Chapter Text
Mumbo needed to take more breaks. This was a revelation he had every time his feet hit the grass of Hermitcraft's spawn after some kind of break. It was no surprise that after a month of traveling, he had the revelation all over again as if it was brand new.
He hadn’t seen the appeal before. There was plenty entertainment with Decked Out or Frogger or the prank wars that seemed to pop up seasonally. Everyone lived far enough from each other that it wasn’t stifling, but close and collectively enough that everyone was a stone throw away. But traveling always left him full of creativity, he’d found out through the Ninth and the Tenth worlds. Perhaps it was that after over a decade of not leaving Hermitcraft his body had finally decided he needed new creative nutrients, but every time he returned from one of said trips, it would take every ounce of self-control to not just drop right there and then to start sketching the machines and ideas he had painstakingly memorized, and then leave again. He couldn’t bring the original designs with him because that required Xisuma’s help, and the man would certainly chastise him for not relaxing during his break.
In all fairness, Xisuma got the brunt of Mumbo’s burnout early into the Ninth. At the time, and he was never proud to admit to even himself, he’d felt more than a twinge of irritation every time the man popped by his base. Then he went on his first vacation and suddenly three months had gone by and little things like putting a comparator backwards didn’t make him want to cry anymore. Xisuma got many blubbered thanks the weeks following that, before he’d packed and left again for even longer.
It was a little easier now to drop everything and take a break, but as he landed he still thought he wasn’t taking them often enough. His latest trip hadn’t been anything spectacular. He’d followed a rumor mill about a crazy mountain formation in another server and climbed it. His usually rather pale skin had gained the gentlest of tans, only noticeable by carefully looking at where his short-sleeve met his arm—already impossible to see now that he was back to two-piece suits—and the gentle persistent sunburn that adorned the top of his cheeks. He personally thought it made him look like he was blushing. Strangers he met on his way back said it made him glow and would have never guessed he was sunburnt. Mumbo didn’t believe those strangers and had tried to hide it, but there was little that could hide a facial sunburn other than a mask or make up, and that would be even more suspicious.
That being said, he’d surely been gone too long that time, because there was a man standing in front of him that Mumbo did not recognize. The Hermits loved a good disguise for pranks, but he could always tell who it was sooner or later.
“I’m Sam.” He extended his hand towards Mumbo. He looked like he had a strong grip, but the red eyes and the name rang a distant bell in Mumbo’s memory.
“Oh, uh, nice to meet you. Mumbo. I’d shake your hand but uh—“ he showed the stranger two redstone-covered palms. He had immediately gone to his industrial district with the solution to a problem begging to be put to the test.
“I don’t mind.”
Okay… “You’re not a redstoner, are you?”
A tense chuckle. “Is it that obvious?”
“It burns. The redstone activates when skin and skin meet, so, uh. But it is nice to meet you. How—are you visiting someone?” Mumbo glanced at the sky quickly. There were no Hermits flying by or the sound of people talking nearby either. He didn’t look away for too long.
Sam—finally—retracted his hand and ran it through his hair in the awkward motion of someone trying to play off a rejected handshake. Mumbo idly noticed the white roots of otherwise dark brown hair. “No, I’m the new Hermit.”
Any thoughts about Sam’s roots left his mind. Any thoughts at all left his mind. “Oh, uh, what? I—I must’ve… missed a memo. I’ve been traveling… uh, welcome!”
The man before him tilted his head. “You don’t seem very happy about that.”
“Oh, no, it’s not—nothing to do with you. Just… man, I never realized how much you miss when you travel, y’know? I’m still adjusting back. And I didn’t have much interserver comm access so… Uh, I’m rambling, ha!” Mumbo wanted to punch himself in the face to make himself shut up. “How are you finding it?”
“Interesting. Lots of creative minds in here. My last server was a bit of… the same soul-sucking job every day until you died.” His eyes felt like they were boring a hole through his own and into his brain. They reminded Mumbo of Grian’s.
