The ants rearranged themselves into a new message from Valmiki:
IF THAT IS TRUE
THEN I HATE YOU
“Poets are so dramatic,” said Boo.
“O lord of learning,” said Mini timidly, “we are yearning for your protection, so to speak. If you talk to us, we will be very…meek. We have a magic key, you see, and even if you hate Boo, I hope you don’t hate…me. We really don’t want to die. This is not a lie. Help us, please. So that we can get the other keys.”
Aru’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. She would never have been able to come up with a rhyme. It would have taken too much time.
The anthill paused, pondering.
YOUR RHYMES LEAVE MUCH TO BE DESIRED,
BUT PERHAPS I KNOW WHAT IS REQUIRED
Cracks started showing in the anthill.
Gradually, it fractured like thin ice on a pond, and a head emerged. One bright brown eye peered at them. Another blinked open. Then the anthill split in half to reveal an elderly gentleman sitting cross-legged on the ground. His gray-streaked black hair was in a topknot, and he wore a pair of tinted glasses and sported a trim beard. His shirt said:I’M NOT A HIPSTER. He reached for a mason jar that appeared out of thin air. The orangish drink caught the light.
“I would offer you some turmeric tea, but you disturbed me at my apogee. I am trying to write a book, you know. Something about fifty pages or so. But I can’t think of how to start the tale….Perhaps with people on a forest trail?”
“Or you could be super annoying and have it start with them waking up,” suggested Aru.
Mini frowned at her.
“We need some protection,” Aru went on. “It’s urgent, and—”
“You must convey it in rhyme, or I won’t give you my time,” said Valmiki mildly.
Out of nowhere, a typewriter materialized. He began to type furiously. Aru thought it best not to point out that there was no paper in it. Was it just for show? It seemed strange to announceLook at me, I’m writing!but then again, writers were quite strange.
“Be more like your sister!” scolded Boo.
Aru had a feeling this would not be the last time she heard that phrase. She pinched Boo’s beak shut, much to his annoyance.
To be honest, she was more impressed than envious when it came to Mini’s knack for rhyming. The only wayshecould’ve helped was if Valmiki liked beatnik poetry. They’d just studied that unit in English class, so Aru could snap her fingers in rhythm and start shouting about neon fruit supermarkets, but she didn’t think that would be helpful here.
“We got the sprig of youth from a demon,” said Mini. “But now we need armor from the—” Mini paused to look at Boo.
“Seasons,”he mouthed.
“Seasons?”
Valmiki raised an eyebrow, as if to sayYou’re stretching the definition of rhyme, but then, youareon an urgent deadline….
Mini hurried on. “Boo said you could protect us from evil; we hope he wasn’t being…deceitful?”
Valmiki leaned back against the anthill and stroked his beard slowly. There are two ways to stroke one’s beard. There is the villanousI-am-devastating-but-also-fond-of-my-beard-texturecaress, and then there is the ponderingdoes-this-beard-make-me-look-devastatingrub. Valmiki’s was the latter.
“To learn the right thing to say, there is a price you must pay.”
Mini opened up her backpack and held it out. “I have no cash, as you can see,” said Mini. “Perhaps Aru could pay the fee?”
Aru patted her pockets. “I’ve got nothing,” she said, before remembering it was supposed to be a rhyme and adding, “too. How ’bout taking Boo?”
“I’m not for sale!”
