The Boy with 17 Senses (6 page)

“You're so skinny,” another wipper said, “when you go for an X-ray, I bet they just take your picture.”

The rest laughed.

“Aw, sling it,” Jaq said. “One last time, little fella. Go get those wippers.” He untied Klingdux's leash and sent him into the garden.

Jaq watched Klingdux work and felt his throat tighten again. He didn't want to lose Klingdux, and not just because he could sling the sarcasm right out of those wippers. Who would walk with him to school in the morning and then wait for him outside? Who would curl up in his lap when he did his homework? Who would make working in the fields not only bearable but fun, too?

When all the wippers had been slung, Klingdux returned to Jaq and wound his way around his ankles like a silky scarf. Jaq put his collar back on and loaded the freasel into the wagon. Wiping a tear from his eye, Jaq set off.

It was a long road to the market. The sky was the color of 9, a deep purplish blue. It hung over him like a threat. He'd been hoping for a cooler, misty blue, like the number 37, but it wasn't his day, in more ways than one. Klingdux sat in the back of the wagon, looking at their farm.

Jaq walked on, the sepia tones of his world not bursting with colors the way they would if he had someone to talk to, or something to eat, or if someone was cooking something nearby. Yipsmix is a world of muted colors—browns and tans and sages and grays. His senses provided the colors, and his senses were dulled by sadness.

“Klingdux,” he said. His pet looked up at him. “Aw, Klingdux, I'm so sorry. Mom says we'll starve if we don't get some food. You're the best freasel ever. I don't want to sell you, but I have to.” He choked up a little. “I'll work extra at the farmers' market. I'll get you back. I promise I will.”

Halfway to the marketplace, someone rode up behind him. Jaq braced himself, expecting a Tormy dust assault, but
it wasn't Tormy. When he turned around, he saw an elegantly dressed man riding a deluxe hoverbike that seemed to float on a whisper. Even the bell on his handlebars sounded expensive.

Ping . . . la-di-da!

So fancy.

“That a wipper-slinger?” the man asked. He took off his helmet, and Jaq saw the most perfect hair he'd ever seen in his life. His jaw dropped at the sight of that hair. So wavy and precise, all the hairs in perfect formation.

Until the wippers had arrived, Jaq had never paid much attention to hair. He knew his hair was a bit scraggly and long, but he'd always liked it that way. He didn't want to look like Tormy, with his short, neatly parted hair. This guy, though, was something else.
Wow, to have hair like that
.

Jaq nodded, hypnotized.

“Nice,” the man said. “My name's Davardi, by the way. Are you selling that wipper-slinger?”

“Huh?” Jaq knew the man had asked him something, but he didn't hear anything after the word “Davardi.” The name filled his mouth with the most magnificent flavor.

“Are you selling that wipper-slinger?” the man asked again, smiling. He had perfect teeth, too.

“Yep. My mom says I can get thirty damars.”

“In your dreams,” the man said with a friendly smile.

He was right. Jaq's mom had told him to settle for twenty-five but to start higher.

“Listen,” the man said. “How about a trade?”

“Nah, I need the money. For food.” Jaq rubbed his belly.

“And when the food's gone, then what? No, what you need is opportunity.” He dismounted and walked over to Jaq. “That's what I got. I got so much opportunity, it's busting out of my pockets. Why, look here.”

He held an old-fashioned key with a long shaft. One side was roundish, filled with curlicues; the other had notches that were square and precise, like mathematics. It was a graceful combination of logic and whimsy, and Jaq thought it was beautiful.

But it was just a big key.

Trade my wipper-slinger for an old key? Not likely, Mr. Perfect
.

“It's a special key,” the man said. “Opens the market's VIP pantry. You've seen the place, I'm sure. Back behind the restaurant supply depot?”

“Right,” Jaq said. “I've seen that place.” He'd always wondered what was in that big building. He pictured stacks of hushware plates and platters, though, like his mom made at the factory. All the best restaurants used hushware, so that
forks and knives didn't make that clinky-scrapey sound on a plate when people were eating. That kind of sound ruins an otherwise delightful meal.

“They only give out, like, seven of these keys. It entitles the owner to free access to all that food. The place is never empty. Me? I got all the food I need. This key is worthless to me. But I do have a giant wipper problem. I'm desperate. Pests-B-Gone is all out of freasels. Your mother will be very proud of you when she sees this.”

Jaq thought about it. If this pantry thing was true, then he could surprise his mom and grandpa with loads of food. They'd be so happy. And then he could collect food and sell it, maybe making a few damars a week. It wouldn't take long to earn enough to buy Klingdux back. Maybe.

But something didn't feel right. Couldn't this guy get a whole lot more than a freasel for that key?

“I think I'd better just go to the market.”

