Jackson Jones, Book 2 Read online

  “Baaaa hahahahahaha! Never snapped a whip! Ha! That’s a good one! I like you, boy!” And a meaty hand pounded Jackson’s shoulder. Ouch. Jackson rubbed it gingerly. (Gingerly isn’t a seasoning. Ginger is a seasoning, and it’s delicious in cookies and stir-fry. Gingerly means, “Please touch gently, because gosh that hurts!”)

  “Can you please tell me where I am?” Jackson asked as politely as possible.

  The creature wiped a tear from his furry eye. Not that his eyes were furry. But his thick, bushy brown eyebrows were, and they hung down into his eyes. “Cancha read, boy?”

  Jackson looked around. “Read? Read what?”

  He pointed at his chest. “This ain’t English? Or whatever?”

  On the creature’s chest, pinned very neatly, was a sign. It read:

  Stimple: Keeper of the Tree

  “What’s a Stimple?”

  “I am!” The creature laughed. “I’m a tree-troll!” He pulled his work bag open and shoved his monstrous fly swatter inside. Jackson caught a glimpse of a few screws, a hammer, a wrapped up ball of something-or-other and a bottle of something slimy. And a roll of …

  “Why do you carry around toilet paper?” Jackson asked.

  Stimple glared at him, snapping his bag closed. “Nosy.”

  “But …”

  “Why do you think I have toilet paper?” Stimple raised a hairy eyebrow.

  Jackson swallowed and quickly changed the subject. Which was probably a good idea. We don’t really want to know why Stimple had toilet paper or what he used it for, do we? We can guess on our own.

  “So—ahem!—what does the Keeper of the Tree do?”

  “I mind the tree.” Stimple gave Jackson a strange look. Jackson nodded. (Wouldn’t you?) “So what are ya doin’ in my tree?” Stimple growled. His thick fingers twisted his bushy eyebrows as he approached Jackson.

  Jackson explained how the wind had blown him away. (If you don’t remember that part, go back a few pages and re-read. But really, you should pay better attention.)

  Stimple nodded. “Hmm … hmm … well. Looks like we need to get you outta my tree. How ‘bout you grab onto that parasol pole and I’ll shove ya out and we’ll let the wind take ya home!”

  Jackson’s eyeballs bugged out of his head. (Not literally.) “Um, is there a safer way to get out?”

  Stimple frowned. Jackson could see that he was concentrating very, very hard. “Humph. I guess so. But I’ve got a lot of work to do first. You’ll have to tag along.”

  “But couldn’t you just tell me, and I’ll go ahead and be on my way?” Jackson pleaded. “My family will be wondering where I am and why I haven’t finished cleaning the pool.”

  Stimple turned away. “Your … family? You? Have a family?” he whispered.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  With a resounding snort, Stimple whirled around to face Jackson with red eyes. A growl came from his throat. “You’ll help me with my chores, and then I’ll get ya home.”

  “Okay! No problem. Not in a hurry. Happy to wait. Sorry to rush you,” Jackson stammered, holding out his hand for Stimple to shake. Stimple stared at it.

  “I don’t know where that hand’s been.” Stimple turned away and began to scratch his nose.

  The creature in front of Jackson was different, no doubt about it. Stimple was short, only coming up to Jackson’s shoulders. He had a very large head and his ears were the size of saucers, (A saucer is a cute little plate for your teacup.) with long hairs sprouting off them. His eyes were tiny, so tiny you couldn’t see what color they were. Actually, you probably could, but he was scowling so much that his eyes and bushy eyebrows were just lines. He wore a dark, dirty blazer and dark, dirty pants. He had a large nose, about the size of a sweet potato. And coming out of his sweet potato nose were two large tufts of hair. It looked like he had shoved two kittens up his nose. And below the two kittens shoved up his nose was a very huge beard. And it seemed to have bits of this and that in it. Was that … was that a tortilla chip?

  Stimple turned and plodded down the tree branch. Jackson followed, his arms straight out, trying to keep his balance.

  “What? You gonna fly away?” Stimple roared with laughter. Jackson’s face turned red, and he put his arms down.

