‘Then subtract eleven and one billion.’
‘This is getting hard.’
‘Then take the square root of that.’
‘Oh, I remember! A square root is a carrot that doesn’t know how to dance, right?’
‘Batten down the hatches!’
‘Then subtract one. That’s exactly the number of purple bear grenades we have left. How many have we got, Aydee?’
‘Uh . . . er . . . um . . .’
‘I think her brain is going to explode, Al.’
‘Hush. You can do it, Aydee. I know you can.’
‘I . . . carry the one . . . multiply by i. Take the complex derivative of Avogadro’s number . . . I’ve got it, Alcatraz! Five thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven. Wow! I didn’t know we had that many bears!’
Kaz, Bastille, and I glanced at one another. Then we looked at Kaz’s pack, which held the bears. He took it off in a flash, throwing it away.
He was just fast enough. The pack ripped apart and a mountain of teddy bears burst free – 5,357 of them, to be precise. They flooded out, piling on top of one another, making a mountain of purple exploding teddy bears as large as a building.
‘Aydee, you’re amazing,’ I said.
‘Thanks! I think I’m getting better at math. I hope it doesn’t ruin my Talent.’
‘I think you’re fine,’ Bastille said dryly, picking herself up off the ground from where she’d ducked, anticipating the explosion of teddy bears.
‘That’s a big ol’ mound of bears,’ Kaz said, folding his arms. ‘I think it’s time to hunt us some robots.’
‘Be careful, Your Majesty,’ Wink warned. ‘Some robots are unbearable.’
‘Your Majesty,’ Mink said, brushing off her wrap. ‘Perhaps you should decide what to do with the prisoners first.’
I glanced to the side. The guards were still standing there, watching over the group of suit-, skirt-, and bow-tie-wearing Librarians. The Mokians looked very anxious. The Librarians seemed bored.
‘Do we have a dungeon or something?’ I asked. ‘We should . . .’ I trailed off, noticing something odd. Frowning, I stepped forward. One of the captive Librarians, huddled near the middle, was hiding her face, looking pointedly away from me. She had blond hair and an angular face. As she tried to keep hidden, I caught her eyes and recognized them for certain.
‘Mother?’ I asked, shocked.
6.02214179 × 1023
Are you surprised? My mother showed up completely unexpectedly in Tuki Tuki when I just happened to be there fighting? How unforeseeable!
What? You’re not surprised? Why not? Is it because my mother has unexpectedly shown up in every single one of these books so far? (It’s a mathematical law: One point is a point, two points a line, three points a plane, four points a cliché. I think Archimedes discovered it first.)
This plays into one of the big problems for writers. You see, we tend to skip the boring parts. If we didn’t, our novels would be filled of sections like this one:
I got up in the morning and brushed my teeth, then went to the bathroom and took a shower. Nothing exciting happened. I ate breakfast. Nothing exciting happened. I went out to get the newspaper. I saw a squirrel. It wasn’t very exciting. Then I came in and watched cartoons. They were boring. I scratched my armpit. Then I went to the bathroom again. Then I took a nap. My evil Librarian mot×her did not show up and harass me. That evening, I clipped my toenails. Yippee.
See? You’re asleep now, aren’t you? That was mind-numbingly, excruciatingly boring. In fact, you’re not even reading this, are you? You’re dozing. I could make fun of your stoopid ears and you would never know.
HEY, YOU! WAKE UP!
There. You back? Good. Anyway, we don’t include all of that stuff because it tends to put people to sleep. I spent months in between books two and three doing pretty much nothing other than going to the bathroom and scratching my armpits.
I tend to write about the exciting stuff. (This introduction excepted. Sorry.) And that’s the stuff that my mother tends to be part of. So it’s hard to keep it surprising when she shows up, since every section I write about tends to be one where she gets involved.