Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang

by Mordecai Richler

  PS I hope, in my absinz, you have remembered to feed my hamster, Mr. Harper.

  PPS Hurry! Hurry!

  “It’s a fine letter,” said Pete, “but how do we get it delivered? Even if we had stamps, there’s no post office on Slimers’ Isle.”

  Oscar had to agree.

  “There’s no post office,” said Jacob Two-Two twice, “but there is The Hooded Fang.”

  “You mean,” asked Pete, astonished, “he’s going to deliver your letter?”

  “Maybe,” said Jacob Two-Two, “just maybe,” and behind his back, his fingers were crossed.

  CHAPTER 13

  or his last meal, the night before he was to be fed to the sharks, The Hooded Fang brought Jacob Two-Two two lamb chops and two desserts, an unheard of feast within the confines of the children’s prison. And then, tears filling his eyes, he sat down to watch the doomed child eat. Finally, The Hooded Fang said, “I’ll give you one last chance. I’m going to make my most horrible face, and you’re going to scream loud enough so that the other kids know you’re afraid of me.”

  “Oh no, I won’t! Oh no, I won’t!”

  “Oh yes, you will!”

  “I won’t, I won’t,” said Jacob Two-Two, “because I know your dreadful secret.”

  The Hooded Fang retreated a step.

  “You’re not horrible,” said Jacob Two-Two two times, “and you’re not disgusting, mean, vicious, or vile.”

  “Ssssssh,” said The Hooded Fang, clapping a hand over Jacob Two-Two’s mouth as two guards passed outside. “Somebody might hear.”

  “You admit it, then! You admit it, then!”

  “I DO NOT.”

  “Every time you leave my cell,” said Jacob Two-Two twice, “I find a chocolate bar hidden somewhere. Or a bag of gumdrops.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. …”

  “You do! You do!”

  “Possibly, they just drop out of my pockets. I have a sweet tooth – I mean, fang – you see.”

  “You’re not evil,” said Jacob Two-Two. “You’re not evil.”

  The Hooded Fang bared his sharp, terrifying fangs. He growled. He grunted. He rolled his eyes. He leaped up and down.

  But Jacob Two-Two didn’t tremble. Neither did he cower. Instead, he leapt up and down, growled, grunted, and rolled his eyes right back.

  “Cheeky! Oh, I never,” said The Hooded Fang, indignant. “I – I’m feeding you to the sharks at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

  “If you lead me out of this cell tomorrow,” said Jacob Two-Two, “I’m going to hug you and kiss you. I’m going to hug you and kiss you.”

  “Oh, God, no! You wouldn’t.”

  “In front of all the guards! In front of all the guards!”

  “I hate children! Oh, how I hate children! You’ll be the ruin of me.”

  “Not if we make a deal,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Not if we make a deal.”

  “What sort of a deal?”

  “I wish to have a letter delivered immediately to the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole.”

  “Child Power! The Infamous Two! Oh no! Never!”

  Which is when Jacob Two-Two bounded into his arms and began to hug and kiss him.

  “All right! Okay! But cut out the mushy stuff at once.”

  CHAPTER 14

  nce having digested the contents of the letter, the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole did not hesitate. Swiftly, they shed their clothes and donned the Day-Glo blue jeans, the golden capes, and the T-shirts with Child Power emblazoned on the chests. Then they strode to the enormous toy shop on Regent Street, lingering behind at closing time, cleverly concealing themselves behind a counter in the model section.

  It soon grew dark, and the hours slipped past, seemingly one second at a time.

  “Do you think Jacob Two-Two got it wrong,”

  whispered Shapiro to O’Toole. “After all, he’s still a very small boy.”

  Another hour passed. And then Mr. Fox appeared, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

  As the leaders of Child Power watched, amazed, Mr. Fox cautiously opened a Tiger Tank model, removed a vital part, and slipped it into another box containing … a Spitfire model. He then plucked a piece from the Spitfire kit and dropped it into the Tiger Tank kit, before replacing both boxes on the shelves. Then, laughing out loud, he slipped over to the section where the electric trains and racing-car sets were displayed and began exchanging wires here and there, ruining both sets.

  As The Infamous Two watched, aghast to witness such villainy, the nefarious Mr. Fox began to work more quickly. He moved to the counter where the most difficult two-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles were kept and busied himself switching pieces from box to box, making it impossible for a boy or girl to complete either puzzle successfully. Mr. Fox began to work faster, faster, and faster, for a toy saboteur’s work is never done. Removing batteries from toy boxes that promised “batteries included,” he slipped wrong-size screws into erector sets and made pinprick holes in kites. He sought out the most complicated model kits, removed the English instructions, and replaced them with sheets written in Japanese. Then he turned to the chemistry sets, switching the labels on tubes. “That ought to make for an explosion or two,” he cackled.