Oh, sugar honey iced tea. This was Sam. Grian’s Sam. White haired, creepy, school Sam.
“Uh, well, not to be rude but I do really need to finish this project—can’t leave redstone unfinished like this for too long. We don’t want the great melon breakdown from the Fifth world again, ha ha!” Mumbo was sweating. His previously empty brain was suddenly running a thousand miles an hour, and he was pretty sure Sam could tell. “I’ll—I’ll see you around. Lovely meeting you!”
He half turned to his project, expecting Sam to go but the man just stood there. Silently. Mumbo turned the full way, and began fiddling with the comparator. Sam stood still while Mumbo made a mess of his T-flip flop while pretending to be very busy and not notice the man for nearly a minute.
“Yeah, see you around, Mumbo.”
The sound of elytra opening nearly made Mumbo flinch, and with an echoing rocket Sam was off to who knew where.
Many things didn’t make sense, too many really, so Mumbo tried to organize them into a mental list by priority.
One. Grian’s high school trauma was in Hermitcraft.
Two. Grian hadn’t shown up to greet him, as he had done for any other time Mumbo came back.
Three. Sam mentioned he was a Hermit.
Three point five. Mumbo never heard about a voting for a new Hermit.
Four. Sam was weird.
Five. Hermitcraft was quiet.
The server had never been loud like a main hub or the server he grew up in. But there were usually some people flying to and fro. He lived in a mountain full of people! And he hadn’t seen a single one of his neighbors.
Mumbo stood up and wiped his hands with a woolen cloth he kept in his redstone box. First things first, he needed to visit Grian. He doubted his friend would’ve been okay with Sam being in the same server as him, let alone Sam becoming a Hermit. After that, he’d visit X and ask what that was about and since when did they make people into Hermits without the full vote.
Grian’s base was starting to take shape. The cyan colored house on stilts had been completed before he’d left, but there were the beginnings of new stilts around it. There were some simple redstone farms that both warmed his chest and confused him at the same time. On one hand, his friend was finally fiddling with redstone after years of breaking it by being near it. On the other, where was Grian learning redstone because it certainly wasn’t from Mumbo. All the fishing related buildings had finally lost their ‘new building’ shine to them. Dust covered the bottom of buildings from being kicked up by people walking, and the open concept chest-walls were disarrayed in a way that showed they’d been used. The window panes were slightly streaked from the rain that must’ve come down a few days before. Grian had been busy with the permits, or rather with the fishing first and permits second, but his corner of the world was starting to take a well-loved look to it.
Mumbo landed on the porch of the cyan house. He knocked on the door but heard nothing back so he simply let himself in. The inside was bare bones. It had some nice decorations near the front, and as usual, the back of Grian’s house was unfinished. It was empty, though, so he just closed the door and looked around.
He checked the farms, all chugging along spectacularly well by themselves, and the mines below the house. Finally, he found Grian working on the dry dock building, half inside a chest as he looked for something.
“Grian!” Mumbo jogged up to the man who continued rummaging through the chest. “Mate, you are impossible to find sometimes, you know? I thought you were going to meet me at… G?”
His best friend seemed completely unaware of Mumbo standing less than two blocks away. He stepped closer and tapped his shoulder. Grian didn’t even flinch or even look over his shoulder. He simply stopped, stood up straighter, and turned to him.
Grian stared at him—no, through him. There was a faraway look to his eyes, like he couldn’t quite see Mumbo in front of him. An absentminded blankness. He crouched slightly to meet his friend’s eye, but there was no recognition in his face as he did so. “Grian, what’s—-what’s wrong? Why is Sam here? Why aren’t you looking—If this is a prank, it’s a bad one, mate.”
No response, not even a twitch. Just more and more absentminded staring and silence. He grabbed Grian’s shoulder, desperately trying to shake the fog on his friend’s brain, but before he could do it the telltale sound of a rocket whistled by them. It had to be Sam, there was no doubt in Mumbo’s mind.
