Jack

by Liesl Shurtliff

  “My father, Henry. What happened to him?”

  “Well, he was here, just as I said. And then one of those babbly fellows came and talked to him, said the most peculiar things, but it seemed to make sense to your father, because as soon as he heard it, he flew the coop, or the shoe, I should say. John, will you please put down the scissors? I’ve told you a hundred times, you cannot cut Jane’s braids! You’ll cut her head off one of these days!”

  “When was that?” I asked.

  “When what?”

  “When did my papa fly the shoe?”

  “Oh, it must have been an hour or two ago—”

  “An hour!” I shouted. “You mean he was just here an hour ago?”

  “The babbly creature said he had a message for Henry, and then he rambled some strange things about where his papa was and some other things I won’t mention.”

  One of the triplets shouted from the top of a boot. Larry, or Barry, or Jerry—I couldn’t tell which. “He called your father a pea brain!”

  Widow Francis frowned. “Yes, well, at that point your father was convinced the message had come from you.”

  The gnome! That must have been the gnome I met when I first arrived and tried to ask for help. When I said Papa’s name, the gnome must have searched high and low until he found the right Henry and then repeated our whole conversation. Papa was alive! But he was still missing.

  “He said he was going to go search for you,” said Widow Francis. “I told him it was a fool’s errand, but he didn’t listen, and this morning he slipped away in an outgoing shoe, and now he’s gone.”

  “He gave us George before he left!” said the little girl riding the calf.

  “Don’t let George chew on the shoelaces!” said Widow Francis.

  “Do you have any idea where he could have gone?” I asked. “Did you see which way the shoe went?”

  “Mind the fire!” Widow Francis shouted. Two of the children had climbed atop one of the candles and dipped their feet in the melted wax, making themselves little waxen shoes molded perfectly to their bare feet.

  “Well, by the looks of the shoe he escaped in, I imagine he’s now at the giant castle, up on the hill. I can’t imagine where else that shoe could have gone.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because, child, the shoe was made of gold. Who but royalty would wear a gold shoe?”

  A gold shoe. That could only belong to one person.

  King Barf.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Flying the Shoe

  I slumped down against a boot and groaned. Up the hill, down the hill, now up the hill again! Papa and I had probably passed right by each other. This was starting to feel like an enormous game of cat and mouse. I needed to get back to the castle and fast, but how?

  Widow Francis was pulling two of her babies away from the edge of the table. She plopped them each inside a child’s clog, where they immediately began their escape attempts.

  “Widow Francis, ma’am, is there any other way to get out of this place? Besides the shoes?”

  “You mean leave the cobbler? You can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, it’s too dan— Oh good grief, not the hammer. They’ll crush everyone’s bones! Put that down!” Widow Francis dashed after Barry and Jerry, who had managed to lift one of the cobbler’s giant hammers. They dropped it so the wooden end landed on Larry’s shoeless toe. He started to wail and scream, but the other two ignored him and ran off to join the game of Hunt the Slipper.

  Cobbler, Cobbler, mend my shoe!

  Fix it up and make it new!

  I looked up at Martha’s shoe. The elves were still stitching the gap, and every now and then the dog would yip and jump up at them. The cobbler had told Martha it would not be finished until tomorrow morning, and I wasn’t patient enough to wait that long. If I could get past the dog, I could ride a wagon or boot straight to the castle this very day.

  First I had to get off the table.

  I ran to a giant spool of twine and unwound it several lengths. I dangled it over the edge of the table, as far as possible from where the dog sat. Easy. I’d be out of here in no time. But just as I began to climb, an elf caught me. It was the one named Bruce, whom the cobbler had nearly stabbed with a needle. He was dragging a giant pair of scissors toward Martha’s shoe. “What do ye think yer doin’?” he shouted angrily. “Get back from there!”

  Fleeing instincts took hold. I grasped the rope and looked behind me. It was a long way down. I was better at going up than down, but in this case it didn’t matter. The elf pulled open the giant scissors and—snip!—cut the twine. My rope slid to the floor, and Bruce caught me by the back of my pants and lifted me off the ground.

