Addy. “The gator zoomed around, ready to snack on you, but he crashed into Flynn instead.”
Wylder sank back onto the carpet.
“Isadora must have had a perfect view from the tower,” Addy said. “Because she performed a majestic dive into the pool. Right next to the gator’s head!”
“Just in time,” breathed Wylder.
“Not quite.”
Addy was at the truly horrible part of the story—the part where half the audience had fainted, where the sea-green water had been streaked a bloody scarlet, where the sinewy and astounding Isadora had whacked the gator’s snout with her fist to get it to open one second after it had snapped shut around Flynn Goster’s right hand.
“It all happened in less than a minute,” Addy said. “She heaved Flynn’s body over the rim of the pool and scooped you out like a tadpole. Tossed you onto the seats in the front row!”
Isadora was a seriously supreme character. Addy wished her uncle had given her face to Isadora instead of to that sneaky little Nelly.
“And then”—she’d saved the good bit for last—“while you were passed out cold, Isadora stuck her arm down the alligator’s throat!”
“What?! Did she get Flynn’s hand?”
“No, that was chewed up,” said Addy. “But she saved the Zimmer. The gator must’ve decided it wasn’t tasty enough.”
Wylder looked a bit pale. “He lost his hand because of my stupid backpack. It’s all so terrible. Will Flynn be okay?”
How could Addy possibly know? Nothing in the whole comic book was going the way it was supposed to. Vim’s scenes weren’t happening the way he wrote them. And she and Wylder were not just watching the story like a TV show or a movie—they were inside it. They’d become characters who did things to affect other characters and had an impact on the next panel, and all the panels after that.
Like real life.
“When we get out—which we really have to do—and aren’t part of the cast of characters anymore, I’m hoping the comic will go back to the way my uncle wrote it. Flynn will still have his hand, Isadora will have her trick romance and Lickpenny will fail at everything.”
“Flynn would be miserable without a hand,” said Wylder. “It makes me feel kind of sick. Unless I’m just hungry.”
Addy shivered. Every inch of her body was slightly clammy. She didn’t really want to stand up with torn jeans and her underpants showing. She looked around the stateroom. Stacked under the window was a set of suitcases. Any chance Vim had put clothes inside?
“Wylder,” she said, “wait for me in the corridor. I have to check something.”
“What?”
“Just do it, would you?” She felt like a ninny, sitting there with her pet rat and her hands covering her lap. But no way was she standing up in front of him. Wylder gave her a look that shouted “You’re weird!” as he left the room.
The clasps on the top suitcase sprang open at Addy’s touch. Inside were clothes in her size! All through the comic, Nelly wore the same dress, vest and stockings. These must be her backups—identical, clean and only damp, not soggy.
Addy peeled out of her jeans and draped them over a chair beside the radiator. Maybe they’d dry out a little. Not that she could wear them again without a major patch job. She quickly yanked Nelly’s dress and vest on over her T-shirt, fingers fumbling with all those buttons. Her sneakers were wet through, so she also pulled on the spare stockings and a pair of brown boots—just her size!
Addy peeked into the corridor.
“Wow!” said Wylder. “You look exactly like … wow! You could be twins!”
Addy smoothed down her hair with her hands and adjusted the strap on her bag. Catnip had found a vest pocket big enough to hold him.
The BuzzBox mounted in the stateroom corridor crackled to life: “THE GOLD RUSH DINING CAR HAS NOW REOPENED, FOLLOWING FLOOD. ALL SERVICE IS NORMAL.”
“Do you think they have burgers?” asked Wylder.
“I’m so hungry,” said Addy, “I could eat an alligator.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
“No, I’m starving too,” said Addy. “But we are totally leaving as soon as we’ve eaten.”
The dining car was damp but not sloshing wet. The booths, upholstered in fine gray leather, had been thoroughly wiped dry.
“This all happened because the comic book fell in the pool?” said Wylder. “What if it had been a pile of dog poop?”
“Don’t even say that out loud,” said Addy.
A bubble-topped ServiDude rolled over to the table. Its sides were black and white, like a waiter’s uniform.
