Chapter 8

Chapter Eight The more I think about the King Wretch and the dream-vision-thingy, the more I'm supremely freaked. What was the King Wretch trying to show me? What is it about me that got the King Wretch's attention? Why not give June or Dirk or Quint a dream-vision-thingy? I don't get it! What did I do?! Is it because I am the one intended to be the king in this vision of the future? If that is the reason, well, I don't know how to feel about that! I don't think I'm particularly kingly or royal, and I don't think I want to be, either! Kings have duties! And I can't even say the word "duties" because it makes me think of "doodies"! I play a game of Ping-Pong with Rover, hoping it'll let me think clearly. That doesn't work, though, because I end up getting way too into the game...

Quint and Dirk come strolling over, and Quint makes an announcement. "I have drawn up a plan for how we will get into Big Al's Junk Palace so we can retrieve the long-range signal-boosting antenna—" "And my Helidrone!" I add. "Yes, yes," Quint says. "And your Helidrone. However, my plan requires a couch. And not just any couch—a fold-out couch." I know exactly where to get one of those: Bardle sleeps on a fold-out couch. Soon...

Bartow you home Need to borrow your couch, bro. Bardle comes shuffling out of the kitchen. The kitchen is now Bardle's workshop. See, in his old world/dimension, Bardle was a conjurer. I think that means "magician," but I've never seen him do any crazy magic—he opened a cage with a wave of his hand once, but that's not exactly Dumbledore-level stuff. Dirk's already grabbing the couch when Bardle says, "Wait one moment. Jack, is that a large bruise on Rover's side?"

I kneel down beside Rover and run my hand over his side. "Yeah," I say. "It's from a battle we got in with an oversized Winged Wretch." JACK, IF YOU'RE GOING TO CONTINUE RIDING THIS MONSTER ON YOUR ADVENTURES, HE SHOULD BE BETTER PROTECTED. "Like, whatcha thinkin'?" I ask. Bardle ponders that for a moment. "Let me handle the Rover issue, because I sense that you, Jack, are already quite full of thought and concern."

Boy, is he ever right: King Wretches, dreamvision-thingies, radios, humans, everything. I would maybe tell Bardle how I feel, but not with Dirk around. So I say, "No, no—no concern here. But if you think Rover could use some protection, I won't argue." Bardle says, "Then I will allow you to borrow my couch on one condition: Dirk, you help me with a Rover-protection project. I don't like the idea of any friendly monster suffering unnecessary pain. Retrieve me some scrap metal, please." The idea of a "Rover-protection project" sounds pretty kick-butt. Are they gonna, like, upgrade my monster-dog? Like a video game? Rover, LEVEL 2. I'm into that! With that, Dirk and I each lift the couch— and that's when my spinal cord just about snaps like a Twix bar. "Jack!" Dirk barks. "Lift with your legs!" I groan, reposition myself, and—

Dirk mutters something, and soon he's just carrying the couch outside, single-handedly, over one shoulder. And that's when I spot it. On the corkboard on the wall—amid flyers for babysitters, lawn-mowing services, and guitar lessons—is something I've never seen before. It's a pamphlet for a place called Fun Land. I pluck it off the board. As I start reading, a smile begins to build and I'm bouncing from foot to foot