“Again, this boy was exactly like any of you,” Charlie finished by saying. “He was kind and, above all, loyal. He was born to serve the ones he loved, so that’s what he did. The choices he made were made out of love and survival. Are there any better reasons than those?”
Kenny was gracious enough to raise his hand, but not patient enough to wait to be called on. “Are you saying that Banar is the Whisper?” he asked.
“Banar was the Whisper,” Charlie said. “The first Whisper. There have been others since. And they have all done what they were born to do, and they’ve all made choices out of love and survival. You might not agree with some of those choices, but you should at least try to understand them, don’t you think?”
Stunned silence. Obviously nobody had heard this story before. And the single question that must have been on everyone’s mind was thankfully posed by the girl made of doll parts. “What happened next?”
Charlie chuckled. “You,” he said. “You happened next. Where do you think you came from? You wouldn’t be here without the Whisper. Because when he called daydreamers to Aquavania, he called your creator. You owe everything to him, because he made it possible for you to exist. And to know that a kid just like any of you can grow up to become the most important person in Aquavania, well … that is an encouraging thought, now isn’t it? It starts with devotion. It is the result of hard choices. It stems from love. The Whisper is love. That’s all there is to it.”
Ten minutes before, this comment might have elicited another round of boos, or at least plenty of sniggers, but Charlie’s story had them all thinking.
Alistair was tempted to run out of the kitchen yelling, He’s a liar! That’s only a part of it, if it’s even true! Even if the Whisper helped create worlds, he’s destroyed them too. But Alistair doubted he would fare well with this crowd. They were all clearly devoted to Charlie—or, more accurately, to the Maestro.
On stage, a janitor shaped like a mop used his wooden arms to push a table and chair into place as Charlie held up a book. “Underneath your seats you’ll all find copies of my latest tome, which the school kindly bought for each student. It’s called Gods of Nowhere, and it contains tales similar to Banar’s. If you all line up in an orderly fashion, I’ll be signing copies.”
* * *
Alistair was the last one in line, behind a kid who was basically a car with headlights for eyes and a shiny grille for teeth. Alistair didn’t have a copy of Gods of Nowhere, but he did have his atlas tucked under his arm. Thanks to the car-boy’s bulk, Alistair was hidden, at least for the time being, and he was pretty sure Charlie hadn’t spotted him yet.
The line moved slowly. Presumably, kids were stopping to chat with Charlie as he graced them with his signature. Giggles coursed through the crowd. Legs twitched and fingers tapped on the covers of books. Even after they had signed copies in hand, most of the kids stuck around, huddled throughout the cafetorium, basking in the moment.
When Alistair finally reached the front, he could hardly control his body. A gagging reflex seemed to command his every muscle. The car-boy beeped, executed a perfect three-point turn, and spun out in excitement. Alistair was standing alone on the stage, face-to-face with his old friend.
Charlie squinted and said, “Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve come to the end of the—”
And Alistair vomited. Sparkling bits of meat splashed across the linoleum stage, forming a rancid constellation.
“Not the sort of finale I was expecting,” Charlie said.
“Where … is … she?” Alistair asked as he wiped his mouth and stumbled forward.
“Get it together, buddy. People are watching.” Charlie leaned forward and placed a hand on Alistair’s chest. Alistair’s instinct was to recoil, and recoil he did. But as he did, Charlie snatched the atlas from him.
“Where is she?” Alistair said, with more confidence this time. Losing the book meant nothing compared to losing her.
In response, Charlie smiled, opened the atlas, and put his fountain pen on it like he was signing another copy of Gods of Nowhere. “To whom should I make this out?” he asked.
“I found you,” Alistair said. “I knew I would. Now it’s over. Tell me where she is.”
“Long name. Not sure I know how to spell it right, but I’ll give it my best shot,” Charlie said as he finished the inscription and handed the atlas back to Alistair. “I hope you enjoy reading this.”
There was something weird about Charlie’s skin. It was loose, flabby, like a peach a day past ripe. This was Charlie, and yet it wasn’t. Could he be a cipher like Kyle? An imposter? What Alistair would have given for a pair of those X-ray specs. The Maestro sure sounded like Charlie, but what did that prove?
The two boys locked eyes, a good old-fashioned stare-down, until the janitor nudged Alistair out of the way for a moment, sidling in to mop up the vomit, his weathered scowl saying all that needed to be said. Seizing the opportunity, Charlie stood and slithered into the crowd. The kids immediately peppered him with questions, and there was absolutely no way for Alistair to break through their motley ranks.
“I’m afraid I must be leaving, my friends,” Charlie announced as he walked backward toward the exit, though he wasn’t looking at the clingy, yappy kids. He was looking at Alistair’s atlas. He nodded insistently.
Alistair opened it to the cover page. The inscription read: You’re It.
Again, the Weeble girl was lagging behind, so Alistair picked her brain. “Where are they going?” he asked.
She looked at him as if he were the world’s biggest dolt. “The toilet,” she said.