If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late (19 page)

For a second, all their senses were on alert.

But nothing happened. Nobody arrived.

Except a chipmunk who scurried under their feet and then dove under the boulder.

After that, a profound silence fell over the lake.

If you’ve ever spent the night camping in the mountains or out in the desert, you know this kind of silence.

A silence so total it makes you think you’ve never experienced silence before.

A silence that makes certain kinds of people feel like they have to talk in order to fill it.

People like Max-Ernest.

After about three or four or five (or was it only two?) unbearable minutes of quiet, he pointed at the sky. “Look at all the stars — I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many. There’s Venus — not that it’s a star, it’s a planet. And the Milky Way — which is a galaxy, so it’s a bunch of stars. And the Big Dipper — which is a constellation. And the Little Dipper. And Orion’s Belt. And . . .” He trailed off, overwhelmed by the sheer scope of the exercise.

“Hey,” he picked up after a moment, “did you ever think about the fact that you’re just a speck on a planet that’s just a speck in a galaxy that’s just a speck in a universe that’s probably just a speck in the fingernail of some giant alien being that’s too big to even imagine? How ’bout that?”

“Can’t we just concentrate on the little alien being we’re waiting for?” Cass asked.

“You know, technically, he’s not an alien, he’s — yeah, okay, fine.”

And they waited.

And waited.

Jumping every time the wind picked up or one or the other of them made the slightest movement.

An hour passed.

“OK, that was fun and all. But maybe it’s time to face it, your little homunkey isn’t coming,” said Yo-Yoji.

“Or else he came and he got scared. Because there are so many of us,” said Max-Ernest, eyeing Yo Yoji meaningfully.

“That’s a good point,” said Cass. “You guys go into the tent. I’ll stay out here and keep waiting.”

“All right,” said Max-Ernest, already looking for the best way down. “Maybe that’s a good —”

“No, it’s not!” said Yo-Yoji. “We can’t leave her out here alone.”

“Why — OK, you’re right.” Max-Ernest turned back, shooting an annoyed glance at Yo-Yoji. “We can’t leave you, Cass. It’s not safe. Anything could happen.”

“You mean like a homunculus could come?”

“Exactly.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Yeah, but they’re some real-life scary creatures out here, too,” said Yo-Yoji. “Remember the bear?”

They waited another twenty minutes or so. Their teeth started to chatter.

“C’mon, let’s go,” said Cass.

Something inside her had just given up.

What had made her think they’d find the homunculus at Whisper Lake, anyway? Her dream, that was all. A dream she’d probably had only because she’d read the article on her wall.

The bear was just a bear, after all.

Bleak with disappointment, she took a last look around, then followed the others off the boulder —

Unaware that every sound they made was being heard all across the lake.

C
ass awoke to find the interior of their tent filled with a soft yellow glow.

Was it daylight already?

She propped her head up and looked around. Yo-Yoji and Max-Ernest were both fast asleep in their sleeping bags.

Max-Ernest still wore his watch:
three a.m.

Craning her neck, Cass peered out through the tiny space left at the top of the tent’s zipper.

A full moon hung above the mountains. It shone like a searchlight across the lake.

Snap!

Cass’s ears tingled. Her hairs stood on end.

Snap! Snap!

Twigs breaking — that was the sound.

Was it . . . ? Could it be . . . ?

Afraid to move, Cass crouched on top of her sleeping bag.

She knew she was being silly; she should go look outside. This was why she had come. To meet the homunculus — if it really was he.

And if it wasn’t — well, what was there to be afraid of?

Unless it was the bear.

Probably, Larry or Wayne had gotten up to go pee. It was one of them stepping on the twigs — it had to be.

But it would be comforting to know for certain.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Crack!

Now she could hear actual footsteps. On top of the twigs. And they were coming closer.

It didn’t sound like a bear. Not that she’d ever heard a bear’s footsteps before.

It didn’t sound like a grandfather, either.

Cass looked over at Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji, ready to shake them awake. But they were already sitting up. Eyes wide with fear.

They didn’t have a plan, Cass realized in a flash. All this time, all this effort had gone into getting to this moment — and they hadn’t planned on what to do next.

After reading “The Legend of Cabbage Face,” Cass had simply assumed the homunculus would be friendly. But what if Mr. Wallace was right and the legend was wrong? What were they supposed to do then?

Fight the homunculus? They had no weapons.

Trap him? They had no chains. No net.

Follow him? But why? To where?

None of them moved a muscle. They didn’t dare. They only waited.

Then, suddenly, silhouetted against the side of the tent:

Hands — huge hands. And ears — huge ears.

And, for a second, in profile:

A nose — a really huge nose.

It was not a bear. It was not a grandfather.

It was, without doubt, a monster — a huge monster.

Why, Cass wondered fleetingly, did the dictionary say a homunculus was small?

For a moment, he just stood there, his shadow rippling on the yellow tent fabric — as if he were contemplating whether it would be best to rip the tent open or to devour the tent whole.

Silently, Cass pointed to the tent entrance. “Should I open it?” she mouthed.

Her friends nodded — and gave her the courage she needed.

While they watched, she unzipped the tent and stepped out into the moonlight.

Cass got one look at the startled creature standing on top of the tree stump next to the tent before he —

Toppled to the ground with a thud.

“Ow! How dare you scare me like that!” he complained in the surliest and most gravelly voice Cass had ever heard.