Whatever was going on, it wasn’t normal. And as much as Mumbo wanted to stick by Grian’s side, be a shield between his dazed friend and the threat, Mumbo had participated in just enough Life Games to know it’d be useless. He stumbled a few steps back, hiding behind a beam and watched as Sam landed in front of Sam. Grian did turn to look at Sam, but the daze remained in place.
“You’re still working on that chest, Gree-on? No wonder it takes so long to finish your builds.” Sam teased with the amiable tone of a long time friend that he did not deserve. If Mumbo had said that, Grian would’ve shot back something equally teasing and then put him to work so that they could hang out without worrying about work. Instead, Grian just blinked, unmoved. “What’s got you so distracted?”
Mumbo held his breath. Even a single glance his way would be enough to out him, and his friend did not seem in a place to discern whether or not that was good or bad. Mumbo could tell, and it was bad. He didn’t know exactly what kind of threat Sam was, just that Mumbo didn’t like him by proxy based on Grian’s stories. Oh, and the overall inexplicable prickling of his skin that made him want to be as far away from him. Thankfully, instead of glancing at Mumbo’s direction, Grian turned to the chest and continued working.
He glanced around. He was standing against the pillar by the entrance, facing Sam’s back. Quietly, he walked around the pillar and quietly sneaked away from the building. Whether Sam knew he was there or not, he did not care. As soon as he was out of earshot from the building, halfway into Gem’s earily empty base, he took to the sky. Fear pounded at his chest. Wisps of anger began to join the fear, wrapping around his chest and squeezing.
Mumbo wasn’t an angry person. He tended to flounder whenever angry, usually in such a way that he ended up laughing at himself. But that didn’t mean he had never felt anger. It was always roiling, quiet, in a way that made his jaw clench and kept him silent.
Hermitcraft was supposed to be safe. Had been safe so far. But most importantly, it was supposed to be fair. No one could join unless every single Hermit, active or not, agreed. And he had not received even a message about voting for Sam. It had taken weeks of deliberation to let Joel and Skizz in, even though most of the Hermits had known the two fairly well by then. And suddenly within the month he’d been gone, someone else had been invited. Mid season.
Xisuma’s base appeared quickly in the horizon, and Mumbo landed at his front door seconds after. He didn’t bother to knock, walking into the base in silence until he found Xisuma. He was preparing something in the small kitchen he’d set up.
“Since when do we invite people without a full vote?”
X glanced over his shoulder and returned to his drink. The anger was temporarily knocked loose by surprise and hurt. He’d been gone a month and that was all he got? A glance and a nonchalant: “Hey, you’re back.”
“Ye––Yeah.” Mumbo huffed and stepped closer. “Why is Sam here?”
“He’s a Hermit.”
“Since when? When did we vote on this?” Xisuma moved to the next cupboard. He slipped out a small pot of sugar. Mumbo frowned. Since when did X take either coffee or tea with sugar? He watched him spoon one, two, three into his mug. “We have a system, we can’t just—he really hurt Grian, and you can’t just let him—oh for goodness sake, will you look at me?!”
Xisuma stopped spooning sugar and turned only halfway. His helmet was nowhere to be seen, instead the familiar cannula of air that he tended to wear at home rested gingerly against his face. He looked almost bored as he stared at Mumbo. “I’m not going to revoke his whitelisting because of one person.”
“I promised him that he’d be safe here. If Sam doesn’t leave, we will.” Mumbo huffed and crossed his arms to stop himself from shaking the man. “Did you hear me? I will take Grian and we will leave permanently, dad.”
For a fraction of a second, the world fell into a staticky silence. His chest constricted and the edges of his vision grew fuzzy as he stared at Xisuma, staring back at him, indifferently. He did not care. Mumbo was threatening him with never talking to him again and his father did not care.