  “Duncan! We got ourselves a runner!”

  “Put me down!” I flailed and kicked. Bruce released me, and I fell flat on my stomach. I scrambled to my feet. Bruce stood in front of me, holding up the giant scissors and glaring like he’d snip off one of my limbs if I made a move.

  “Where’s the runner? Show me the rascal!” Duncan shouted as he came barreling toward us with a giant needle in hand.

  Bruce grabbed me by the arm again as though he’d caught a prize lizard. “I caught the lad trying to escape down some rope. I cut it just in time.”

  “And a good thing, too,” said Duncan. “What were ye thinkin’, lad? Ye canna go down there! Did ye not see the great beast of dog? He’ll rip you to pieces, that one.”

  “I was being careful,” I said, which was true but sounded ridiculous spoken aloud.

  “Oh, ye was being careful, was ye? Well, say ye get past the wee beastie, what then? There’s all kinds of monsters outside. Ye’ll get yerself stomped on or snatched.”

  “Or eaten!” added Bruce. “There’s some giants who’ll eat us, ye know.”

  The other elves all trembled.

  “So ye see, lad, ye canna ever leave this table. It’s safest here, and if ye do the work, Mr. Siegfried will take good care o’ ye.”

  “But you don’t understand. I’m looking for my papa. I came here to find him, and he left to find me. He left in a golden shoe.”

  “That was your papa? The rascal! If I’da known what he was doin’, why, I woulda…well…no matter. No takin’ chances now.” Duncan grabbed me by the neck of my shirt and dragged me toward the giant shoe mold.

  “Let me go! I have to go find my papa!”

  “It’s fer yer own good,” said Duncan.

  I twisted and pulled away, but Duncan was very strong, despite being so short and portly, and he pulled me along like a floppy fish on the end of a hook. “Lower the ladder!” he shouted, and the pin ladder unfurled a moment later. “Up ye go.” Duncan gave me a prod.

  “You can’t make me stay here,” I argued.

  “Oh, yes I can, and ye’ll thank me for it one day. A young lad like you has got no chance runnin’ about in this giant world. Ye’ll be crushed or eaten in a second.”

  Bruce nodded. “We elves have to stick together!”

  Others mumbled their agreement. It was clear that Duncan had a tight hold on everyone here. They believed that leaving the cobbler would risk their very lives. I didn’t blame them. But did they really want to stay here and make giant shoes forever?

  “What if I told you I knew a way to get home?” I asked in desperation. “Back to our world Below.”

  A hush fell over the crowd of elves. The only sound that could be heard was the thumping of the dog’s tail. Even the children stopped their games to listen. Home is something that pulls at you no matter how much fun you’re having.

  “Back to our world, ye say?” said Bruce. “How?”

  “A beanstalk. A giant beanstalk. It grows in the soil Below and reaches from our world up to this one. That’s how I got here. I climbed it just like a ladder.”

  Someone stifled a cough, then they all started laughing. “A beanstalk! You can’t climb a beanstalk!” Bruce doubled over and slapped his knee.
/>
  “That’s quite a tale, lad,” said Duncan, his red beard twitching with a smile.

  “It’s true,” I insisted.

  “The boy has always had a fondness for telling tales,” said Widow Francis.

  “It’s not a tale!” I said. “I planted the beanstalk myself.”

  There were a few more chuckles, and then the other elves went back to their polishing and stitching and cutting. Now I knew how Jaber felt when he warned our village about the giants.

  “Okay, bean boy. Up ye go.” Duncan gave me a nudge, and I was forced to go up the pin ladder. Duncan followed close behind. Once at the top, he rolled up the ladder and stood over it like a guard dog. “Let’s get back to work! I’m hungry for me pie.”

  Trapped. On the very shoe that brought me here, and by elves, no less. I didn’t expect to be imprisoned by my own kind.

  Now that the stitching was done, Duncan gave me the job of holding the nails they were pounding into the heel of the shoe, which was probably the worst job ever, if you ask me.

  WHAM!