  And then he saw something most unexpected.

  chapter 8

  In Which Jackson Sees Something Most Unexpected

  This is most unexpected,” said Jackson. Because in front of them was a door.

  And not just any door.

  This was …

  … an elevator door.

  chapter 9

  In Which Stimple Does a Monkey Impression

  Is that … it can’t be … we’re in a tree …” Jackson spluttered.

  Stimple snorted. “How else are ya supposed to get up and down? Swing like a monkey? Oo-oo-oo-eeee!” Stimple scratched his belly as he bounced, little bits of food flying from his beard. Jackson backed out of the way as an apple core fell from overhead and hit the ground.

  “Erm … you’ve dropped a few things,” he said, pointing to the apple core and what looked like a half-eaten granola bar.

  “Heh?” Stimple bent down and picked up the apple core and popped it in his mouth. Jackson turned away.

  Jackson looked at the elevator door. It was made of wood (of course), and someone had carved lines of flowers and vines into the bark. Stimple’s thick finger pushed the button beside it.

  There was a whir and a churn and then …

  DING.

  The door opened.

  “Good morning, sir. Which floor, please?” asked a voice that was very serious, very dignified, and very polite. Jackson’s eyes popped out of his head. Not literally.

  chapter 10

  In Which Jackson Meets an Old Friend

  The gentleman in the elevator was old. White tufts of hair made little fluffy clouds around his ears.

  His expression was serious, but there was some kind of joke twinkling behind his dark blue eyes. He wore a dark maroon velvet suit with sparkling gold buttons and golden, tasseled epaulets. (Epaulets are like shoulder pads, but very fancy and official-looking.) A thick crease ran down the length of each of his pant legs, and his pants were tucked into a pair of red high-top sneakers.

  “I know you! You’re … Sir Shaw! You ran the Book Room in my Great-Aunt Harriett’s hair! What are you doing here?” Jackson exclaimed.

  The elevator operator looked down at Jackson, his bushy white eyebrows almost covering his dark blue eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t recall, sir. It’s been a very long time since I worked in the Book Room.” His eyes clouded a moment. “A very long time indeed.” He straightened himself. “Good morning, Stimple. Will you be coming in today? I would love to hear how you are are doing.”

  Stimple scowled. “No. I ain’t ridin’ in your elevator. Elevators are for you soft folk. I prefer the stairs.” He pointed a thick finger at Jackson. “Go wait in the garden.”

  Jackson stepped inside, and with a whir and a churn, the door slid closed.

  chapter 11

  Which Begins Awkwardly but Gets Better After That

  Jackson didn’t know what to say. This was terribly awkward. Jackson stared at his shoes and twiddled his thumbs as Sir Shaw pulled the gold hand lever. It made little ticks as it changed gears. The elevator gave a little bump, and soon they were moving. A little black arrow above the door slowly moved downwards, counterclockwise. There weren’t any numbers indicating which floor they were on, or which floor they were going to.

  Sir Shaw stared straight ahead.

  “Ahem!” Jackson cleared his throat. “How long ago did you switch jobs? I mean, were you promoted or something?” Jackson immediately wished he hadn’t said anything. It probably wasn’t a promotion, going from running a Book Room to running an elevator. Had Sir Shaw been demoted?

  “I really cannot recall how long it has been,” said Sir Shaw. “And no, I was not promoted or demoted. In my line of work, one goes where one is
needed most.” Sir Shaw’s mouth gave a glimpse of a smile, but then it straightened back into a firm, serious line.

  “What does that mean? Go where you’re needed most?”

  “Well, for example, I worked as a trapeze artist in a circus for a few years. After that I spent some time singing on cruise ships. And after that I toured with a famous opera star. But we will not get into that right now. One simply goes where one is needed. Which floor, sir?”

  “Well,” said Jackson slowly, “just where does this elevator go?”

  “It goes up and it goes down.”

  Jackson rolled his eyes. “No, I mean, when the doors open, what happens?”

  “Folks come in and folks go out.”

  “No! I mean, what’s on each floor?”

