Free Jasper Dash and the Flame-Pits of Delaware by M.T. Anderson Page B

Lily.
    â€œDoverian,” said Jasper. “It is deuced hard to learn. I do not mind telling you that the pronunciation is the absolute dickens. Since the beginning of the Autarch’s despotic rule, the state has been too poor for many vowels.”
    â€œDo you speak it?” said Lily.
    â€œNo, I’m afraid not. I was silent for that year in Vbngoom. But I know it is a language of great poetic beauty.”
    â€œIt sounds like someone being kicked off a cliff,” said Katie grumpily. “And I mean a cliff with metal railings.”
    They walked through the muddy streets. In the shadow of the huge, blackened concrete towers, mules pulled carts, and people had made fire-pits, where they cooked meat and noodles for sale. Laundry dried on electrical wires.
    One of the tusked, six-armed warriors of far Lumbrook stood lolling against a wall, rattling one of his many hands around in a bag of Doritos. He watched lazily as they passed.
    The city of Dover had sparkled, Jasperexplained, before the coming of the Autarch. But he stole from the poor to give to the rich; and now there were many things broken, and few things whole.
    The three stopped to get some lunch, sitting on huge pieces of concrete and drinking noodle slurries out of old margarine containers. Though the surroundings were grim, the food was very cheap and was tasty, too.
    â€œWhat are those spoons on some of the rooftops?” asked Lily.
    â€œThose aren’t spoons,” said Jasper. “They’re an ancient form of transportation in this state. Vaultapults. Commuter catapults. You get into one, an attendant points you in the right direction, pulls the vaultapult back, and sends you flying to the roof of the right building.”
    â€œThat seems kind of dangerous,” said Katie.
    â€œPeople here are used to it by long custom,” said Jasper. “Still, it is not easy to land without harm. It takes a keen eye, a quick leg, and springy ankles. I used the vaultapults occasionally at Vbngoom, but they still worry me. For example,I hope that I shall never have to use vaultapults during a high-speed chase by night over the rooftops of Dover.”
    â€œSo that’s what I saw on top of that model the Delawarians were selling to Mr. Lecroix from the museum,” said Katie.
    â€œIndeed,” said Jasper. “Humble though that model may be, it is one of the few representations of Vbngoom and was made by a great master in the art of scissors and taping.”
    They each slurped more noodle slurry and picked up cabbage with their tongs, looking up to the patch of sky between buildings as bodies hurled through the air from catapult to catapult, some dragging bundles of cloth, baskets of candles, or sheep with them as they flew. It was a fascinating sight.
    Just as they were finishing their meal, they heard a cry of, “Look at the little dears!” It did not sound very Doverian. They glanced up to see a woman dressed in jeans, duck boots, a head scarf, and a brand-new
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shirt. She was peering down at them. She had clapped herhand to her throat and was saying, “Poor little things… Little Delawarians. What’s—your—name? Do—you—speak—English?”
    â€œI am Jasper Dash, Boy Technonaut.”
    â€œMy—name—is—Lisa—Buldene. I—am—from—New—York—City.” More to herself than to Jasper, she said, “Poor thing. It looks like no one’s given you new clothes since 1943. Here,” she said, reaching into her bag. “Take—some—candy—bars.”
    â€œGreat,” said Katie. “Thanks.”
    â€œWhile we appreciate your kindness,” said Jasper, “we cannot possibly accept a gift of candy while our toothbrushes are buried under so much rubble.”
    â€œYou speak English beautifully!” the woman said.
    â€œThanks,” said Katie, tearing into a candy bar and chomping. “I been