“They’re catching up!” Margo yelled.
Shivers took her around one more corner and they skidded to a halt. They were right back at the photo booth where they’d started. Margo and Albee scowled at Shivers.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Shivers fretted. “I forgot that three rights make a wrong.”
Margo panicked. “What are we going to do?”
Shivers looked around and saw that straight ahead was the Frank’s Fashions tent. “I know what we have to do,” he said, balling up his fists. “We have to go shopping.”
“Shivers, forget about the top hat!” Margo urged.
“Trust me.” Shivers ran at full speed toward Frank’s Fashions and as soon as he reached the tent, he yanked Margo inside.
He whirled around the tent in a fashion frenzy, grabbing clothes off the shelves. He covered up his pantaloons with a pair of purple pajama pants and tied a big orange belt around his waist. “There’s no time to color-coordinate!” he said frantically. Then he put Margo’s big green backpack into a bigger blue backpack and placed a floppy yellow hat on her head, tucking her ponytail underneath it. Finally, he tied a cape around each of their necks. He stood with Margo in front of a full-length mirror, took one look, then snapped his fingers and said, “Make it work!” He grabbed the franc from his pocket and dropped it on the counter next to the cash register. “I hope this covers it.”
“I hope this covers me,” said Margo, pulling the cape up in front of her face like a vampire. They all took a deep breath and walked back out into the ballroom. The Franks were getting frantic. They were looking everywhere—peeking under the carpets at Frank’s Flooring, digging in the dirt at Frank’s Ferns, even checking under the chickens at Frank’s Feathered Friends.
“Maybe they never existed in the first place!” shouted the frustrated man who ran Frank’s Fables.
Shivers, Margo, and Albee made their way across the room toward the exit without anyone giving them a second glance. “It’s working!” Margo said in a hushed voice.
“HEY!” one Frank yelled, pointing at them. They froze in terror. “Great outfits!” the Frank said, smiling approvingly.
“This is the best plan I’ve ever had,” said Shivers.
They had almost reached the doors that led out of the ballroom when the guy from the Frank Tank stepped right in front of them. “Hey, little Frank. How did you get out?”
Just then, Francois made another announcement that boomed through the room: “Traitor update! They are NOT under the chickens! Stop looking under the chickens! Also, they have stolen a fish who is definitely named Frank.”
The tall Frank’s face turned so purple with anger that he looked like Shivers’s pajama pants. “TRAITORS!” he cried, and grabbed Albee’s bag.
“Let go!” Shivers bellowed, but Frank held on tight and screamed, “I’ll save you, little Frank!”
The bag stretched and Shivers shrieked, but Albee had learned a thing or two from Margo’s Pillow Plow and he knew exactly what to do. He swam at Frank’s hand with all his might, crashing into it with his head. And if you think about it, fish are just big floating heads with teeny tails.
“My. Name. Is. Albee!” Albee said in a voice so magnificently menacing it was really too bad that no one could hear it. His fish force sent Frank’s hand flying off the bag.
They ducked between his legs, and Margo kicked open the doors. She led Shivers and Albee into the sunlight and down the street. The Franks were left in their dust, angrily shaking their Frank fists.
“We have to make a beeline for the raft,” Margo called to Shivers as they ran.
“It had better be a really fast bee.”
Soon, the afternoon would melt into evening, and Shivers was getting nervous. If he didn’t get the Treasure Torch back to Mayor President by the time the sun set, he would have to brace himself for a life filled with nothing but watery terror. He thought about what living on the Plunderer would be like, and it was not a pretty picture. It was more like a scary movie. There’d be no Margo—and no microwave!
Margo could see that Shivers was concerned. He was pretty bad at hiding his emotions—in fact, he had been screaming his head off for the last five minutes as they sprinted through the city. They finally reached the water’s edge where the raft was docked.
“Shivers!” Margo shook his shoulders and he stopped screaming.
“Sorry, I was deep in thought. Sometimes I need time for quiet contemplation.”
