“I, I …” Jackson looked at Stimple, hoping for help. But Stimple was busy folding up the white net and muttering to himself.
“I …”
“Tell meeeee! BAAWK!” she screeched.
Jackson pointed at her powder poof, still giggling. “My mom … my mom used that powder …”
“Yeeeees?” The chicken nodded, closing her eyes with a prideful smirk.
“She used that powder on … on …”
“Her face,” Miss Flaversham finished.
“No!” Jackson gulped, trying to hold it together. “On my brother’s … ahem … behind!” Jackson snorted, his entire body shaking with laughter.
“Weeeell!” Miss Flaversham sniffed indignantly and ruffled her feathers. Her mascara began to run again as her eyes grew weepy.
“Oh! No! Don’t cry!” Jackson said. He tried to control his laughing. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings!”
Miss Flaversham glared at him with her beady, blue-eye-shadowed eyes. Then she glared at Stimple, who was busy picking his nose. She sniffed and looked away.
“I forrrrrgive you, young man. You will find that I was properly raised and I do not beeear ill will toward anyone.” A snort came from Stimple’s direction. Jackson and Miss Flaversham looked over just in time to catch him digging through his beard. His thick fingers pulled out a half-eaten hot dog. He saw them watching, and popped the hot dog into his mouth. He chewed loudly, with his mouth wide open, until at last he swallowed.
“Listen lady, I’ve got work to do,” Stimple announced.
“Why don’t I come with you, and you can just show me the exit?” Jackson said.
“I beeeeeeg your pardon? Yooooou may call me Miss Flaversham. I’m no lady!”
“You can say that again!” Stimple growled. He pulled a full garbage bag out of a bin.
“That’s not what I meant!” She ruffled her feathers again.
“See ya in a bit, kid.” Then Stimple walked away. “I am nooooot a babysitter!” Miss Flaversham hollered.
“Stimple! Wait! Take me with you!” Jackson yelled. But Stimple was already gone.
“Yoooou!” Miss Flaversham glared at Jackson. “Yoooou look like a troublemaker!”
Jackson sighed. But then had a very good idea indeed. “I’m sure you know this tree very well, Miss Flaversham.”
She nodded elegantly, and Jackson continued. “I’m sure even you know the way out of this magnificent tree.”
Miss Flaversham paused. Then she blushed as she wiggled her behind. “I can’t really recall.”
Jackson sighed. Was he ever going to get home? “Why don’t you give me a tour, then? I’d love to see the forts.”
“Fine.”
chapter 39
In Which Jackson Misbehaves
You know when you’re visiting someplace really interesting, like a science museum or a farm or a zoo, and they have such fascinating things that you feel you must absolutely touch something or you’ll just die?
Jackson was in such a place.
Oh, the horrible temptation of it all! So many forts beckoning him, teasing him. How, oh how, could he convince Miss Flaversham to let him go inside just one?
The tour began.
“This fort is built like a barn. You can almost imaaaagine the animals inside!” she trilled, pointing with a slightly disheveled wing at a fort that looked just like a barn.
“Do you live there? Can we go in?” Jackson asked.
“Absoluuuuuutely not! I am nooooo filthy animal!” Miss Flaversham clucked.
They continued. “Theeeese forts are built like the one in Swiss Family Robinson!” she pointed with her feathers.
Jackson’s fingers were getting twitchy. He was looking up at a set of three tree forts, arranged in a triangle. Between each was a swinging rope bridge, and each fort had a series of pulleys attached to various platforms that led up to the roof. Jackson itched to explore.
“Hey! Look out!” he yelled.
“BAAAWK! What? Where?” Miss Flaversham ducked, her wings protecting her purple-hatted head.
Jackson jumped up, grabbed the first rung of a rope ladder, and began to climb.
chapter 40
In Which an Argument Begins
Stoooop! Stop it! You come down right now, young man!” Miss Flaversham shrieked, her wings flapping furiously.