And then it all snapped into place. Xisuma recoiled like he’d been slapped, confusion marring his face as he looked around him, until his eyes landed on Mumbo. His face lit up, and the unnatural stillness of his shoulders faded away. “Mumbo! You’re back early!”
He took a step towards him and it was Mumbo’s turn to take a step backwards, a standoff in the middle of the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“I… was going to hug my son?”
“If this is a prank, it’s not funny.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sam. I’m talking about you making Sam a Hermit without a full vote, and knowing what he did to Grian.” As Mumbo talked he watched X’s face carefully. The confusion was replaced by realization as he grew paler and paler. Xisuma grabbed his comm, the standard black brick-like boxy comm that had seen much better days, and stopped before he could even click.
His dad’s voice was feeble as he looked back up at Mumbo. “What day is it?”
“What does it matter—”
“You left a week ago.” Now it was Mumbo’s turn to stop.
“No, I left a month ago. I came back this morning, as planned.”
Xisuma clicked away in his comm and stopped again. “I didn’t make him—I never gave Sam access. He was just visiting, Grian said it’d be fine for a day. I don’t…”
He stepped closer and finally put his hand on Xisuma’s shoulder. Mumbo was taller by a mere two inches, a fact he had never let X forget when he was a teenager, but he’d never had to look down at his father as much as he did right there with X crumbling under the confusion. “You don’t remember anything since he arrived?”
“No, it’s all… foggy. I could’ve sworn you just left.” Xisuma rolled his shoulders, gently shrugging Mumbo’s hand away, and stood straighter. It was the admin of Hermitcraft that stood in front of him now. Most days, admin and dad and just-X were one and the same, but there were some concerning occasions that Xisuma had to lean heavily into his admin role. It was a tough position to be in but Xisuma wore the mantle proudly, even if hadn’t planned to be the admin when he first joined Hermitcraft. “Something is wrong.”
“Well, yeah! It’s practically empty out there, you and Grian were in some kind of trance, and Sam’s a Hermit! Something is very wrong.”
Xisuma checked his comm again, though this time he typed with purpose. “Only I can give the world-tag to someone, so even if he is the best of hackers, I can still kick him—-Uh, this says I gave the world-tag to him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I don’t remember doing that, no.” Xisuma moved to delete the tag and Mumbo quickly stopped him. “I can revoke his access, Mumbo.”
“No—I mean, yes, but how did he get them in the first place?” Mumbo asked, searching his father’s face. “It says you did it, how did he make you do it? If you delete it right now, he’ll know, won’t he?”
Xisuma nodded and clicked out of Sam’s tag page. “Has he seen you?” Mumbo nodded. “Then you need to go.”
“What?! No!”
His father held him by the shoulders and looked at him seriously. “You need to go and get help. If you stay, there’s nothing to stop him from getting us all. And look,” he flipped his comm to for Mumbo to see the active list, “some people are missing. Unless they wanted to go off-world in the middle of this and didn’t tell me, you need to contact them so they won’t try to come back in until we fix it.”
“Come with me then.”
“No, I need to keep the code stable here. If anything happens, the others will need me to make sure they’re safe.” X moved one of his hands from the shoulder to the back of his neck, gently cradling his head like he used to do when he was a child and the overthinking got the best of him. “Go.”
Mumbo sighed but nodded. He took a step backwards, look at his father one more time, and clicked the button on his comm that would take him to his private world.
Alright, focus, you spoon, he chided himself. His hands were shaking as he paced around the gigantic contraptions around him. His private world was less of a home world, as many had, and more of a sandbox to test his contraptions without breaking Hermitcraft. He hadn’t needed a home world that way before. He had lived with his father and uncle, and then was voted in to join Hermitcraft. There hadn’t been a need like there was now.
