Jack

by Liesl Shurtliff

  “You look like a jester,” said Tom.

  “I’ll never be able to sneak around in these.” I took a few steps and the bells jingled.

  “I think that’s the point,” said Tom.

  Annabella giggled. “We can call you Tinkle Toes.”

  “Ha. Ha. Let’s see what she dresses you in.”

  “Thumbelina, I have just the thing for you!” Martha pulled out three little dresses, as if she’d been waiting for an elf girl to dress like a doll. There was a blue dress trimmed with lace and one with green polka dots. Annabella picked a frilly pink one with six flounces and a sash that tied into a humongous bow at the back.

  Once she was dressed she did a twirl, and Martha clapped her hands and wiped a tear from her eye. “Aren’t you precious? We must celebrate! I’ll get the cheese!”

  Martha brought the block of cheese from the cupboard and sliced off big chunks for each of us. “Eat up, Thumbelina. You are so tiny, I’m afraid you might disappear. Now, I must think what to cook for the king tonight. The puddings have not sat well with him of late. I’d roast some chickens, but he was so upset last time. I suppose it reminded him of that silly hen he carries around….”

  Martha popped a chunk of cheese into her mouth and began gathering ingredients from the baskets and buckets—potatoes and onions, beets and radishes. “Perhaps a stew will do,” she mused.

  “I guess you didn’t find your papa, then,” said Tom.

  “No,” I said.

  “I’m sorry.” Tom looked down and shuffled his feet. I could tell he wasn’t just apologizing about Papa, but for the things he said to me before I left.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll find him. He got away from the cobbler in one of the king’s shoes.”

  “That’s not good,” said Tom. “What if King Barf squished him with his big toe?”

  “Our papa is smart,” said Annabella. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “You’re right. He probably got out of the shoe. I just hope Rufus didn’t eat him.”

  “Who’s Rufus?” asked Annabella.

  “That’s Rufus.” Tom pointed to where the orange beast sat on his haunches beside the table, his big yellow eyes fixed on some elves cracking chestnuts. His tail flipped back and forth.

  “Oh, what a sweet kitty!” cooed Annabella. She went right to the edge of the table and called out. “Rufus! Here, kitty, kitty! C’mere, kitty!” Rufus turned his attention to Annabella. He dipped his head and stalked forward.

  “That’s a good kitty. Come on!”

  “Bells, I wouldn’t—”

  The cat sprang up and swiped a giant paw at Annabella, who shrieked and stumbled back. Tom and I fell over laughing. Annabella glared at us, but it was hard to take her seriously in that frilly pink dress. Rufus sprang up once more, but this time Annabella looked him square in the face and hissed like a rabid alley cat. Rufus mewled and ran back to the fireplace, his ears pressed down flat. Tom and I looked at each other. Neither one of us was laughing now.

  “Well done, flower girl,” said Tom. “Nobody’s ever been able to tame Rufus, not even Martha.”

  “I have a way with animals,” said Annabella. “At home I could always get the sheep to follow me. Jack never could.”

  That was true, but so what? At least I didn’t scream at the sight of snakes and grasshoppers.

  “So how do we get out of the kitchen to find Papa?” Annabella asked.

  “We could ride mice,” I suggested.

  “I don’t know a way to the king’s chambers through the walls,” said Tom. “Martha could send a gnome to someone in the castle.”

  “We can’t wait around for that,” I said.

  Suddenly Tom snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Rufus! He’ll be much faster than mice, and we can go wherever we want without being noticed. Nobody pays any mind to a cat.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “I mean we should ride on Rufus! It’ll be an adventure!”

  “Are you trying to get eaten again?”

  “We’ll sit on the back of his neck where he can’t reach!”

  “You’re crazy,” I said.

  “I think it could work,” said Annabella.

  “You’re not serious, are you?” I asked. “Bells, that cat just tried to eat you!”

  “It’s all right, Tinkle Toes,” said Annabella, smirking. “I understand if you’re afraid. Tom and I can ride him, and you can stay here with Martha. We’ll be back with Papa before you know it.”