Jackson ignored her, climbing higher and higher up the rope ladder. Hand-over-hand and foot-over-foot he climbed until he reached the first platform. He pulled himself up and brushed off his shorts.
All he could see around him were branches and leaves and the very tip-tops of the other forts. Down below Miss Flaversham was pacing back and forth, bobbing her head, squawking away like … well, like a chicken.
“Yoooou are going to regret this!” she clucked.
Jackson ignored her and ducked inside the first fort.
It was cool and dark inside, and Jackson shivered a little. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom he could make out a trunk, a grandfather clock, and an old map that was hanging on the wall, showing some sort of island with forests and lagoons and a volcano in the middle. This, thought Jackson, would be a wonderful place to hide. He peered out the window to see if Miss Flaversham was following him.
Splat!
chapter 41
In Which Jackson Gets Egg on His Face
Jackson ducked back inside. His head felt gooey. “Aaaargh! I’ve been hit! I’m bleeding! I …” He reached up to touch his head, then looked at his hand. It wasn’t blood.
Splat!
Right in the face.
“Ow!” Jackson wiped his face. A thick yellow goop covered his fingers. He sniffed.
Egg?
He squatted down and peeked out the window. He didn’t see anything.
Splat!
He ducked just in time to miss the third egg, and it smashed against the wall behind him, sliding goopily to the floor.
“You get down heeeere right now, you fiendish bruuuute!” shrieked a squawky voice.
“Knock it off!” Jackson yelled.
“You terrible, bad boy!” Another egg hit the wall.
Jackson needed a plan. This was getting goopy.
Just outside of the side door was a small porch. Not a safe-looking porch, but at least it didn’t have any gargantuan, hairy-backed spiders lurking in the corners waiting for their lunch. At least, none that he could see.
And then he saw his getaway.
A Tarzan rope.
chapter 42
In Which There Are Tigers. Well, Just One Tiger.
Jackson wiped his eggy-hands on his no-longer-clean shirt. He wiped his face on his sleeve. He crouched like a cat, waiting to pounce. He was a tiger. A great and ferocious tiger. A great and ferocious, chicken-eating tiger.
Jump!
chapter 43
In Which Things Do Not Work Out as Planned
Jackson felt the wind rushing through his striped fur as he leapt. His long claws reached out as he grasped the rope, swinging through the air. He couldn’t help the roar that burst from his chest.
“RooooooAAAAAAAAARRR!”
He felt the wind, he felt the freedom, he felt the delight …
He felt the tree hit him in the chest.
chapter 44
In Which Jackson’s Day Just Gets Worse
Oooof!” Jackson groaned. Why hadn’t he looked before he leapt? (If you’re paying attention, you may find a moral lesson in this.) Jackson looked down and let go of the rope. He dropped onto the platform beneath him and lifted up his shirt to see a bright red mark on his chest. That would leave a bruise. He rubbed the tender spot and tried to hold back the tears that were welling up in his eyes.
And then, through the tears, Jackson saw the very last thing in the world he wanted to see. A pair of skinny orange chicken legs.
“Don’t even think about rrrrrrrunning!” Miss Flaversham said.
chapter 45
In Which Miss Flaversham Laments the Lack of Good
Servants These Days
Jackson hid his face. Miss Flaversham’s wing was held high, a fresh egg tight in her grasp. Her little pink purse was open, and Jackson could see that there were more eggs inside.
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!”
Miss Flaversham paused, the egg still held aloft. “You surrrrrender then?”
“Yes,” said Jackson in a very small voice.
“I did not give youuuuu permission to peek inside. I am in charge of these forts, and you will do exactly as I say!” she squawked.
Jackson nodded and stood up. He was covered in egg goo. Miss Flaversham handed him a bright orange handkerchief.
“What exactly do you do around here if you’re in charge?” Jackson wiped his hair. Ick.
“I mind the tree forts,” Miss Flaversham fussed with her pink purse.