He needed to get help. Who could help? His first instinct was to message his uncle. Xander was decisive, and would certainly help him. However, as he grabbed his comm to message, he remembered that Xander was visiting his and X’s hometown in the Void. Sending messages into the void was a hit or miss already, and he didn’t even know where it was to go see him. He still sent the message, hoping against hope that it’d go through.
“Ten minutes.” He murmured. Mumbo started pacing among his great machines, stuck between overthinking and being overwhelmed by his thoughts into a blank mind. Five minutes went by, then ten, then another ten, but he continued pacing until a whole hour had gone by. Finally, after the scrillionth time he checked his comm to find it equally blank, he sat down against one of the older contraptions from his teenage years. “Dang it.”
It wasn’t as if he could go to whoever. They’d need to be someone who was whitelisted, or strong enough to override that, and that ideally knew about Grian’s whole story. He didn’t want to out his traumas, but he would if that was necessary. However, that would probably take even longer to explain the whole situation given Mumbo didn’t actually know what was happening.
As he tried to run a mental list of who would fit the two requirements, he quickly found himself thinking of the Life Games players. They had all been granted access here and there for Friends & Family days, and most of them knew about Grian’s story. Of course, the list was shorter now that Joel and Skizz were among those stuck in Hermitcraft. But Martyn and Jimmy would probably know something. BigB would probably also know something, but Mumbo had never seen him around Hermitcraft before.
Grian mostly invited his moms and his brother to Friends & Family days. A lightbulb lit above his head as the obvious choice hit him like a bedrock pebble. Martyn, Grian’s older brother and official Hermitcraft-adjacent friend, would be able to help him. Mumbo jumped to his feet as he messaged Martyn.
<Interserver:Mumbo> I need your help. Please.
He had met Martyn a handful of times before the Life Games were even a thought. They hadn’t spent too much time together or talked at all. Grian tended to drag Martyn around to show whatever new building he’d made, or to prank someone. Those two together were a menace. But then they had all teamed up in Last Life. Mumbo had been so nervous back then, in the middle of a server full of great fighters and brilliant minds. The Southlands had been a blessing disguised in lame puns. He had never laughed as hard as he did listening to Martyn’s effortless AHA-puns.
The first time he got to talk to Martyn one-on-one was a few days into that game. They had both been on the hunt for wood and walking the forest paying less attention than they should’ve in the middle of a Game.
“What kind of name is Mumbo? D’your parents have similar names?” Mumbo remembered being amused by the similarities between the two brothers, and their nonchalant way of just throwing questions out as if they were in the middle of a conversation already.
“I, uh, actually chose it myself.” He had admitted a little bashful. “It’s a little silly, but I really liked it as a six year old and it stuck. My actual name is Xanzelle.”
“Really? And your parents let you?”
“Only have my dad and uncle, but yeah.”
Martyn had grinned, “I wanted to name Grian so bad, but our mums vetoed most of them.”
“What would you have called him?”
“Mostly ‘the baby’.” Mumbo had laughed loudly at that, matching Martyn’s grin. “I was really upset when I learned he wouldn’t stay little forever. Got over it as soon as I realized I’d always be older.”
The two had chuckled for a bit longer as they walked further into the forest. “Isn’t Grian a chosen name too? I thought his name was Xelqua.”
“Yeah, right before we moved to Japan.” Martyn had nodded surprised. Grian had been using that name since he was at least seven, and hadn’t really shared his birth name with others too much. It wasn’t something he shied away from, or disliked, but he’d gotten used to Grian instead of Xelqua. Or at least, that had been how Grian had explained it during his first weeks in Hermitcraft, when they spent nearly every night together talking until dawn. “Hey, you both got Xs. Maybe you were meant to be soulmates.”
“We are.” Mumbo had answered earnestly without thinking too much about it. He flushed bright red once the words had registered in his mind. “He’s my best mate. Wouldn’t change anything with him.”
Martyn fake gagged next to him, “That was so sweet, I think I just got diabetes.”