Grumbling to himself, the homunculus got back up on his feet. He looked up at Cass with disdain as he brushed dirt and pine needles off his toddler-sized trousers. “Don’t tell me it was
you
who called me!”

The image on the side of the tent hadn’t been entirely misleading: in fact, his hands
were
big, if not huge; likewise his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. It was his legs and arms that were teeny, as well as his torso (although his tummy protruded more than a little).

Cass stared down at him. She couldn’t believe he was only —

“Two feet tall. In answer to your very rude question. Oh, don’t pretend — I can see it in your eyes. Almost two feet. More like twenty-three inches. Or twenty-two. Well, twenty-one inches. And a half. Don’t forget the half!”

Cass nodded, still staring.

The resemblance to her sock-monster was striking, but no more so than his outfit. In a crazy mishmash of centuries, he wore a ruffled shirt under a velvet waistcoat in the style of a Renaissance painting; his cap looked like something a newspaper boy might have worn a hundred years ago; meanwhile, his shoes, a young child’s sneakers, couldn’t have been more than a few years old at the most.

A large skeleton key hung around his neck, giving him an unexpected dignity.

“Well, was it you?” the homunculus demanded.

Cass nodded again.

“You mean
you
have the Sound Prism? Oh, say it isn’t so!” He clasped his enormous hand to his much smaller forehead.

“I . . . uh . . .”

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Are you . . . ?” Cass stammered.

“Spit it out!”

“. . . Cabbage . . . Face?”

“Who told you that?” He pointed a fat accusatory finger up at her. “And that’s
Mr.
Cabbage Face to you!”

“Sorry. It’s just . . . we got the name from the Sound Prism.”

As she spoke, Max-Ernest and Yo-Yoji had slipped out of the tent.

“These are . . . my friends . . . Max-Ernest . . . Yo-Yoji. . . . This is, um, Mr. Cabbage Face. . . . Oh, and I’m Cassandra!”

They stared down at the homunculus with undisguised amazement. He stared back with an expression of scornful skepticism — insofar as he could manage from his low vantage point.

“Oh, it’s you guys! I thought you were the bear!”

The kids froze. It was Grandpa Larry. Sticking his head out of his tent.

“What are you doing up? It’s three in the morning!”

“Um, I had to go to the bathroom — then they did, too!” Desperately, Cass motioned for the homunculus to hide behind her. Which he did with a shrug and a scowl.

“Well, go back to bed. It’s cold out here — and I don’t want anyone getting sick!”

After Grandpa Larry zipped his tent back up, Cass turned to the homunculus.

“Sorry if I wasn’t who you were expecting,” she whispered. “I’m not sure whether the Sound Prism is really supposed to be mine or not. But I promise — we don’t mean you any harm.”

“We’ll see about that. If it’s really yours, then you should be able to tell me the Jester’s name — not just mine.”

“But how would I —?”

“Well, it’s inside the Sound Prism, isn’t it? If you’re truly the heir of the Jester, then you’ll be able to open it. If you can’t, this is our last conversation. If you can, come find me tomorrow. Around lunchtime —”

“Where?” asked Max-Ernest.

“By the Hollow Tree. You’ll find it —”

“But how will we —?”

But the homunculus was gone by the time Max-Ernest finished asking the question.

The three kids looked out into the darkness, lost in wonder: if the homunculus was real, if the homunculus was possible, then what wasn’t?

S
tolen! And nobody heard a peep!” exclaimed Grandpa Larry.

The kids had emerged from their tent to find the sun shining and Cass’s grandfathers standing over an empty pillowcase and the remains of their food supply. They were both shaking their heads.

“How the heck did he get it down?” asked Grandpa Wayne, sounding more impressed than angry. “He must be the first bear with opposable thumbs!”

“And so picky, too!” marveled Grandpa Larry. “He took our Zinfandel and the Camembert. But look — he left the cup-o-noodles and the instant oatmeal. . . .”

“A gourmet bear — that’s a first!” said Grandpa Wayne. “Maybe he has a future in the circus.”

“An eating bear? I don’t think it has the same ring as a dancing bear. Now maybe if he could cook. . . .”

The kids looked at each other. They were all thinking the same thing:
that bear was no bear at all.

“Anybody want to go fishing after we make the oatmeal?” asked Grandpa Wayne. “I figure we better catch lunch while the trout are still biting.”

“With that thing?” asked Cass, pointing to the taped-together fishing pole leaning against the tree next to Wayne.

“So what — you think the fish are going to notice?”

The kids laughed.

“If it’s OK, we’ll just hang out here,” said Cass. “Then maybe go on a little hike a little later.”

“Well, don’t go too far. We don’t want to get in trouble with your mom,” said Larry.

As soon as her grandfathers left to go fishing, Cass, Max-Ernest, and Yo-Yoji crawled back into their tent.

“Come on,” said Cass. “If we don’t figure out the name of the Jester before lunch, the homunculus will never come with us!” She pulled the Sound Prism out of her sleeping bag and held it up.

“So how do we open it?” asked Yo-Yoji.

They’d spent about an hour the night before trying to answer this very question. Until they’d all fallen back asleep.

Cass touched her finger to the silver band that circled the Sound Prism. “Are you
sure
these don’t mean anything? They’re just lines?”

“No, I’m not sure sure — how could I be?” asked Max-Ernest. “But if the Decoder didn’t pick up anything I don’t see how we could.”