The man got on the bike. “Your loss. But I understand—you're a kid. Gotta do what Mom says, and make no mistake! In a few decades, you'll be ready to think for yourself.” He put on his helmet. “You know, everything I have, I got it all because I made a deal like this once. And when you've made it and are a huge success, like me, it's nice to give something
back to those less fortunate, don't you think? Let others have the chance that you had. Well, take care.” He smiled, and the bike lifted into the air.

He was leaving, just like that. He didn't really care about trading. He was just a nice and generous rich person, and Jaq was letting the opportunity of a lifetime slip through his fingers.

“Wait!” Jaq said. “I'll do it.”

His mom would be so proud. Jaq knew it.

Jaq could tell by the way Mom hurled a plate at the wall that she wasn't even a tiny bit proud. She tossed the key out the window, and Jaq was sent to his corner bed without any ripweed broth, which was how she sent herself to bed, too. That made Jaq feel worse than his head lump.

What had he done? Not only had he lost his best friend, but he'd let his mom down, too. He felt so stupid. So, so stupid. Humiliation and pain cramped his insides, and he couldn't sleep. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked outside. It was one of those bright nights where one moon was full and the other moon was half full, and it looked like the sky was winking at you. Jaq felt as if the whole world was mocking him, even the great sky god, Smolders.

He went to sleep listening to the sarcastic insults of the wippers outside his window, and he believed every word they said.

The next morning, Jaq woke up hoping it had all been a bad dream. But when he looked out the window, he saw the key still on the ground, where his mother had thrown it. It had broken in half.

He climbed out to take a closer look and discovered that it wasn't really broken—it was supposed to open. There was a hidden compartment inside.

Jaq picked up the pieces.
Dead wippers! There's a note
. He carefully unrolled the piece of paper that was stuffed inside. It read:

My dear Greggin
,

I haven't heard from you in years, so I can only guess that my written reports are getting lost in your office because you are such a busy and successful man. But I know you would never ignore a message in a key, so please, please take heed
.

Things have gotten dicey on my expeditions, and I only narrowly escaped last time. But I must return. I told my man that if I wasn't back by Great Smolders Day, then he should take this key and deliver it to you personally. If that has happened—if you
are reading this—then I am in need of rescue, and only a man of your resources and unwavering courage can help me
.

I promise it will be well worth your while. I've collected amazing riches on this spectacular, giant-filled planet called Earth. Our precious glug is everywhere. On the roads! Under movie theater seats! Stuck beneath their enormous shoes!

The map on the other side will show you to the gate. Find the wormhole. It will bring you here. Look for the building with two enormous golden arches. It's a glug mine! I should be nearby. Find me!

Yours
,

Plenthy

Jaq read the letter three times. How odd. He looked at the map on the back. He recognized some of the landmarks: the marketplace, the river, the hills.

Was this some sort of joke? A gateway to another planet? One that was filled with giants and glug? It sounded like a science-fiction story. Jaq knew there were no such things as gateways to other planets. Or glug mines. Imagine!

Jaq laughed.

But then he thought: Who wrote this note? What if he really was in trouble? And had that swindler known about
this note? Jaq couldn't even think the name “Davardi,” because it was so delightful, and the man was clearly not. He would refer to him only as the Swindler from now on. But if the Swindler had seen the note, wouldn't he have kept it?

No, Jaq concluded, he couldn't have known about it.

Amazing riches
, the note said. Jaq often dreamed of being rich, of buying his grandfather's farm back from the Vilcots. Or making enough damars so his mother didn't have to work so hard. But did he want to travel to a giant-filled planet? No, he did not.

What if he offered this note to the Swindler in exchange for Klingdux? That was all that Jaq really wanted. Maybe that man would be interested in a glug-filled world, as outrageous as that sounded.

About as outrageous as a pantry of free food. That was stupid. How did I believe that?

Still, it wouldn't hurt to try. Jaq decided to track down the Swindler right away.

10

THE SMELL OF FOOD IS LIKE A WARM BREEZE

I
t was early, so Jaq picked a bowl of brickleberries and left them on the table for his mom and grandpa. Then he put the key and note in his backpack and headed out.

He had just reached the front gate when he stopped and shook his leg.

“Are you going to let go now?” he asked the wipper clinging to his ankle. “I'm leaving, and I won't be back for a while.”

The wipper unlatched his jaw and looked up at Jaq. “Take me with you,” he said.

Jaq shook his leg harder, trying to dislodge the pest. “What? No! I hate wippers.”

“Please? Pretty please? Gorgeous please?” The little fellow looked so pathetic, with his long white ears flopping down and his big, sad eyes.

“Why do you want to come with me?”

“I'm a terrible wipper,” he said. “My insults are lame, and I can't bite ankles very well.” It was true. He hadn't even broken the skin on Jaq's ankle. “The other wippers tease me.”

“You get teased by wippers?” Jaq said. “Gee, what's that like?”