Mumbo had pushed him and both continued their walk in laughter. Later in that expedition, they joked about marriage, and puns, and many other nonsensical things, but Mumbo mostly counted that conversation as the beginning of their friendship.
<Interserver:InTheLittleWood> [shared with you a Passkey to their private world] [accept?] [deny?]
Mumbo pressed the accept and immediately his stomach swooped.
The world blurred around him in an amalgamation of colors, until the contraptions were replaced by a nice wooden cabin resting in some plains with the woods nearby. The house had two stories, though the top story was smaller with a wide round window looking inside. Before Mumbo got closer, still unsteady with the sudden change in scenery around him, the door to the house opened and Martyn stepped out.
It took barely five minutes to get Martyn up to speed. By the time Mumbo sipped the cup of water Martyn had gotten for him, he watched the man pace back and forth in the living room with a deep frown etched into his face. The house was simple: a living room with two armchairs, a sofa, and a coffee table; a little hallway behind it that led to an extra room; a kitchen to the left; and the stairs to the upstairs to the right. It was decorated in the cozy Japanese style Mumbo had come to associate with Martyn over the years.
“And he was alright?”
“I mean, not harmed is different from alright.” He mumbled. “But yes, alright.”
Martyn slowed his pacing until he was standing in front of him with only the low coffee table standing between them. Mumbo looked up at him. Curiously, he noticed hesitation mixed in with the concern and underlying anger that seemed to be burbling behind blue eyes. “I know about Sam, and about the Watcher stuff.” He said, aiming in the dark as to what was making him hesitate, and was rewarded by Martyn blinking, taken aback.
“You do?”
He nodded.
“Okay.” Martyn breathed out, wiped his hands on his pants, and readjusted his stance. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Martyn threw his hands up like a conductor starting a new song and from the air wisps of color began to appear, swirling, expanding, shrinking, wavering into one roiling mass of wisps. It flickered like fire but made no noise. A grand mix of every color twisting and turning that had Mumbo jumping up to his feet and Martyn flinching back simultaneously.
“What is that?!” Mumbo exclaimed, looking between the mass of wisps and Martyn. The man looked pained, but Mumbo couldn’t tell if it was because of his reaction or the thing between them. Or both.
“I guess he didn’t tell you everything.” Martyn mumbled as he shifted his hands, as if to squeeze the ball, and the wisps shrunk into a ball about the size of his fist. The pained crease of his brow faded a bit.
“You’re a Listener.” Mumbo beat him to the punch. Grian had told him about them, but not that Martyn was one of them. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together though. “You can hear code, right? Is that what this is?”
“Uh, yeah.” Martyn turned his hands to shift in its spot. “It’s Hermitcraft.”
Mumbo looked back at the wisps. Most people went through their entire life without ever seeing code, but Mumbo had grown up looking over his dad’s shoulder as he studied for his admin credentials. It wasn’t something that filled him with awe or gave him goosebumps anymore. And yet, looking at the mass of code at its purest——the truest the code would ever be of his home server——made his heart race. “It’s amazing.”
“It’s loud.” Martyn snorted but nodded in agreement.
“I can’t hear it——Oh.” Mumbo flushed. Of course he couldn't hear it. He wasn’t a Listener. “Nevermind. Can I touch it?”
“It’s just a representation of what I can hear, but you can try.”
Mumbo stretched his fingers and touched the roiling wisps. His hand passed through it like there was nothing there. It was a strange sensation to see something that should have at least tickled not even exist. “Is all code like this?”
“No.” Mumbo finally turned to look at Martyn again. The hesitation had left his face, but the concern and anger were still present. “That’s a firewall. The best I’ve heard, actually. Which means, I can’t Listen in on Hermitcraft. It’s too noisy, so I can’t hear the stuff happening inside.”
Grian had helped with the firewall and protection as soon as he’d joined, he remembered. Xisuma had been impressed with his knowledge and the sheer speed he could find problems. Not so much fix them, but find them at least. “G helped.”
