Tick exchanged a look with Sofia, both of them trying to hold in a laugh.
“Oh, dear, I’ve already gone off on a tangent,” Master George said, clearing his throat and growing very serious. “My apologies. There is a point, you see, to my sending you this Spinner. I must show you footage of something very frightening—something you must see and prepare yourselves to study with the greatest vigor. I want you to remember two words—entropy and fragmentation. These two things serve as our greatest challenge when studying the Realities; they are also the source of much heartache.”
Master George paused, looking past the camera or whatever was recording him. “Rutger, please put down that pastry—get ready to cut to the footage you filmed in the fragmenting Reality.” Master George focused back on Tick and the others. “No wonder I constantly find sticky goo on my camera. Now, I want you to watch closely. We have no sound, as Rutger had to get in and out very quickly and almost ruined the film entirely. I will narrate as you observe.”
The image on the circular screen changed. All three of them sucked in a quick breath when they saw Tick huddled next to a tree, shivering, his terrified eyes darting back and forth, looking all around him.
Tick swallowed. He was filthy in the film, his clothes ripped to shreds. Wind tore at his shaggy hair, and his bare feet were covered with grime. Of course, it couldn’t be him—it had to be someone who just looked like him. It had to
be . . .
Master George’s narration cut off his thoughts. “Master Atticus, this trembling wretch is one of your Alterants—created last year when you made the choice to follow the Twelve Clues and solve my mystery. A branching reality was created in which you didn’t make that brave choice, and here you see the result.”
Tick felt like everything around him disappeared, his eyes riveted to the image of himself on the screen, his heart aching for the boy there. How can that be me? he thought. Is it me? It can’t be me. Confusion swirled in his mind like poisonous gas.
“This is a terrible thing,” Master George continued. “One of our goals as Realitants is to prevent this type of fragmenting event from happening. In a very twisted way, this boy is you, Atticus. He has your mind and heart, your goodness and courage. And he doesn’t deserve the fate that’s come upon him. Watch closely.”
The trees around the Alterant Tick started to shake; the brisk wind picked up even more, tearing at Tick’s pitiful, filthy clothes. There was no sound, but Tick saw the boy scream, hugging his arms around himself tighter. Above his head, the wood of the tree vibrated, then broke apart into a million tiny pieces, swept away by the wild wind. The other Tick screamed again, scooting away until he hit another tree. An instant later that one liquefied into a horrific brown goo, splashing all over the Alterant. Another scream, as if the tree burned him.
The real Tick watched in horror at what happened next.
The boy on the screen started to dissolve.
Chapter
5
~
The Entropy of Fragmentation
The image flashed to black. Master George reappeared, his ruddy face creased and frowning. “I’m very sorry you had to see that.”
Tick felt his back pressed against the wall, felt the slime of sweat on his palms. The movie had stopped before getting too bad, but he’d seen enough. The boy’s skin and hair and clothes—all dissipating into a million pieces, breaking apart, dissolving, whipped away by the wind.
That was me, he thought. That was me.
“Now listen closely,” Master George said. “You may already have heard the term entropy in your studies. It describes the natural . . . urge of the universe to destroy itself, to cease to exist, to deconstruct. All things—no matter what, no matter how strong—will eventually erode into nothingness, into chaos. It is an unchangeable law. All things fade away. This is called entropy.”
Master George looked down at Muffintops, petting her as she purred. “The process of entropy can take a few years or billions of years. Think about your bodies. When you die, your flesh and bone will slowly turn to dust. A towering mountain can stand for millions of years before it slowly but surely breaks down. Nothing can stop the inevitable—entropy wins. Always.”
“What does this have to do with—” Paul began to ask, obviously forgetting they were watching a recording. Master George kept talking.