The Blade of Shattered Hope (The 13th Reality #3) by James Dashner

both hands. “No bother, really, no bother at all. We’re simply thrilled to have the lot of you come and sit a spell. No need for jabbering and such.”
    Sato had to figure this out. “Could someone please explain to me about my Alterant? How could these psycho clown soldiers possibly think I’d come to this world and become the . . . what did you call it?”
    “Grand Minister,” Windasill said quietly, as if indulging a child taking a quiz.
    Sato snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that. How could they think I’d become the Grand Minister of the Fifth Reality? And why would they want to kill me in the first place?”
    Mothball was sitting directly across from him. She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees. “We think the Bugs and Mistress Jane have gone off and made some type of nasty arrangement. Mayhaps done it quite some time ago. And we reckon old Jane put out the scoop on you and your friends. Looking for revenge, she was. Just happens that your Alterant became our Minister, and the Bugs thought maybe we’d planted you. Replaced Sato Tadashi in a swap. Like we’d wanna ruddy take over the Reality or some such nonsense.”
    “They must be the dumbest people in the universe,” Rutger muttered.
    “No, no, my friend,” Tollaseat said, shaking his head. “Crazy, vicious, bloodsucking tyrants, maybe. But not dumb. That I can promise ya.”
    Sato ran a hand through his hair, not sure which bothered him more: that his Alterant just happened to be the ruler of an entire planet, or that a group of crazy clown soldiers wanted him dead. Scratch that, he thought. The second one was definitely worse.
    “Wait a minute,” he said, just realizing something that should’ve been obvious from the start. “How could they possibly think that guy was me? Wouldn’t he have been way taller?”
    “Not really,” Tollaseat answered. “Most of us chaps here in the Fifth don’t hit our growth spurts ’til we hit drinkin’ age. That not the same in your neck of the woods?”
    Sato shrugged his shoulders wearily. “This is weird,” he said, as if those three words summed up everything. Maybe they did. “I really feel like I’m missing something. And why’d you guys bring me here if you knew all this?”
    Mothball’s face scrunched up into a look of apology. “Sorry ’bout that. Really I am. Never thought we’d run into the Bugs. They ’aven’t been about much lately, according to me parents. Thought their troubles with these parts was quite well and over.”
    “Quite true,” Tollaseat added. “Had our wars with ’em blokes back when Mothball was a wee one, but not seen ’em much since. No idea why they’re up in the deadie fields today. Strange, really.”
    Sato folded his arms and stared at the floor. Staying here much longer didn’t sound like a good idea. “Well, maybe we should go back to headquarters. If those clowns want to kill me, I’d just as soon not be hanging out a couple of miles from them.”
    “Leave before supper?” Tollaseat exclaimed, shooting up from his seat. “Not a chance. I’ve got all three ovens runnin’ top heat, cookin’ a feast like you’ve never seen before, young man. Bugs ’ave no idea you’re ’ere, I’d bet me left shoe. You just sit there and enjoy yourself with me wife and daughter while I go ready things up.”
    Windasill reached out and patted Sato on the knee. “I married the best cook in the entire valley, I did. Good thing me blood runs fast and hot, or I’d look like poor Rutger sitting over there.”
    Sato felt his eyes widen. He glanced quickly over at Rutger, who didn’t seem fazed in the least by the rude comment.
    “I’d rather be down close to the ground,” the man said. “Safe and balanced, fat and happy. Lot better than looking like a bunch of dusty bones with clothes.”
    Windasill laughed, the nicest sound Sato remembered hearing in a long time. “Oh, Rutger, we do love you so. Every last inch of you—and that’s saying quite a