Margo sighed and they hopped on the raft. They set sail—or, rather, set umbrella—for the Bank of New Jersey. All they had to do to get there was cross the New Jersey River. At least, that’s what the New Yorkers liked to call it. The New Jersians liked to call it the New York River. That way, neither of them felt responsible for cleaning up the garbage.
“This river is filthy!” said Shivers. “Are we sailing through bathwater?”
Shivers was afraid of baths so on the rare occasion that he took one, things got pretty grimy.
As they sloshed through the water, murky river sludge began to creep up onto the raft. Brown algae stuck to the bottom of the beach balls and ship scum sloshed up through the space between the surfboards. The rope tying the boards together became covered in seaweed. Actually, it was riverweed, which is seaweed covered in trash. The rope was so wrapped up that it turned completely green. It looked a lot like a slimy—
“SNAKE!!” Shivers shrieked. He threw his arms up and spun around in a circle. “Get it off! Get it off!”
“Shivers, it’s just . . .” Margo tried to explain but he was in no state to listen. (Actually he wasn’t in any state at all, he was between New York and New Jersey.)
He kicked at the rope but that just caused it to wrap around his bunny slipper. “It’s got a taste for rabbit!!” he screamed. Then he flung his foot up like he was punting a football. The rope unraveled and went soaring through the air.
For once, it was Margo who was frozen in terror. They really needed that rope.
Shivers breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at her. “Just doing what I do best. Keeping us safe.”
And with that, the raft split in half. The surfboards were swept up in a swirl of raging river. The floaties became flotsam. The beach balls bounced above as the current slurped up Shivers, Margo, and Albee like they were the last drops of a Milk Quake.
MARGO SWAM BACK UP to the surface and gasped for air. She spotted the beach balls from the raft bobbing close by, still tied together by the kite string. She paddled over to them, fighting the current with all her strength. Shivers was nothing but a screaming head in the water. He couldn’t swim, but he could kick and flail. Albee’s bag of water was underwater, but he didn’t seem to mind. Margo dragged the chain of beach balls toward Shivers until it was within reach of his flapping hands.
“Get on!” she shouted, then got hit with a mouthful of river water.
He gripped on to the first beach ball and it rolled forward so he was floating on top of it. Margo scooped up Albee and latched on to the beach ball in the back. It looked like they were riding a train of beach balls. Shivers was the conductor and Margo was the caboose. By the sound of it, Shivers was also the train whistle.
Margo tried to steer them back on course, but her paddling was no match for the current. They were being whisked down the river and out to the gaping mouth of the Eastern Seas.
“Not the open ocean!” Shivers shouted. “We’re gonna be fish food!!!”
A fisherman standing on a bridge above the river smiled eagerly. “Did somebody say fish?” He pulled back his fishing pole and cast his line into the water. The current pulled Shivers and Margo under the bridge and the fishhook caught onto Shivers’s beach ball. There was a thunderous POP! as the ball exploded, flinging Shivers into the water. He dragged himself up onto the next beach ball in the chain.
They drifted closer and closer to the ocean, and the water was getting rougher. “INCOMING!” Margo pointed to a floating hunk of junk that was just a few feet away. I
t looked like an island of crushed light bulbs and shattered bottles, with jagged edges sticking out in all directions. Shivers closed his eyes and braced himself. As they whizzed past the trash, Shivers’s beach ball bumped into the sharp end of a broken golf club and popped. He screamed and scrambled up onto the only beach ball left—Margo’s.
Shivers held on to the ball while Margo clutched Shivers’s shoulders. They see-sawed back and forth as the ball tossed and turned amid the trash. Shivers almost got a mouthful of old mousetraps. Margo narrowly missed a noseful of moldy eggshells. Then, for a moment they were both balanced perfectly. “Hold on tight!!” Margo commanded. Shivers was so gripped with fear that holding on tight wasn’t a problem. In fact, he was too good at it. He squeezed so hard the ball popped into a hundred pieces.