  I glared and flung off the ridiculous shoes. “Fine. You want to ride the cat? We can ride the cat.”

  Tom whooped and grinned. “Now, we just need to get something to lure Rufus and distract him. If only we had a rope…”

  “Like this?” Annabella whipped out her braided-grass rope from an inner pocket beneath one of her flounces.

  “Fantastic!” said Tom. “Well done, blossom head. Now we just need to tie it to the end of something. Jack, can you go get one of Martha’s knitting needles from her sewing basket?”

  I sulked all the way to the sewing basket, thinking this was a terrible idea. When I got back, Annabella was fraying and tangling the end of her rope, and Tom was telling Annabella about one of his adventures. She laughed. I started to feel this burning in my stomach. I wished Annabella had just stayed home with Mama.

  “I have the needle,” I interrupted them.

  “Good!” said Tom. “Let’s get going.”

  Tom tied the rope to the end of the knitting needle, and we gathered at the edge of the table. Annabella lowered the tangled end of the rope and gently swayed it back and forth. Rufus stared at it for a few seconds, his ears and tail twitching. He stalked toward it like a hunter on the prowl. Annabella bounced the rope, and Rufus followed it with rapt attention. She let it rest, and Rufus came in for a sniff. She led the big cat until he was in position right alongside the table.

  “On three,” said Tom. “One…two…three!”

  Tom and Annabella jumped, landing neatly on Rufus’s back, but I held back. Jumping from high places had never been one of my favorite things. I much preferred climbing.

  “Jack! Jump!” Annabella shouted. “He’s starting to move!”

  Rufus pawed at the grass rope Annabella was dangling in his face, getting farther away from the table.

  It was now or never, and I wasn’t about to let Annabella face the giants without me! I jumped, but my leg was still weak, so I didn’t push off hard enough. I fell fast, but the cat was not beneath me.

  “Jack!” Annabella screamed. Rufus shifted back just enough, and I landed on his tail.

  If there is a place you don’t ever want to be, it is on the end of a giant cat’s tail. Rufus turned and hissed, baring his dagger teeth. Then he began to chase his tail and therefore me. I held on to his fur for dear life as I went around and around, first one way and then the other. The pots and pans and food and fire all turned to a streaky blur.

  Somehow, as I was being whipped around and nearly clawed or gnawed to death, all I could think was that this beast of a cat was punishing me on behalf of all the mice and toads and crickets and spiders—all the small animals I had ever used for pranks. I was sorry! So sorry! Let me live!

  “Oh, Rufus, you silly cat,” I heard Martha say. She apparently did not notice the three silly children clinging to his fur. “Get out from under my feet and go chase some mice!” She pushed Rufus out the kitchen door, which momentarily caused him to stop chasing his tail.

  “Jack!” shouted Annabella. “Climb up here!”

  Climb? I knew how to climb. If only I could remember how. I was so dizzy, I barely knew my own name. I grabbed a clump of Rufus’s fur and pulled myself upward, then grabbed another. Finally I reached the neck, where Rufus couldn’t see or bite us. The world was still spinning, and my insides felt all tangled up like tree roots.

  “That was amazing!” said Tom. “Was it fun? Did it feel like you were spinning inside a tornado?”


  I took deep breaths. “It felt like a giant cat was chasing me while I was hanging on to his tail.”

  “You look a little green,” said Tom.

  “I think he’s going to be sick,” said Annabella.

  “Try not to be sick in the fur,” said Tom. “We don’t want Rufus to give himself a bath while we’re up here.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I just have to catch my breath.”

  Rufus meowed and stalked aimlessly, as though he wasn’t sure what to do next.

  “Let’s go catfishing,” said Tom. “Flower girl, toss the line!”

  “Aye, sir!” shouted Annabella, and she flung the knitting needle forward so her grass rope flew out in front of Rufus. Rufus shot into the air, and we all lurched forward, clinging to the fur.