  Sir Shaw turned to look at Jackson, his dark blue eyes twinkling. “It is not for me to say. That is something you have to figure out yourself.” Jackson sighed, but Sir Shaw just leaned in closer. “Stimple will be a while. Why not go on an adventure?”

  Jackson’s eyes widened. “But I have to get home. Maybe I could come back later?”

  But then, with a whir and a churn …

  DING!

  The elevator door opened.

  chapter 12

  In Which Jackson Is Well-Prepared

  Jackson was looking out at a garden. Which doesn’t make much sense, if you think about it. How could there be a garden in a tree? But after everything that has happened, you (as well as Jackson) are just better off accepting all these things that don’t make sense. As a very famous author once wrote, “I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” Just this morning, Jackson had believed that the crow in the backyard with the broken foot was actually a pirate’s crow that had escaped to save his own life. But back to the garden.

  You know those gardens that are tilled and maintained by seventeen full-time gardeners to be enjoyed briefly by a countess as she steps on her private balcony to breathe in the morning air before leaving to catch her private jet ride to Monaco? It was that kind of garden. But what made this garden even more amazing was that the entire garden was in a tree!

  Jackson took a step when he felt a hand resting on his shoulder.

  “You will need this, sir,” the kind voice said. Sir Shaw’s pristine, white-gloved hand held a leather satchel. Jackson looked at it, and then took it in his hands. He pulled the strap over his head and across his body, then started out the door once more.

  “You might want to open the bag first,” said Sir Shaw. “To see what is inside for your journey. Make sure you are well prepared.”

  Jackson flipped the top open. Inside the satchel were a heavy-duty flashlight, a bottle of water, and a roll of toilet paper.

  “Toilet paper?” Jackson raised his eyebrows.

  Sir Shaw shrugged. “You never know when you will need it.”

  “Um,” Jackson began.

  “Have a good day, sir.”

  And with a whir and a churn, the doors closed.

  chapter 13

  In Which Jackson Doesn’t Get His Nap

  The path that lay before Jackson was made of stepping stones. Creeping thyme grew between the stones, and tall lupines and bee balm led the way. Branches overhead had been trimmed back to make an archway. Jackson walked slowly and carefully along the path.

  Up ahead was a gazebo. As Jackson’s face lifted to catch the warm sun, he followed the path up and stepped inside. A hammock greeted him there, enticing him to lie down. He turned to sit when …

  … a dog bit his … ahem … behind.

  chapter14

  In Which Jackson Finds Himself in a Pickle

  Jackson jumped up and backed away from the hammock, his hands rubbing the sore spot. A large, rather vicious-looking, black dog was glaring at him. Its dark eyes stared, unblinking, its teeth snarling and a large gob of saliva clinging to his upper lip. The dog panted heavily, then growled again, the hackles on his neck sharp and erect.

  Jackson stepped back very, very slowly. “Easy, fella,” he said. “Good boy, good boy … sit.” The dog’s muscular back legs walked forward as it lowered its head, growling from deep in its chest.

  Jackson didn’t know what to do. “Good boy. Easy. St—ay.” The dog inched closer.

  Jackson swallowed.

  Oh, dear.

  chapter 15

  A Very Proper Introduction

  Muffy! Manners!” a little voice squeaked.

  Jackson’s jaw dropped, and his eyes bugged out of his head. (Not literally.)

  The creature in front of him was tiny, barely reaching Jackson’s shoulders. Her hair was tucked neatly in a ponytail, and she wore a brown uniform, ironed perfectly with little creases where little creases should be. A red neckerchief was tied at her throat, and a leather pouch was fastened at her belted waist. Her big, long-lashed brown eyes fixed on Jackson, and she smiled.

  “Are you here for the tour, sir?” her squeaky voice pipped.

  “Meeka?”

  chapter 16

  There are Absolutely No Eels, Kangaroos, or Rhinoceroses in This Chapter

  The elf in front of him batted her eyelashes and smiled uncertainly. “No, I am not Meeka. Meeka is my … cousin.” Her nose turned up a bit when she said Meeka’s name.

  “Cousin? You look so much like her!”