Shivers, Margo, and Albee hit the water with a splash. They searched around frantically for something to grab on to. Finally, Margo spotted the beach umbrella that had been on the raft. She kicked her way over, pulling Albee along with her. She clutched the umbrella’s handle just as a huge gust of wind blew by, opening it up. “We’ve got our sail back!” she said triumphantly. Shivers managed to hold on to her ankle just before another gust of wind sent them skidding out into the sea.
“Where are we going?!” Shivers wailed.
“There!” Margo pointed to a towering black ship not far in the distance. The hull was lined in metal spikes. The flag was black and red, with a picture of a flexing arm with muscles made out of boulders.
“There?! No way!”
“We have to get out of this water somehow!” Margo steered the umbrella so they were propelled toward the ship.
“But we don’t know what kind of pirate is on there! Look at his ship! He’s probably a crazy person! He’s probably a maniac! He’s probably—”
They reached the ship and someone poked his head over and peered down at them. “Hey, brother!”
“Brock?!” Shivers and Margo were stunned. Albee wasn’t fazed.
Brock threw them a rope and pulled them on board. “Dad just finished building my new ship! What do you think?”
“It’s terrifying!” Shivers replied.
“Aw.” Brock smiled. “You’re just saying that to make me feel good.”
“Does it have a name?” Margo asked.
“Solid as a Brock! Because nothing can break it!” Brock punched the deck as hard as he could. “See, that actually really hurt,” he said, rubbing his knuckles. “So what were you guys doing in the middle of the river? Did you need a place to throw out your extra trash?”
Shivers and Margo told Brock all about their journey and explained that they needed to get to the Bank of New Jersey, find the Treasure Torch, and return it to the mayor, all before sundown. They had to move fast. It was almost dinnertime.
Brock was impressed. Then he was horrified. “Let me get this straight. You’re one step away from finding the most valuable treasure in the Eastern Seas. And then you’re going to return it?!”
Shivers nodded sheepishly.
Brock put his head in his hands. “Classic Shivers.” Then he set the course for the shores of New Jersey and the bank.
As they sailed, there was enough time for Brock to give them a tour of his new ship. He showed them the Wall of Knives. A warning sign was posted on the wall that said, CAREFUL, KNIVES ARE REALLY—
“Really what?” Margo asked.
“Really sharp! Somehow that part of the sign got cut off.”
Then Brock showed them his fish tank. It was full of silvery piranhas swimming around with ridiculous underbites, their razor-sharp teeth jutting up toward the ceiling.
Shivers jumped back. “They’re terrifying!”
“I could take ’em,” Albee said with the bloated confidence of a blowfish.
The next stop on the tour was Brock’s sword-sharpening room.
“Who needs a whole room for sword sharpening?” asked Shivers.
“That’s what Billy the Blunt said.”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“Exactly,” said Brock.
The tour ended there, because they had reached New Jersey Beach. Brock dropped anchor and they hurried off the ship. As they ran onto the sand, Shivers looked back nervously at the orange sunlight skimming across the ocean. Evening was beginning to set in and he knew that the orange would soon be fading to red and not long after that, it would be nighttime. When he reached the pit in the sand where the Land Lady used to sit, he stopped running. He stood still, sadly realizing how empty the beach looked without his ship.
“What’s wrong?” Margo asked.
“If we don’t return the torch in time, this might be my last time on this beach with you.”
Margo was about to say something, but instead she marched forward toward the bank.
“Where are you going?” Shivers called.
She turned around and looked him straight in the eye. “To get that torch.”
The Bank of New Jersey was just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the beach, but Margo preferred running. It was much faster. Before they knew it, Shivers, Margo, and Brock had reached the magnificent white stone building. They walked through the big, glass doors into the cavernous lobby. Everything was made of marble, from the floors to the walls to the many statues of men in fancy tuxedos holding up dollar bills and drooling. The bank was crowded with people standing patiently in a long line that led to a row of bank tellers.