  Away we went, flying down the corridors. Once Rufus showed signs of slowing down, we pulled in the rope and flung it out again, and Rufus chased it like a mouse—or me.

  Once my dizziness subsided, I had to admit that cats were magnificent as far as rides go. Rufus was perfectly still one moment, and then he’d spring to a run in the next. Then he’d jump and land so lightly, we barely felt the force of it at all. Cats are a very unpredictable, unboring way to travel.

  It also allowed us to search the castle in plain sight. A cat is a creature that has the right to roam wherever he pleases, since his sole purpose is to catch mice, and mice could be anywhere and everywhere. We went through the dining hall, which was empty except for a servant dusting the great golden chandelier and a few pixies buzzing in her face.

  “Pixies!” Annabella exclaimed.

  “Don’t call their attention here!” I hissed, but the servant took care of them by whacking them with a cloth. They fluttered down to the ground.

  “Oh, how horrid! The poor creatures!”

  “Annabella thinks the pixies are sweet.” I rolled my eyes at Tom.

  Tom shrugged. “She tamed Rufus. Maybe she can handle pixies.”

  I scowled, annoyed that he would take her side.

  We went down another corridor and entered the great hall. The ceilings were so high, I half expected to see clouds up there. Servants polished the gold floors and a great golden staircase. I thought I saw some elves polishing right along with the servants, but then they flew off and I realized they were more pixies.

  “Let’s go up the stairs,” Annabella suggested. “I bet that’s where the royal chambers are.”

  “Yeah,” said Tom. “Then we can slide down the banister on the way back!”

  We launched the rope up the golden staircase, and Rufus bounded up faster than a galloping steed. I loved giant cats!

  But when we reached the top of the staircase, Rufus was done. Annabella whipped out the rope again and again, but the cat just meowed pitifully and would not move farther.

  “Lazy cat!” shouted Annabella. She tried to spur him on like a horse, and then she tugged at his fur with all her might, but Rufus didn’t respond.

  He sauntered to a golden chair against the wall, leaped onto the cushioned seat, and curled up in a great furry ball.

  “I guess he’s tired,” I said.

  Annabella started walking down Rufus’s back.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Well, we’re not going to find Papa here, are we?”

  She had a point, so we slid down Rufus’s tail. He was asleep now, and he didn’t so much as twitch a whisker as we slid down the chair legs and tiptoed down the corridor. We kept to the walls and hid whenever we heard footsteps or voices.

  We came to a door and slipped beneath the crack to see what was inside. There wasn’t much, except a wolf-skin rug with fur so long, it came to our waists, and we trudged through it like a furry field. The wolf’s head was stuffed and resting on the floor with its jaws open wide.

  “It looks like it might swallow us whole,” Annabella said, a little nervous.

  “Better than biting you in two,” said Tom.

  The second chamber was filled with all sorts of treasures that looked dusty and forgotten. There were paintings of old nobles, piles of furniture, books, vases, and other valuable ornaments of silver and brass and finely carved wood.

  “This must be where they store all the nongold things,” said Tom. “I’ve heard about this. King Barf hates anything that isn’t gold, but of course he would never get rid of treasure.”

  We searched several more chambers and found nothing. Looking for Papa was like searching for a single wheat kernel in fifty acres of wheat, impossible, but finally we found something promising.

  “These doors are gold,” I said, digging my fingernail into them. “Pure gold.”

  “This has to be King Barf’s chamber!” said Tom.

  Yes! My heart ballooned and then deflated in a moment. “How can we get in?” The door came all the way to the floor, no more than a sliver of space. The king had taken extra precautions, probably to keep pixies out.

  “Maybe there will be a way to get in through the next room?” Annabella suggested.

  “Yes,” said Tom. “A secret passageway. Castles are full of secret passages.”

  We went on to the next door, which we could slide beneath. Annabella and I chattered about all the things we would do when we found Papa.

  “He’ll swing me up in the air,” said Annabella.

  “He’ll wrestle me onto the ground,” I said.

  “He’ll tell us a story about giants.”

  “And we’ll tell him a story about giants, only we’ll be in it!”