  The hammer shot down and missed the nail. The whole shoe tipped and shook.

  “Hold her steady, lad!” said Bruce, as though missing the nail had been my fault. Three elves lifted the hammer and hurled it down again. I shut my eyes as the hammer drove the nail into the shoe, narrowly avoiding my fingers. Duncan strutted back and forth, shouting orders. Anytime he caught me looking at the ladder, he’d place his foot on top of it and smirk at me.

  Maybe the cobbler could help, but he’d been asleep for over an hour. So much for a wee nap. The longer I was here, the more anxious I got. Where was Papa now? He could be in big trouble for all I knew.

  WHAM!

  I peered down at the table, where Widow Francis’s children were frolicking about. The triplets were giving each other rides in a blue slipper with a curled tip. Two pushed while one sat inside. They pushed the slipper to the table’s edge, where it rocked precariously.

  “Larry! Barry!” shouted Widow Francis. “Stop that at once!”

  The boys abandoned the slipper, leaving it teetering on the edge.

  “Hold the nail, lad!” Bruce chided me.

  I adjusted my grip.

  WHAM!

  The hammer whistled right by my ear. The slipper was filled with blankets and fluff. If I jumped down and wedged myself in the toe, I could tip it over the edge and they would cushion my fall. It’d be like jumping from the barn into a pile of hay. Tom would have loved the idea.

  WHAM!

  This time the hammer grazed my arm. If I didn’t get out of here soon, I might not stay in one piece.

  The elves raised the hammer.

  “Set the next nail, lad!” shouted Bruce.

  I looked at the shoemaker’s elves, struggling to hold the hammer up. Duncan was watching me closely, his foot propped on the ladder.

  He stretched and yawned, and in an instant I dropped all the nails in my hands and jumped off the shoe-mold tower into the slipper below.

  “Boy overshoe!” shouted Bruce. I crawled into the toe of the slipper and heaved.

  Duncan was coming down the ladder now, and others were behind him.

  I gave another push, and the slipper rocked and tipped, but stayed put.

  “Get him!”

  “Stop that elf boy!”

  I thrust all my weight forward and that did the trick.

  Down the slipper went and landed with a bounce and flip. My brains were scrambled, but at least I didn’t break any bones.

  I crawled to the opening and heard a low growl.

  Snakes and toads, I forgot about the dog!

  “Watch out, lad!” shouted Bruce. But it was too late. The dog sank its teeth into the slipper and started to thrash it around. With nothing to hold on to, I went flying out of the slipper. I tumbled and rolled, bumping and crashing against the hard floor, until I came to a stop. The room was spinning and tilting. I scraped myself off the ground just in time to see a giant white fur ball running toward me. Mouth open. Tongue flopping.

  “Run, lad! Grab the rope!” The elves shook the rope dangling off the table’s edge.

  I ran past the rope and straight under the table. No way I was going back. The door was only twenty steps away, and there was a gap under it big enough for me to slide through.

  I ran as fast as I could, with the dog nipping at my heels, until I thought my heart would burst. Just a few more leaps and then…I tripped—over my own awkward feet, of all things. I crashed to the floor and skidded to a halt.

  The dog was upon me now. I could feel his warm breath on my face. The smell of slobber and fur. This was it. The great and terrible end of Jack. I pulled my axe out from the back of my pants, ready to swipe at the monster.

  The dog leaned down…

  …and he licked me with his giant pink tongue. In a wave of slobber, he pushed me right through the crack under the door to freedom.

  I must say, I’ve always preferred dogs to cats.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Pest

  Free of the cobbler—or more accurately, the cobbler’s elves—I began searching for a ride back to the castle. I was ready to hop onto a wheel when I caught sight of the beanstalk across the street, just peeking above the boulder that covered the hole.

  The tip of it shimmied a little, like something was crawling around in the leaves. There were probably all sorts of creatures devouring the beans and leaves now, seeing as it was one of the few green things in this land. A smile grew on my face as I imagined a giant slug or beetle crawling down through the hole and dropping into our world. Wouldn’t Mama and Annabella be surprised!