“So you take care of them?” Jackson wiped his face.
“Whatever do you mean?” She slopped more orange lipstick on her beak. She missed and smeared a streak on her cheek instead.
“So you clean the windows and stuff?” Jackson scrubbed the inside of his ear.
“Certainly not! Filthy work. Men should clean windows, not well-bred chickens.”
“Do you sweep the floors?”
“Of course not!”
“Do you mend roofs?”
“No. I cannot get up on the roofs. Are you implyyyyyying that I am a monkey?” She folded her wings across her chest and glared.
“You could use a ladder.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t carry a ladder! Much toooo heavy.”
“You could fly up.” Jackson handed her back the eggy handkerchief.
“Chickens flying? Preposterous! Wouldn’t think of it. Only fools fly around like twittering birds. I am not a silly twittering bird; I am a chicken!”
“Well, then … Do you clean the gardens?” Jackson asked, exasperated.
“No. All that dirt would get stuck under my nails.” Jackson noticed that her long, scraggly claws were painted bright orange to match her lipstick.
“Well, what do you do?”
“You are not liiiiiiistening. I mind them. I make sure everything is in running order.”
“Oh!” Jackson exclaimed. Miss Flaversham began walking down the wooden beams that led to the ground. Jackson followed. “So you tell the staff what to do?”
“No, no, no. No staff to speak of. Everyone is much too busy.”
“Then you make plans for the forts. You figure out what would make them better. You would know if one needed a ladder fixed or had a hole in the roof.”
“Oh, yes!” She bobbed her head. “I am very good at making lists.”
“So then you give someone the list and …”
“No! Of course not! They are myyyyy lists! Someone else would just steeeeeal them and pass them off as their own! Plagiarism is very ugly.” (Plagiarism is when you take the cover off an Alice in Wonderland book and put your own cover on and pretend you wrote it.)
“So you spend all day making lists?” Jackson asked.
“Yes. All day,” she said rather regally. (Well, as regally as a chicken can say anything.)
Jackson shrugged. “You’re not much use then, are you?”
Miss Flaversham stopped walking and grabbed Jackson’s arm with her wing. “I beg your pardon?” she clucked.
“Look,” said Jackson. “My parents’ job is to take care of us. To make money and make sure we’re fed and clothed and loved. My job is to help out at home with the dishes and take care of my brother and sister. But you don’t do anything here. You just make lists! How are you any help?” Jackson turned and kept walking. He really had to go home now. This conversation was getting annoying, and it didn’t look like he was going to get to see the inside of any other forts. Why bother staying?
“Well!” Miss Flaversham looked wildly around, her eyelashes fluttering and sticking together. “I mind the tree forts!”
“You mean you just sit around and watch them all day. That’s not a job,” Jackson said. He was getting all sweaty and hot, and he still had remnants of egg goo on him. (Remnants are things that are left over, like the little bits of food dropped on the kitchen floor that your dog licks up.)
“I … I mind the stars!” Miss Flaversham blurted.
“What?”
“I mind the starrrrrs. They are mine!” she shrieked. “No, they aren’t. They don’t belong to you.” Jackson sighed. He just wanted a shower.
“Well then, who owns them?” Cluck, cluck, cluck. “No one.”
“Well, then I am the first to think of it! I mind the starrrs!” She gave a triumphant cluck.
“That’s ridiculous.” Jackson really, really wanted a shower.
“I do! They come out at night when I tell them to, and in the morning they hide when I tell them to.”
“All right, then. Prove it,” said Jackson. “Proooove what?”
“Prove it. Tell them to come out. Right now.”
“Rrrrright now?” asked Miss Flaversham, her eyelashes fluttering madly.
“Yah, right now.” Jackson really, really wanted a shower. He’d even bathe in a puddle if there was one nearby.
“I don’t feel like it!” said Miss Flaversham, and she turned away. “I’m not going to do something just because you told me to. Come back later when I’m not soooooo flustered. You bother me so.” She began powdering her nose with the white powder that goes on babies’ … ahem … behinds.