  “And you’ll go home?” asked Tom.

  “Yes!” said Annabella, beaming.

  “And the giants will never bother you again and everything will be perfect?” There was a hint of scorn in his voice.

  Annabella and I glanced at each other.

  Tom heaved a sigh. “This is stupid. I’m going back to Martha.”

  “But you said you would help us,” said Annabella. “You know this castle better than we do.”

  Tom shrugged. “This isn’t any fun, and I’m hungry.”

  “Is that all you care about? Fun and food?”

  “So what? You can’t live without food, and if it isn’t fun, what’s the point?”

  “To find our papa!” shouted Annabella.

  “Don’t you get it? Even if you found your papa and made it home, the giants would snatch you again on their next raid, or maybe they’d take your mama. Then what will you do? Go after her, too? You’re wasting your time.”

  I’d seen this side of Tom once before, and I didn’t like it. Worse, Annabella was crying now. She hiccupped with every breath. I glared at Tom. “Go back to Martha already. You don’t care about finding our papa.”

  “Why should I? He’s not my papa!”

  “It’s a good thing he isn’t. You’d probably just let the giants have your papa and go eat a giant block of cheese to celebrate.”

  Before I knew what was happening, I was on my back. Tom punched me in the gut and followed up with two blows to the face. I growled and rolled on top of Tom to punch him back. He scratched at my face and pulled my hair.

  “Jack! Tom! Stop!” Annabella tugged at my arm. “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

  But we didn’t listen to Annabella. We kept punching and growling and scratching like two wild animals, until something else stopped us.

  “Fee! Fee! Fum!”

  Tom and I froze, our hands still at each others’ throats. We looked up. There was the giant baby, Prince Archie, on hands and knees. His fat face was just above us. A thread of saliva dropped down from his mouth and slimed my arm. He bounced and panted like an excited puppy, and then he slapped a chubby hand around all three of us, squishing us together like wads of dough.

  “Fee! Fie! Fo! Fum!” he sang.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Queen Opal

  I took a moment to curse Great-Grandpa Jack’s stories and their lack of certain details. Here I was in the presence of a giant baby and I was barely able to breat
he, let alone chop off his fingers or nose or head. And what kind of monster chops up a baby anyhow?

  But apparently the baby was not opposed to the idea of chopping us up. He raised us to his mouth where it smelled of soap and sour milk. Annabella screamed, which made the baby flinch and cry.

  “Archie?” said a woman’s voice. “What do you have there? Pixies! No, Archie, NO! Give them to Mama, now!” We were ripped from the baby’s clutches and dangled by our feet in the giant queen’s face. Queen Opal.

  “Oh! You’re not pixies, are you?” she said. “You must be elves.” She brought us even closer to her face, so all I could see was my upside-down reflection in the black center of her eye. “I’ve never seen one this close before. Do you bite?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” said Annabella.

  “Do you steal? The king says elves are thieves. Did you little demons come to steal my baby?” The queen held us at a giant arm’s length, as though we reeked of lies and evil deeds.

  “Please, Your Highness, er, Majesty,” I stuttered. I had never addressed royalty before. “We are not here to steal anything, least of all a giant baby.”

  The queen eyed us warily. “You have no wish for a baby?”

  We all shook our heads. “We only want to get back what was stolen from us.”

  The queen put us down on her dressing table. “And what was that?”

  “Our papa,” said Annabella.

  “Your papa!” She sounded genuinely surprised. “Well, that’s rich. If my father were carried off by trolls, I wouldn’t search for him a moment. I would celebrate!”

  Annabella gasped in horror. I raised my eyebrows, and even Tom seemed a little shocked.

  “Oh, you think I’m despicable for saying such a thing,” said the queen. “But you would despise your father, too, if he cursed you and told lies about you and ordered you about like a common dog.”

  “Your papa cursed you?” asked Annabella, and I knew she was thinking about the princesses in Papa’s tales—they were always getting spells and curses put on them, but usually by evil wizards and witches, not their own fathers.