“I meant,” said Wylder, “that Uncle Vim could take charge of my … er, the comic book.”
“Oh.”
“He could turn the right number of pages to get us to my backpack. Or wherever else we want to go.”
“I KNOW THIS BOOK LIKE I WROTE IT MYSELF. HA-HA!”
“The story is pretty messed up,” said Addy. “What are the chances that—”
“I’D SAY RIGHT ABOUT THE MIDDLE …”
“Maybe earlier,” said Wylder.
He had written it, thought Addy, but it wasn’t what he’d written anymore.
“If there’s any question,” she said, “we should—”
Wylder pulled the battered comic book out of his pocket and held it in two hands, not quite passing it to Uncle Vim. Maybe he was having doubts as well.
“TRUST ME, WYLDER WALLACE. I DREW EVERY LINE OF THAT COMIC. MOST OF THEM A DOZEN TIMES.” Vim pulled a spider web out of his hair, with the spider still in it. He sighed. “I SHOULD GET YOU KIDS HOME. AND FACE WHATEVER SLUDGE I’M IN WITH FUNNYBONES.”
A strange bellowing and the clang of footsteps on stone came scarily closer, right around the corner!
“Stop wasting time!” said Addy. “Come on! Gator pool, here we come!”
“I agree,” said Wylder. “My cell phone’s in my backpack. If it’s lost, my mom will go purple.”
He held out the comic book, and Uncle Vim took it.
THWIP!
Even when the wobbly part stopped, Addy was entirely uncomfortable, with her legs doubled up against a wall and Uncle Vim’s armpit over her nose.
“Not Florida.” Wylder sounded as if he had a mouthful of hair, which it turned out he did, because Uncle Vim’s wild mane was trailing across his face. Disentangling took a couple of minutes, due to the shaking floor and the narrow place they were in.
“WELL, I’M MYSTIFICATED!” said Uncle Vim. “NOT THE GATOR POOL AT ALL! MY CALCULATION SHOULD NOT HAVE CARRIED US HERE. TAKE BACK YOUR COMIC, WYLDER WALLACE. I AM NOT THE PILOT I THOUGHT I WAS.”
Uncle Vim stuffed the battered comic into Wylder’s back pocket. Addy decided not to argue. Her uncle looked pretty downcast.
“I guess we’re back on the train,” said Wylder.
“Duh,” said Addy. Catnip crawled out of her vest pocket and climbed down to the pocket holding the onion rings. She fed him a string of onion—hardly a ring at this point. He gobbled it down, and every last crumb of the others as well.
“What a useful little guy,” said Wylder.
“You’re just figuring that out?” Addy carefully folded the empty box and slid it back into her pocket.
Uncle Vim glanced around. “STATEROOM CORRIDOR, FROM THE LOOK OF IT. NUMBER ONE RIGHT THERE, SEE? WHERE THE FIENDISH NEPHEW IS STICKING HIS HEAD OUT.”
“Is that one of the Nevinses from the tunnel?” said Wylder. “Did he come with us?”
“That’s Lickpenny’s suite,” said Addy. “He was probably here already.”
The hallway outside the staterooms was filling up with people, including a couple of Nellys and more than a few Nevinses.
“OKAY, WE LANDED WRONG. BUT PICK UP YOUR DUDS, ADDY.” Uncle Vim climbed to his feet. “SINCE WE’RE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD.”
She scooted over to the door marked with an elegant number 2 and found it unlocked. But when she pushed it open, she closed it again with a swift click. Inside was something more horrible than a slavering alligator.
“What’s up?” whispered Wylder. “Go get your stuff.”
Addy shook her head and took a step back. Wylder put his hand on the doorknob.
“You do not want to go in there,” said Addy.
“Why not?” Wylder pulled open the door.