“Fine. Whatever,” said Jackson. He looked around at all the forts, then back at Miss Flaversham. “Um … which way is the elevator?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Why do you want to leeeeeave?”
“Because you won’t let me look inside the forts, I’m covered in egg, and there’s no point in me staying.”
Miss Flaversham bobbed her head a moment, her eyes shifting back and forth quickly. Her brow furrowed in worry. “You don’t have to leave immeeeeeediately, do you?”
“I have to get home,” said Jackson.
Miss Flaversham rubbed her wings together nervously. Jackson thought that she probably didn’t get many visitors. “If you promiiiiise not to break anything,” she blurted, “I’ll let you go inside one fort.”
Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Any fort?”
She shook her feathers uncomfortably. “Yeeees. Just one though.”
Jackson’s heart leapt. He could wait for a shower.
chapter 46
In Which Jackson Must Make a Decision
Which one, which one? Jackson wandered around the bottom of the branches, looking up into the forts, trying to decide.
There was a fort that looked like an old lady’s house, with pink siding, white gingerbread trim, and lace curtains in the windows. (Gingerbread trim does not mean it’s made of cookies. That sort of thing only happens in stories.) Jackson stood right under it and sniffed. Gingerbread cookies. Jackson shook his head and walked to the next one.
The next fort was a bright, shiny red with large brass fire bells hanging on the corners. Its black roof sloped into a high peak with a tiny window at the very top. Jackson listened carefully. He could hear fire truck sirens.
The next fort was made of sticks and coconut shells. It looked like something you’d find on a deserted island.
The next was shaped like a pirate ship. Its deep blue walls were studded with cannons, and a few tiny windows looked into cozy cabins. A mast rose out of the middle, soaring up into the branches. Tempting.
“I pick this one,” Jackson said. And he began to climb the ladder.
chapter 47
Which Is Full of Possibility, but Ends on a Tragic Note
Jackson climbed quickly, hand over hand, gripping each rung of the rope ladder as the rough fibers scratched his hands. He climbed quickly, then swung a leg up onto the deck of the ship.
It looked like it had been a long time since anyone had been there. The wooden floor was strewn with fallen, crinkly, crunchy leaves. Jackson stepped through the
m, because on the the other side of the ship was a plank.
He jumped up to the base of the plank, envisioning pirates all around him, poking his back with their razor-sharp swords. He held his hand over his heart. “I die with honor!” he announced. But he didn’t jump. There wasn’t an ocean to jump into, and that ground looked pretty hard and pretty far away. Instead, he walked over to the cabin and opened the door.
Inside was a huge wooden ship’s wheel. Jackson ran his hands over the smooth surface, gripped a spoke, and turned it to the left. “Arrr, matey! Off we go!” he cried. And immediately turned red. He wasn’t sure if that was what a pirate was supposed to say or not. He didn’t know much about boats and didn’t want anyone else to know he didn’t know much about boats. So he kept his pirate jargon in his head. (Jargon is the language you hear when two doctors are discussing cruciate ligaments and dilated cardiomyopathy.)
Jackson looked at the instruments and dials in front of him. He had no idea what any of them did. They were slightly dusty with cobwebs. He spun the wheel hard to the right.
And something fell on his head.
chapter 48
Which Contains a Mystery
Ouch!
Jackson rubbed his head tenderly. It still hurt from where Stimple had thwacked him. He looked to the ground and saw an old green bottle. He leaned down to pick it up. It was heavy, definitely glass, with a note inside. Oh, this was exciting! He turned the bottle this way and that to try and read the note.
Jackson tugged at the cork but it wouldn’t open. He debated smashing the bottle on the wheel, but given it wasn’t his fort and Miss Flaversham would probably have a heart attack, he decided that wasn’t a good idea.
Jackson Jones, Book 2 Page 5