  “Ah. Well. I think you’ll find that I am tidy and organized while she is … well, she’s Meeka,” said the elf. “Folks do seem to like her …”

  “I’ll say! She gave me a tour of Great-Aunt Harriett’s hair, and …”

  “Anyhow.” The elf gave a mighty sniff. “I am Burt.”

  “Burt?”

  She gave him a look. “Yes. Burt. Is that a problem?” The dog growled quietly. Burt shook her head and gave a very toothy smile. “Muffy, manners!” she sang. The dog sat back on its haunches.

  “No, no. I think it’s a great name!” Jackson watched Muffy. “I was worried that, uh, Muffy would rip my arm off! Ha!” Jackson gave a very nervous laugh.

  Burt giggled. “Oh, no! He’d never do that! At least—he won’t as long as I’m around. He’s a great watchdog.”

  “Do you need a watchdog in here? I mean, we’re in a tree.” Jackson felt like he was pointing out the obvious.

  Burt ruffled Muffy’s fur with perfectly-polished, pink nails. “Yes, I do. He keeps out the eels and the kangaroos and the rhinoceroses.”

  “You get kangaroos up here?”

  “I haven’t seen any lately.”

  “That’s because kangaroos don’t climb trees!” Jackson said.

  “Then Muffy’s doing his job, isn’t he? Yes, he is!” She rubbed his ears, her squeaky voice squeaking higher and higher.

  Jackson shook his head. “Rhinoceroses can’t climb trees. Neither can eels!”

  Burt shrugged. “Well, it’s nice to know I’m safe from eels and kangaroos and nasty-wasty rhinoceroses! Yes, I am!” she cooed. Muffy wagged his stumpy tail.

  Jackson sighed. Who was this elf?

  “So would you like a tour of the gardens?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  “Why not?” asked Jackson, shrugging his shoulders.

  Burt straightened the already-straight hem of her skirt and patted her immaculate hair. She sniffed importantly and turned with a click of her heels. “We go this way.”

  chapter 17

  In Which It Is Detrimental to Have Food in Your Pockets (Detrimental Means Yes, You Just Might Die)

  The sun shone down, and Burt’s little boots padded down the cobblestone path as she chatted. “These are lupines. They were planted approximately fourteen hundred years ago. Every year I divide them and collect their seeds. These are sunflowers. I collect their seeds, too. This patch here is filled with annuals, so I have to till the ground and replant every spring.”

  Jackson whistled. Muffy’s ears perked up and he growled. Jackson stopped walking.

  Burt glanced at Jackson. “I wouldn’t recommend whistling. Or clappin
g. Or making any sudden movements at all, really. And don’t talk to him. He doesn’t really like people. Or eels. Or kangaroos for that matter. Loathes rhinoceroses. He’s highly trained to protect, you see.” She patted his head, and Muffy thumped his stubby tail on the ground.

  Burt looked up at Jackson suspiciously. “You don’t have any food in your pockets, do you?”

  Jackson shook his head.

  Burt released a breath. “Good!” They kept walking.

  “So …” said Jackson after a moment. “Do you take care of the garden all by yourself? I mean, does anyone else work here?”

  Burt stopped walking and stared at Jackson. “Are you saying,” she began in a steely voice. (Steely means very angry, but quiet—not that her voice was made of steel. But wouldn’t it be cool if it was?) She stepped closer to him, her finger pointing at his chest like a weapon. “Are you saying that I am not capable of doing this job all by myself?”

  Jackson jumped back. “No! No, of course not! I … it’s just that this is such a big garden and you’re so …”

  “Small? That’s what you were going to say, weren’t you?” Her voice trilled upwards.

  “No, that’s not what I meant! I just meant that gardening is hard work!”

  Burt sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sure you have no idea. This is the finest garden in the whole world. There could not possibly be another garden of such gorgeousness and beauty as this one. Could there?” she snarled.

  “Ah, no, of course not.” Jackson watched the hackles rise on Muffy’s neck. He quickly averted his eyes and looked at the cobblestone path. It was incredibly tidy for a garden. “So, this is your job then?”

  Burt patted her hair. (It was still immaculate.) “I have been given the very important job of minding the Author’s garden.”