They quickly noticed a sign that said BANK VAULTS THIS WAY with an arrow pointing to a corridor. As they walked over to it, they were stopped by a guard who looked like a big muscly meat loaf. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Vault twenty-five,” Margo said, confidently holding up the key.
“Sorry, munchkin, only adults allowed in the vaults. Despite their name, these safes are not safe.”
Margo glared at him. On her list of Things She Hated, being told what to do was very high up. Being called munchkin was even higher. She turned on her heels and marched away to scope out the scene. There were guards posted throughout the room: three in front of the ATMs, two in front of the hallway that led to the vaults, and strangely, six in front of the coffee machine.
“We need to get past these guards,” Margo said, still steamed.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Brock. “I’ll smash ’em!”
“You can’t smash them,” said Margo. “That will just draw more attention to us. We need to create a distraction.”
Brock pointed at the customers. “It seems like everyone in here is already distracted. They’re just standing around staring ahead at nothing. Why are they doing that?”
“They’re waiting in line,” Margo explained.
“Hm.” Brock scratched his chin. He couldn’t figure out the reason for this so-called line. “Wouldn’t it be easier if they all just rushed to the front at the same time and started screaming? That’s the Brock way!” He gave a thumbs-up and smiled.
Margo saw through the bank window that the sun was just bumping up against the horizon. If there was ever a time for a risk, it was now. She smiled and said, “Maybe you should show them the Brock way.”
Before Shivers could protest in fear, Brock was barreling straight through the line. “ME FIRST!!!!” he screamed.
“Hey! I was about to be first!” shouted the woman at the front of the line.
“And I was going to be first after that!” shouted the man behind her.
“Does the line mean nothing???!!!” a man in the middle cried, shaking his fist at the sky.
Confusion swept through the crowd until one woman stood up tall and declared, “If that guy doesn’t have to wait, then neither do I!”
The concept caught on quickly and the line unraveled into chaos.
“NO LINE! NO LINE! NO LINE!” the customers shouted, dashing toward the bank tellers. It was complete pandemonium. The guards rushed away from their posts to try to get everyone under control. As soon as the coast was c
lear, Margo grabbed Shivers’s arm and ran down the corridor toward the vaults. They took one last look back at the surging crowd.
“I told you lines were dangerous,” said Shivers.
They ran down the hallway, past rows and rows of heavy locked doors. The farther they went, the more deserted the place felt. It was clear that no one came here very often. The air was damp and cold and the corners were full of dust and cobwebs. Soon, they spotted Vault 24, so Vault 25 couldn’t be far. They were about to turn a corner when they heard someone cough, the sound echoing off of the marble walls. They peeked around the corner and saw a man right outside Vault 25. He had poufy white hair that looked like a dollop of whipped cream and a thick bristly mustache that looked like a fuzzy worm had crawled on his face and died. He was sitting in a splintery wooden chair, reading a magazine.
“What are we going to do?” Margo asked.
Shivers looked more closely at the magazine in the guard’s hands. The cover was a picture of a pile of pillows. Shivers recognized it right away. “Snoozer’s Weekly!” he exclaimed. “The Puffy Pillow Edition? I didn’t even know that hit the stands yet! They’ve got a whole list of new naps in there!”
“Shivers, now is not the time for naps!” Margo said in her loudest whisper.
Margo was an expert at a lot of things—sword fighting, detective work, general awesomeness. But if there was one thing for certain that Shivers knew more about, it was naps. He turned to her and said, “It is the time for naps. Stay here.” He turned the corner, padding softly up to the guard.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be back here!” the guard barked, jumping out of his chair.
“Yes I am! I’m from . . .” Shivers cleared his throat. “The bank’s comfort department! It must be tough sitting in that chair all day. It doesn’t look very comfortable.”
The guard sighed. “It’s not. If it weren’t for the spiders keeping me company, I don’t know how I’d stay awake all day.”
The Pirate Who's Back in Bunny Slippers Page 5
