Jack (24 page)

“Great idea, Jack,” said Papa. “Let's go see what can be done.”

But my grand plan was not to be. With great effort we were able to reach the window and pry it open. Except below us there was not dirt, but flowing water. The king's window overlooked the castle moat, and the seeds merely floated away when we threw them down.

“We could jump,” said Tom. “There's a chance we'll get swallowed by a fish, but they're usually easy to escape.”

Papa and I both stared at Tom.

“Didn't I ever tell you about the time I got swallowed by a fish?”

“No,” I said. “But this isn't really the ti—”

“It was amazing!” gushed Tom. “The fish was caught
and taken to the castle kitchen. Then Martha slit open the belly to gut it, and there I was!”

“That's disgusting,” I said.

“Amazing,” Tom repeated.

“Night is almost over,” Papa cut us off. “Whatever we do, we need to hurry, before the king wakes.”

He was right. The sky was no longer black but deep purple. Behind his heavy bed curtains, there was a good chance the king would sleep beyond sunrise, but we couldn't take any chances. Any moment he could waken, and we'd be back where we started.

“Look up there,” said Tom. He pointed to the stars twinkling in the night sky. I was about to say that now was not the time for stargazing, but then I saw what he was really pointing at. Some of them were zipping around, like comets gone wild. They were getting closer and closer and closer.

“Oh no,” I said. “Not
them.
”

“Who's that?” asked Papa.

“Pixies!” burst Tom. “Get inside! Shut the window
now.
”

We tried to close the window, but it was much harder to pull it shut than push it open, and the pixies were too fast. They streamed in the window by the dozen, chirping and squeaking and chanting over the gold in the chamber—all except one, who rushed straight at me and shoved me to the ground.

“Jack!” she squealed.

“Annabella?”

“I knew I'd find you! I knew it! The pixies knew just
where you were, and we've been searching and searching for a way to get inside and we did it!” The green-haired pixie prince who'd been carrying Annabella fluttered down next to her and chirped. When he saw me, he sneered. I flinched and backed away.

“Bells?” Papa stepped forward. Annabella released me and turned. Her whole being lit up.

“Papa!” Annabella threw herself at Papa, and he picked her up and swung her around. The green pixie squealed in protest.

“It's all right, Saakt. This is my papa.”

The pixie squeaked and Annabella laughed.

“What did he say?” asked Papa.

“He says I must look like my mother.”

“That she does,” said Papa, smiling. “And speaking of your mother, I would like to get home before her heart bursts with worry.”

“The pixies will help,” said Annabella. “They can fly us home.”

“But, Bells,” I protested, “it isn't safe. Remember how they attacked us before?”

“I remember how they attacked
you,
after you went at them with Papa's axe.”

At this the green pixie pulled out an axe and swung it at my face. I backed away. “Hey! That's mine!”

“Eets tein sot!”
he squeaked.

“He says it's his now,” said Annabella. “You can't be trusted.”

“
I
can't be trusted? What about
him
?”

“The pixies saved me from the king, and I've been
with them this whole time. They brought me to their big nest, Grand Pixie Palace, in the woods, and they fed me nectar and honey and let me sit on a golden throne, and I slept in a walnut shell! And they've been helping me search for you every day.”

“Bells, I'm glad you found us,” I said. “But we can't just ride out of here on pixies. It's too dangerous.” My leg was starting to ache just thinking about it.

“We can!” Annabella tugged on my arm. “They're my friends.”

“No, Annabella.”

“Why don't you trust me?” said Annabella.

“Because you're too small!” I burst.

Annabella scowled at me. “Small doesn't mean I'm wrong, Jack. It doesn't mean I can't help.”

I looked at the pixies, now all over the chamber, gleefully pawing and dancing all over the king's gold.

“Jack,” said Papa “maybe we should trust your sister? Have faith in the little things?”

I wrestled with this in my head. I didn't want to be rescued by pixies. Also, I had to admit that I didn't want to be rescued by Annabella. I was supposed to be the hero. Jack the great. But maybe part of being great was knowing when to step aside and let someone else take the lead, even if they were smaller than you.

Annabella looked at me pleadingly. I smiled.

“Wow, Bells.”

“What?”

“I think you're growing before my eyes.”

She looked down at herself. “Really?”

“Really. Can the pixies fly us now?” I asked.

Annabella beamed. “Of course they can!”

She whistled, and the pixies arose from all over the royal bedchamber and converged in a tight diamond formation. I couldn't believe the power my sister held over them—more than their attraction to gold. They flew in a circle faster and faster until they spiraled down like a tornado, squeaking and chirping.

“Bells, tell them to be quiet!”

“I can't just tell them to be quiet. They're excited!”

The pixies began to pick people up one by one, sweeping them off the ground by their arms and legs or clothes. Baker Baker was picked up on either side by two pixies with wasp wings. He became rigid as a board and looked utterly terrified as he was lifted off the ground. Four pixies each took a limb of Sir Bluberys's unconscious body, and another four pixies lifted his mule and flew them out the window.

