Chapter 3: How Not to Trust a Con Artist
Percy Fogg had never trusted anyone who introduced themselves with a flourish, and he wasn’t about to start now.
Xyphlox "Zippy" Trelmor had the unmistakable air of someone who had definitely scammed a monarch at least once and possibly sold a fake time machine to a species that didn’t even experience time linearly. He leaned against an invisible surface—possibly smugness itself—grinning at Percy like a man who saw an opportunity rather than a person in distress.
“So, Percy,” Zippy said, slipping an arm around his shoulders as though they were lifelong friends, “let me get this straight. You checked out a quantum-classified book from an entirely unremarkable library, triggered an existential pursuit notice, and accidentally yeeted yourself through reality?”
Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. “I—yes, but I wouldn’t phrase it quite like that.”
Zippy laughed. “No, no, it’s perfect! That makes you the most interesting person I’ve met in—oh, at least a week.”
Percy sighed. He had neither the patience nor the emotional bandwidth for this. “Look, Mr. Trelmor—”
“Zippy, please.”
“—I appreciate the enthusiastic analysis of my increasingly alarming situation, but what I need is a way to undo whatever cosmic clerical error I’ve caused.”
Zippy nodded sagely. “Ah. So you’d like to not be erased from existence. That’s understandable.”
Percy folded his arms. “Do you actually know how to fix this, or are you just prolonging my panic for entertainment?”
Zippy gave a wounded expression, placing a hand on his heart. “Percy, please. I would never exploit a man in existential crisis.”
A small, furry creature with three eyes scampered past, shrieking, “DON’T TRUST THAT MAN! HE SOLD ME A PORTAL TO NOWHERE!”
Zippy coughed loudly. “Unrelated. Now then—” He spun dramatically, gesturing at the floating marketplace around them. “Welcome to the In-Between! A delightful little anomaly wedged between dimensions—home to misfits, fugitives, and people who made very bad decisions involving time travel.”
Percy rubbed his temples. “And why am I here?”
Zippy grinned. “Because you technically don’t exist anymore, my friend. Reality couldn’t process you, so it did the next best thing—filed you in the nearest available pocket dimension.”
Percy groaned. “Fantastic. And how do I… unfile myself?”
Zippy’s grin widened. “Lucky for you, I have just the thing!”
Percy narrowed his eyes. “Does it involve handing you an unreasonable sum of money?”
Zippy gasped. “Percy! I am offended! This isn’t about money! This is about…” He paused. “Well. Okay. Mostly about money.”
Percy sighed. “I don’t have any.”
Zippy’s grin faltered for half a second before snapping back into place. “That’s fine! I also accept favors, IOUs, and mildly dangerous quests!”
Before Percy could object, Zippy clapped his hands. “Now, first thing’s first! To fix your reality situation, we need to visit someone who actually understands the fabric of the multiverse.”
Percy blinked. “Wait, you don’t?”
“Not in a way that would help you,” Zippy admitted. “But I do know someone who does!”
“And who is that?”
Zippy grinned. “Oh, just a sentient pocket watch with trust issues.”
Percy had long since stopped trying to process things logically.
Which was good, because if he had any expectations of normalcy left, the next location would have broken him entirely.
Zippy led him to what could generously be described as a workshop and more accurately as a junkyard caught in a time tornado.
Strange, half-built devices of questionable legality littered the area—some ticking, some glowing, some making unsettling whispering noises.
And sitting in the middle of the mess, atop a precarious pile of defunct time machines, was a very disgruntled-looking pocket watch with arms, legs, and what could only be described as a permanent frown.
“Percy,” Zippy said, spreading his arms like a showman, “meet Chrono the Sentient Pocket Watch!”
Chrono crossed his tiny, mechanical arms. “Who is this?”
Zippy beamed. “A very desperate librarian.”
Chrono sighed. “Zippy, why do you keep bringing me lost causes?”
Percy groaned. “Because I made the colossal mistake of checking out a book.”
Chrono’s gears whirred. “Oh. You’re the idiot who checked out the Guide to Things That Shouldn’t Exist.”
Percy threw up his hands. “It was in my library!”
Chrono nodded solemnly. “And now you’re a cosmic error.”
“Yes! I am aware!”
Chrono tapped his chin. “Well. That’s deeply unfortunate.”
Percy gave an exasperated sigh. “Can you help me or not?”
Chrono inspected him for a long moment. Then, begrudgingly, he muttered, “Maybe. But if we’re going to fix your reality, we’ll need to do something incredibly reckless.”
Zippy clapped his hands. “Excellent! Those are my favorite kinds of plans!”
Chrono turned to Percy. “Tell me, librarian—how comfortable are you with stealing from the most powerful bureaucratic entity in the universe?”
Percy’s stomach dropped. “I—what? No! I don’t steal things!”
Chrono smirked. “Then you’re going to hate this next part.”
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