  But slugs could also be a danger. What if they nibbled away at the stalk until it shriveled up and died? Jaber had said it wouldn’t last forever. I had to be sure Papa and I had a way home. I crossed the street for a closer inspection.

  It was still green, mostly, minus a few holes and brown spots. A giant ladybug crawled up one of the leaves in search of aphids. A snail with a shell big enough for me to wear as a helmet was sliming along a bean pod. The stalk shimmied a little more, as though something was shaking it. Maybe a mouse or a bird—or a pixie. Remembering what Tom had said, I scooped up a handful of dirt. I walked around the stalk very slowly, checking under each leaf.

  Something wiggled and squeaked beneath the upper leaves of the stalk.

  “Ha!” I shouted, thrusting aside the leaf that covered the hole and throwing the dirt down at the creature.

  The creature screamed and raised her arms for protection. I dropped the rest of the dirt, and my jaw dropped with it.

  The creature was not a pixie or a mouse. It was my little sister.

  Once, when I was nine and Annabella was five, I wanted to go on a quest in the forest. I made careful preparations. I had my stick sword and my sling and pockets full of rocks and acorns. I filled a cloth with bread and cheese and boiled eggs, and I announced that I was off to find the giants.

  Then Annabella decided she was coming, too.

  “You’re too small,” I told her.

  “I am not!” she cried, wailing and stomping her feet so much that Mama finally said I couldn’t go anywhere unless I took Annabella with me. I was so mad at her, I hid in the trees every now and then and snarled and growled when she came near. It frightened her, but she didn’t turn back. She stayed with me the whole day, searching all the best caves and trees before I could get to them, and asking endless questions about the giants. “Could that be one of their footprints? Do you think they ripped up that tree? How come we haven’t seen one yet? Maybe they’re like bats and only come out at night.”

  The whole quest was ruined, so I decided to get back at her. That night I released a nest of newly hatched spiders in her bed. I told her they must have nested in her hair while we searched for giants and now they were hatching. Maybe it was nasty of me, but Annabella never interrupted one of my quests again.

  Until now.

  “What are you doing here?”
I spoke sharply, as though the words might cut her down to size.

  Annabella flinched. “I came here to help you find Papa.” She smiled hesitantly.

  “Does Mama know you’re here?”

  Her smile disappeared. “Well, she does now, I suppose. She told me to go see if I could harvest some more beans, but we’d harvested the ones closest to the bottom, and then I wanted to see how high I could go, so I just kept climbing and climbing, and then I made it here!”

  I folded my arms. “You have to go home, Annabella. Mama must be worried sick.”

  Now it was Annabella’s turn to fold her arms. “Mama’s already worried sick—over you.”

  “She is?”

  Annabella twisted her apron in her hands, the way Mama always did when she was in distress. “Oh, Jack! My naughty boy! I shall never see him again! Oh!” She placed her hand on her heart.

  Annabella did quite a fine impersonation of Mama. I laughed in spite of myself, but I stifled it quickly. “So what do you think Mama will do when she sees you gone? What were you thinking?”

  Annabella turned pink in the face. I thought it was because she felt shame, but I was wrong. “What were you thinking?! You came up here and you didn’t even tell us where you were going or what you were doing! For a whole day she was so upset she wouldn’t eat unless I spooned the food into her mouth.”

  I didn’t know Mama cared enough about me to not eat. I was always a burden. Jack, her naughty boy, the great pest. It made me feel sort of happy that Mama was sad when I left, but if she was that sad over me, she’d be all the more distressed over Annabella, her one good child.

  “You have to go home, Bells,” I said.

  “Says who?”

  “Says me. Mama needs you, and you’re not big enough to stay here.”

  “You’re not big enough either. You go home to Mama. I’ll find Papa by myself.” She stomped her foot on the ground as though she meant to plant herself here and spread roots.

  I sighed. Jack the Giant Killer never ran around with a pesky little sister. He had knights and kings and noblemen. Although it would be funny to hear her scream the first time she saw a giant spider…. She’d be running home in no time. And if that didn’t work, then there was always Rufus.