“WAITER SERVIDUDE—HELP YOURSELF! HELP YOURSELF!”
“These ServiDudes are the best,” said Addy. “See? Each spout or window offers up a different delicious thing to eat.”
“Why is it crying?” said Wylder.
“Just leaking, I guess. From the flood.”
But the stout little fellow seemed to be working just fine, serving up bowls of chicken soup with homemade egg noodles, warm crusty rolls slathered in melting butter, chocolate pudding, creamed spinach …
“Spinach?” Wylder nearly shouted. “What’s wrong with you?”
“For Catnip!”
And two tall glasses of fizzing ginger ale.
“Gotta say,” said Addy, “my uncle is a genius. And ServiDudes are one of his more awesome inventions.”
The soup was delicious, the rolls flaky and buttery, and the spinach … well, Catnip certainly seemed happy enough. He made his way through the dish of green mush so quickly that he chomped on the serving spoon and left a perfectly formed dent of his two front teeth.
Addy held up the spoon to show Wylder. “Do you think Catnip looks bigger?”
“How would I know?” said Wylder. “Maybe. Something he ate?”
“Hmm. The last thing I actually saw him eating was”—Addy felt a swoosh of serious worry—“that boiling pot of muck in Lickpenny’s lab!”
Wylder’s hand, holding the last, best mouthful of chocolate pudding and whipped cream, stopped in midair. “Uh-oh,” he said.
The food sat in Addy’s stomach like a brick. Had Catnip eaten the catalyzer? Would it be poison to a rat? He did seem bigger, but he was jolly and energetic.
Probably fine, then.
A ServiDude rumbled over and efficiently cleared the table, loading dirty dishes onto a tray that folded into its own torso.
“We don’t have a dishwasher,” said Addy, “because my mom thinks it wastes energy. One of these guys would be incrediballoo.”
“One hundred percent agree.” Wylder tried to lick some chocolate from his lip, but only managed to smear it further.
The door of the dining car slid open, releasing a small torrent of water that splashed on the head of the VaporLink ServiDude who rolled in.
“PAGING MASTER WYLDER WALLACE,” it said. “VAPOR-LINKS FOR MASTER WYLDER WALLACE.”
“VaporLinks? For me?”
“MASTER WYLDER WALLACE,” said the ServiDude. “WOULD YOU CARE TO SEND A REPLY?”
“Would you care to shut up?” Wylder’s face was red.
“It’s not his fault!” Addy said.
“Fine. No reply,” said Wylder. “You can throw these away. All of them.”
“Don’t you think you should at least tell her that you’re alive?” asked Addy. Her own mom would want to hear that. If she ever had the time between two jobs to send one VaporLink, let alone—what? A hundred?
Wylder flushed. “Yeah, I guess so. Okay, how do I do this?”
“PRESS BUTTON TO RECORD REPLY,” said the ServiDude.
Addy showed him the earhole.
“I’m fine,” shouted Wylder. “No reception where I am.” He made a “What else is there to say?” face. “Lots to tell you,” he added.
Addy mimed blowing a kiss.
Wylder bugged his eyes at her, but then he said, “XX.”
“No reception,” said Addy. “That’s a good way to put it.”
“THANK YOU,” said the ServiDude. “YOUR MESSAGE IS SENT.”
“Let’s go,” said Addy. “We’ve wasted enough time.”
“I kind of want another chocolate pudding,” said Wylder.
“PAGING MISS ADDY CROWE,” said the ServiDude. “VAPORLINK FOR MISS ADDY CROWE.”
Addy didn’t wait to be told what to do. She pulled the bot’s nose. Had Uncle Vim answered her cry for help? Maybe he’d tell them exactly where to find the portal. Maybe he’d drawn the portal!
Snap back. Whirrr. CLICK.
She tore open the envelope and read the message in two seconds.
“No reply,” she told the ServiDude.
“Is yours from your mom too?” asked Wylder.
Addy held it up so he could read: YOU KIDS ARE MESSING UP THE WHOLE COMIC! FUNNYBONES ON MY TAIL! GET OUT RIGHT NOW!
“Huh,” said Wylder. “That’s not much help.”
No help at all.