Papa watched all this and scratched his head as though he were not certain of the whole endeavor, especially when a pixie with yellow hair and blue moth wings grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off the ground. He hung in the air, flailing his arms and legs like he had no idea how to use them.

“It's all right, Papa!” said Annabella. “It's perfectly safe!” Before Papa could respond, the pixie flew him out into the sky, now pale pink and getting brighter every moment.

With the sun, the king would wake. He would find us gone and much of his gold, too. It would fill him with
rage, of course, but would it stop him? Perhaps he would not come after us, but surely the king would find other elves to make his gold, other slaves. The hen would keep laying, the crops would keep dying, and nothing would change. It wasn't enough just to escape. Someone needed to stop the king before his gold obsession destroyed not one but two worlds.

The green pixie took hold of Annabella's arm and lifted her up, and a pixie with orange hair took Tom. A blue pixie grasped my arm, but I pulled away.

“Don't be afraid, Jack! They won't bite you!” Annabella called.

“My sling!” I called back. “I forgot it.” I patted my pockets as though searching for it. “Go on ahead! I'll catch up!”

“Hurry!” cautioned Annabella, and she and Tom flew out the window. Soon they were nothing more than specks against the rising sun, now blossoming over the dusty horizon. The rays stretched through the windows, glistening against the gold. There wasn't much time.

I had not lost my sling, of course. But I had gotten an idea.

The pixie looked at me expectantly. She jerked her head toward the window.

“I can't fly out now,” I told her. “I have a hen to steal.”

I
had to steal the golden hen. I guess I'd always known it would come to this, one way or another. Ever since I'd seen that hen lay one of her golden eggs, ever since I'd known it was the magic that was sapping all the power and life from the land, I'd known that somehow it would have to be stopped. I couldn't stop the king's greed or the magician's insanity, but I could take the golden hen, and I could put the giant seeds back in the ground and things would start to grow again. Maybe then the king would start to see that the land—and all that could grow out of it—was more precious than gold.

Stealing a hen is a particularly difficult business, almost impossible. I'd tried it once for a joke on Miss Lettie Nettle. The difficulty is that hens are highly excitable. You have to be stealthy—silent as a shadow. You have to take the hen without its noticing. So what did it take to steal a giant hen that lays golden eggs? I had absolutely no idea—maybe just a barrel of luck and a bushel of crazy—and chicken bait, of course, but I had plenty of that.

I ran to the dungeon grate and climbed down just enough to reach an ear of corn. I peeled off the husks and dug into the giant kernels, working them free from the cob. The kernels were as big as my hands. I made a pile of them on the edge of the hearth and then climbed back up the cornstalk. The blue pixie squeaked at me and hovered over the corn.

“Shoo!” I waved her away. But the pixie didn't budge, and I didn't dare do anything to anger her and risk another pixie bite. I gathered as many corn kernels as I could hold and laid a trail from the king's bed to the window on the other side of the room. I hoped the hen was as hungry as she looked.

After I had placed a dozen kernels along the floor, I slid one into each of my pockets and began to climb the posts of the king's bed. The posts were smooth and slick, and they shook with the king's snoring, so I slid down a foot for every two I climbed. Soon my hands became slick with sweat, and I slid all the way back to the floor.

The pixie came closer and suddenly I found myself picked up by the seat of my pants and lifted into the air.
No! I wasn't ready to be rescued yet! But to my surprise, the pixie carried me through the bed curtains and hovered above the sleeping king and the hen.

“Hey, thanks,” I whispered. “Uh…can you lower me down, please?” Very slowly, we drifted down like a feather floating in a breeze. It would be sunrise by the time we reached the hen. “Faster!” I said, and with an angry squeak, the pixie dropped me the rest of the way. I landed with a soft
flump
on King Barf's pillow.

With a smug smile, the pixie landed gently on top of the hen.

Cluck.

I held my breath and listened. The king was still snoring, but we needed to get out of here fast!

I pulled out a kernel of corn and held it up to the hen's enormous beak. She stretched her neck and, after a few moments of inspection, snatched it out of my hands and gobbled it up.

“Good girl, Treasure,” I whispered. “Come on. There's more.” I held out another kernel and then backed away. The hen followed, hesitantly at first, and then faster until suddenly she hit the end of her chain.

The chain! Snakes and toads, I'd forgotten about the chain. I stumbled over the pillows and blankets until I found it, but then the king mumbled, “Good girl, Treasure. Lay.”

The hen suddenly went rigid. She trembled as she expelled her golden egg, and the king clutched it in his hand and turned over in his sleep, pulling the chain, the chicken, and me with it.

I waited for the king and the hen to settle. Then I took hold of the chain and followed it toward King Barf.

The end of the chain was attached to a golden band on the king's wrist, but the link was not so tight that it could not be unlinked—especially with my tiny elf hands. Very slowly, I unhooked it from the king's wrist. With a gentle tug, I led the hen toward the edge of the bed. She followed me with a curious cluck. The pixie lured her along as well with one of the corn kernels.

I parted the bed curtains. Golden rays of light were seeping through the open window.

I hoisted myself onto the hen's back. We'd be riding from here on out.

