The robust little man looked up at her. “How far?”

“Just ’round the bend up yonder,” she answered, pointing toward a small paved lane that came out of a forest to their right and went over the next hill. “We can stop runnin’, we can. I ’spect them Bugaboos’ll be quite occupied for a spell. Come on.” She headed off for the road.

Sato looked at Rutger. “Do you know anything about these Bugaboo soldiers?”

Rutger shrugged, a movement that shook his whole body. “Enough not to bug Mothball about it. She has a long history with those nutsos. Let’s just get to her house and then we can talk about it.”

“Whatever,” Sato muttered, consumed with curiosity. Sword-fighting clowns were bad enough, and the fact that Mothball was scared of them only made it worse. He felt a disturbing chill that made him shudder. “Let’s go.”

Rutger started off down the hill, and Sato followed.

The road led to a cluster of homes surrounded by an enormously tall wall of roughly mortared stones. In fact, everything about the neighborhood was tall: the houses, the trees, the carriages and their horses. And once he got past the sheer size of it all, Sato was amazed at how medieval everything looked.

What kind of a world had Mothball grown up in?

She seemed to sense his thoughts. “Don’t ya worry, Master Sato. Plenty of fancy things in this Reality—cars and tellies and the like. We just enjoy livin’ the old-

fashioned way ’round these parts.”

“Just be glad they have fridges and real toilets,” Rutger muttered.

They made it to the wide opening of the border wall, where a massive iron gate was closed and locked to prevent anyone from entering.

“Can’t be lettin’ in the Bugaboos,” Mothball said. “Gate stays closed every minute, ’less you say the password.” She took a deep breath, then yelled in a slow, booming voice, “Donkey hoe tea!”

Sato wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Did you just say Don Quixote? Like the book?”

Groans and creaks of metal filled the air as the gate swung inward.

“No, never ’eard of that one,” Mothball responded as she stepped forward to enter. “I said donkey . . . hoe . . . tea. Chooses three random words, it does, and every day’s different.”

Sato hurried to keep up with her, Rutger hustling along right behind him. “It? What is it?” A loud clang announced the gate had closed again.

“Old Billy’s fancy ’puter that runs the place. The gate, the lights, the whole bit.”

Sato couldn’t help but be fascinated by this Reality. Up until now, he’d seen only the cemeteries of Tick’s Alterants, and he was excited to have a break and meet more people, see if they were a lot like Mothball.

A gravel path led them from the entrance through a greener than green patch of grass, speckled with red and yellow and purple wildflowers. A slight breeze picked up, running across the grass in waves, bringing a sweet scent along with it. It hit Sato that the temperature was perfect here—not too cold and not too hot. For the first time in awhile, he had the urge to kick back and relax, take a long vacation. And right here in his tall friend’s neighborhood seemed like the perfect place.

With a deep sigh, surprised at his sudden good mood, he followed Mothball as the path intersected a wide, cobblestone road, running away from them for at least half a mile, both sides of the road lined with those ancient-styled houses. Made of large rocks and roughly hewn brick, the homes would have looked almost like natural formations that had stood for a thousand years, except for the countless boxes of flowers hanging here and there, the roofs thatched with bundles of long grasses, the multi-colored windows, and the brightly painted wooden doors—mostly reds and yellows.

And the yards. Sato was used to his home country of Japan, where the small homes sat almost on top of the streets and had maybe just enough room for a tiny tree and a single bush. But these houses had huge yards, filled with green grass and finely groomed bushes and majestic trees. And gardens. Lots and lots of gardens, growing every veggie and fruit known to man, by the looks of it.

As they walked down the street in silence, Sato had the feeling that if he’d been born in this Reality instead of his own, he would’ve grown up the happiest person ever. How could anyone be grumpy in a place like this?

Then he remembered those psycho people dressed up like clowns and fighting each other with swords. The big stone wall and locked iron gate. Maybe life here wasn’t so blissful after all.

“Which one’s yours?” Sato asked. “And where is everybody?” He’d yet to see one other person.

Mothball absently pointed somewhere up ahead. “Just a bit farther. And most folks are off to town, doin’ their jobs and such. Thems that ain’t are havin’ afternoon tea in their parlor, I ’spect.”

“I don’t think my feet will ever forgive you,” Rutger said through heavy breaths. “We need to bury a bunch of dead people in your backyard so we can wink straight there next time.”

“Mayhaps we’ll start with you,” Mothball replied.

Rutger barked a fake laugh. “Well, the way my heart’s beating, you just might be right! I’ve probably lost ten pounds already.”

“Walk another few weeks straight, and maybe you can fit through me mum’s door without me kickin’ ya in the ruddy bottoms.” She laughed, a rolling stutter of thunder that lifted Sato’s spirits even more.

“You guys are the weirdest best friends I’ve ever met,” Sato said. “Maybe you should just go ahead and get married.”

“Married?” Mothball roared. “What, and have little monster babies with my ugly face on little balls of fat? Methinks I’d rather marry a horse.”

“Feeling’s mutual!” Rutger countered.

“Would eat a lot less, that’s for sure,” Mothball murmured.

“And wouldn’t complain at your incessant gibbering!”

“Smell better, too.”

“You know what they say—sometimes a husband and wife look like brother and sister. You and a horse—well, perfect!”

Mothball scratched her chin, acting like she couldn’t hear him. “There’d be horse patties lyin’ ’round about me flat. Might get a bit messy.”

“Okay, this is getting creepy,” Sato interjected. “Where’s your house?”