“Well, that makes sense.”
“Can you… isolate the sounds inside?”
Martyn crossed his arms over his chest, studying the ball of wisps with the same intensity he had since Mumbo started explaining the situation. “What do you mean?”
“In redstone, sometimes your lines trigger things you don’t want to trigger, so you raise them up or divide them with wool or… I don’t know, there are a lot of ways. But you have to figure out which one is wrong first.”
He watched as Martyn took a deep breath and expanded the wisps. Immediately, his face scrunched up in pain at what Mumbo could only assume was a cacophony of noise. He observed the ball carefully, turning it as he examined it, and pinched a single wisp. Martyn moved the wisp to a different place, and his face relaxed just the slightly. Barely any change, really, but Mumbo was carefully watching him.
Martyn immediately dropped his hands and moved away. The roiling wisps remained hanging in space as Martyn moved towards a small desk by the entrance and slipped out a paper and a pen. He scribbled for a few seconds, and flipped the paper for Mumbo to see. There were five horizontal lines, and a dot near the beginning of one of the lines. Mumbo had no clue what it meant.
“It’s a music sheet—Nevermind, I think I can untangle it, but it’ll take a while.”
Good news, at last! Mumbo sighed in relief and nodded. “That’s fine. Better than anything I can do right now.”
Martyn sat down on the sofa next to him, leaned his paper against the coffee table, and slowly inspected the wisps. He moved another wisp, added a dot with a vertical line next to the first to the paper, and looked back at the mass. Mumbo just watched in silence for a few minutes.
It was weird to see the code of an entire server so simply put into a visual ball of colors. They were far from Hermitcraft, by virtue of Hermitcraft being fairly isolated from other servers and Martyn’s private world also being isolated in a different quadrant. They were so far, and yet Martyn could just look at its code as if he was standing on the streets of the shopping district. He wondered if some of the colors were the Hermits, if their complex player codes were compressed into a single wisp of color. Could Martyn hear a player’s code even from that far away?
“How far can you Hear?” He asked, cutting through the silence and biting back a snicker as Martyn flinched. That had to be the quickest someone forgot he was in the room he had ever experienced.
He waved his hand at the wisps. “This is the first time I can’t Hear someone.”
“Do you need to know where they are to Hear them?”
“No.” Martyn turned his whole body to look at Mumbo inquisitively. “Why?”
“There were missing Hermits…” He hummed. “X showed me the list.”
“If you tell me who, I could find them.”
Mumbo tried to remember who had been missing. He’d barely gotten a peak at this list, mid-panic as Xisuma tried to send him out of the server to get help. “Um, Scar… Keralis…” It felt awful, knowing that he’d seen the list, knowing that there were plenty of Hermits missing from it, and yet not being able to say exactly who.
“Let’s start with those.”
Martyn waved his hand through the wisps and they dissipated like blowing on steam rising from a cup of tea. Mumbo watched as he closed his eyes and instead of another set of wisps appearing, bright green symbols crept from the tip of his fingers all over his arms until they framed his face. He recognized a couple of music notes, a few wavelengths, complex math equations that likely had to do with sound but Mumbo wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of even if his life depended on it. Gentle arcs of the same green light flickered through his hair.
He looked very cool, is all Mumbo could say.
When he opened his eyes, the blue had been replaced with the same shade of green. “I found Scar. He’s in the Secret Life world.”
“What is he doing there?” Martyn hummed something that sounded like ‘I don’t know’ with a shrug. Mumbo shook his head. “I’ll go check on him, unless you need me here?”
“I don’t. I’ll keep an eye on you, if you need me.”
“Don’t you mean an ear?”
Martyn shot him a deadpan look, but Mumbo could see the beginnings of a smile pulling at his face at the bad joke. He began typing in his comm and paused right before hitting enter. “Thank you, Martyn. For helping me with this.”
The Listener scoffed. “As if it was in question.”