“Look down, Treasure,” I said. “See the corn? Go get it!”

The hen swiveled her head in confusion, until finally her eyes locked onto the trail of corn below.

Bergeek!

I held tight to Treasure's feathers as she jolted forward and we landed with a heavy thud. Chickens are not the most graceful of birds. Treasure pecked at the corn and followed the trail right to the window, just as I had planned. But when we reached the table, she had no interest in going
up.
The pixie buzzed in front of her face and then rose quickly to the window and back down again. The hen clucked but did not move.

“Treasure?” said the king sleepily.

Oh no! The hen went rigid at the sound of the king's voice, probably expecting a command. “We have to go
now
!” I said, and I dug into the hen's pinfeathers
and tugged with all my might. Treasure squawked and flapped her wings wildly and with a jerky motion rose up to the windowsill.

“Treasure?” The king opened his bed curtains and shielded his eyes from the bright light, but as they adjusted, his pink face grew red and his eyes widened with surprise when he saw me.

“Thief!” shouted the king. He jumped out of bed and stumbled after us, reaching for Treasure.

“Go!” I shouted. “Go! Go! Go!” I yanked more feathers, and the pixie grabbed the back end of the hen and flapped her own wings. The hen squawked and tipped out the window, just as the king's fists came crashing down on the sill.

“No!” he screamed. “Treasure! Come back!”

The hen beat her wings in desperation, as did the pixie. We were barely able to move beyond the moat and land at a bumpy run. The king's screams rang in our ears. “Guards! Guards! They stole my hen! They stole my Treasure!”

“Come on, Treasure!” I shouted. “Run! Fly!”

The hen did move, but not nearly fast enough. The pixie tugged and pulled but couldn't lift her, and finally she abandoned us, flying beyond the castle gates and down the hill.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Don't leave us!” So much for trusting the pixies.

There were shouts and crashes from the palace, and I knew the king and his men would soon be upon us.

“Treasure, do you want the king to get you? Move!”

Bergeek!
The hen flapped her wings and scuttled forward. We were nearly to the gates when a swarm of pixies appeared. They dipped down, surrounded the hen, and picked her up entirely, led by the pixie I thought had abandoned me. She grabbed me by the back of my pants and lifted me up, up, up and away. A second later, the castle doors burst open and the king spilled out in his gold nightdress, followed closely by a dozen soldiers, groggy and disheveled, holding spears and axes and swords.

“That's my hen!” raged the king. “That's my Treasure! Don't let them get away!”

But what could they do? They couldn't fly. I laughed as the pixies flew us over the castle and out of sight of King Barf and his giant tantrum.

T
om and Annabella were waiting for me at the beanstalk. It looked as though the rest of the elves, including Papa, had already gone down Below. Annabella waved as the pixies lowered us to the ground.

“Jack, what—”

“I couldn't leave her,” I said. “King Barf will never stop taking from us as long as he has Treasure.”

“What are you going to do with her?” asked Tom.

“Bring her home.”

“Mama is going to faint,” said Annabella.

“Probably.” I smiled as I imagined the look on Mama's face when she saw a chicken the size of her kitchen.

The pixies were buzzing around the hen, squeaking
and chattering, like they knew exactly what she was capable of and wanted in on the gold just as much as the king.

“King Barf's going to come after her,” said Tom.

“But they won't know where to look,” I said. “I don't think they'll find—”

Boom.

The earth began to vibrate, and a deep rumbling grew louder and louder. Up on the hill, a dozen or more soldiers on horses stormed down the road, including Frederick and Bruno, the magician, and King Barf leading the charge. He was still in his golden nightdress, a crown thrust hastily over his nightcap. I would have laughed if I hadn't been so terrified.

The hen squawked in distress and started to peck furiously at the ground, like she could sense it was her only escape.

“Get on the hen!” I told Tom and Annabella, and we all climbed up her wings and sat on her back. Saakt squeaked and fluttered in front of Annabella.

“Won't you come with us?” she asked.

The green pixie squeaked some more and looked unhappily at the hole.

“Oh, yes. Too much dirt. I understand. I hope to come back someday, if I can. Will you try to stop the king from coming after us?”

The green pixie stood tall and raised his hand in a kind of salute. He squeaked at the other pixies, and they all rose up in a flurry and shot after the king and his men.

“Go down, Treasure!” I kicked at the hen like a horse. At first she just squawked and flapped her wings, but then she stumbled forward enough that we fell through the hole and plummeted toward earth.

“She's not flying!” Annabella shouted.

Indeed she wasn't. The bird was limp and lifeless as a chicken supper. Was she dead? I could see people below, gathered around the beanstalk. I could see our house. I could see the hard ground getting closer and closer.

“Pull her feathers!” I shouted. We yanked hard, which roused the bird to frenzied flight. She flapped her wings just enough to catch the air before we hit the earth. The hen landed with a bounce and a crash, and we tumbled from the tail and rolled onto green grass—normal grass that came in tiny blades beneath our feet. Treasure squawked and flapped around as though her head had just been chopped off. The men from the dungeon had gathered in our fields and were now dodging Treasure's haphazard jerking and flapping.