  So happily immersed was Mr. Fox in his wrongdoing that seconds passed before he noticed that somebody had switched on the lights.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  Too late. For right before him, in Day-Glo blue Jeans, her golden cape flying, stood the intrepid Shapiro.

  “Aaargh,” cried Mr. Fox, turning to flee.

  But his path to the stairs was blocked by the fearless O’Toole, his golden cape flying.

  Mr. Fox swerved, he pitched a chemistry set at O’Toole, and clambered over the games counter, seizing a bow and arrow. “Say your prayers, brats,” he chortled.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Shapiro, doing a backward flip over the costume counter and coming to her feet, broadsword in hand. “Not yet, fatso!”

  Ducking a volley of arrows, O’Toole seized a cricket bat, tossed a ball in the air, and swung the bat, hitting the ball straight as a bullet at Mr. Fox.

  Then a rubber-suction arrow caught the charging Shapiro in the forehead, and she reeled backward, stunned.

  “And how would you like a taste of the same medicine?” cried Mr. Fox triumphantly to O’Toole.

  But before he could fire, the intrepid Shapiro ducked under the magic counter, surfacing to pelt their onrushing tormentor with what seemed like a handful of flour, but was actually sneezing powder.

  “Aaach-choo,” cried Mr. Fox, bending over double. “Aaach-choo!”

  In an instant, Shapiro was at his throat, broadsword in hand.

  Quivering with fear, Mr. Fox sank to his knees. “Mercy,” he pleaded between sneezes. “Mercy. I suffer from high blood pressure. My nerves are shot. I bleed easily.”

  Shapiro drove the sword tip against the coward’s throat.

  “You wouldn’t harm an old man who wears glasses,” cried Mr. Fox.

  “We’re going to spare you, you wretch,” said O’Toole.

  “We have other uses for you,” said Shapiro.

  “Aaach-choo,” said Mr. Fox. “Aaach-choo!

  CHAPTER 15

  eanwhile, at the children’s prison, Jacob Two-Two had spread the word, and all the prisoners were waiting for the sign.

  Waiting, waiting.

  Until finally in the afternoon, an especially gloomy afternoon, as Jacob Two-Two stood watch on a balustrade of the hidden prison, staring into the surrounding waters, murky and foul-smelling, he suddenly saw something very odd happen. A crocodile that he had been following with his eye slithered onto the marshy shore, heaved, flipped over on his back, and died. The letter C was emblazoned on his stomach. Then another crocodile flipped over, dying, this one still in the water, the letter H painted on his stomach.

  Soon all the prisoners were gathered on the balustrades, watching i
n amazement. More and more crocodiles were flipping over, dead, and the letters on their bellies read R, I, E, L, W, D, O, P. Properly put together, this could only mean one thing!

  “CHILD POWER!” shouted one prisoner after another.

  “It must be …”

  “ … The Infamous Two.”

  “We’re going to be rescued!”

  Even as they leaped up and down gleefully, the prison alarms sounded, and Slimers, armed with slime guns, took up their positions. Then the man who was supposedly the slimiest Slimer of them all, The Hooded Fang, unwrapped his slime-ball cannon, which commanded the surrounding waters. “This is going to be a massacre,” he promised.

  On the opposite bank, still unseen through the fog, stood the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole, and with them, hands bound behind his back, their guide, the nefarious Mr. Fox. The intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole were armed only with rubber-suction arrows, cricket bats, slingshots, and broad swords, all from the toy shop on Regent Street.

  “Remember,” declared O’Toole, “Jacob Two-Two says that we are not to set off in the boat until two o’clock. Or everything is lost.”

  But what, wondered O’Toole, if Jacob Two-Two fails, as he had promised, to render all the Slimers helpless? What’s his plan? Can it work? So much – too much, perhaps – depended on a boy who was still very little.

  Who couldn’t cut a slice of bread that wasn’t a foot thick on one end and thin as a sheet of paper on the other.

  Or count the laundry.

  Or ride a two-wheel bicycle.

  Who had to say everything two times, because nobody ever listened to him.

  But who, even now, accompanied by Pete and a stumbling Oscar, was racing through the fog to the fog-making workshop, hiding whenever a platoon of Slimers marched past them.

  Finally, Jacob Two-Two slipped through an open door and ran past the furnaces to the Fog Control Room, followed by a breathless Pete and Oscar.

  The Control Room was abandoned, as they had hoped.

  Jacob Two-Two climbed onto a tabletop and pulled on the Control Switch with all his might. Pete pulled on Jacob Two-Two. Oscar pulled on Pete.

  “Pull,” cried Jacob Two-Two. “Pull!”

  They pulled.

  “And again! And again!”

  Oscar pulled Pete, Pete pulled Jacob Two-Two, and Jacob Two-Two pulled on the switch handle. They pulled and pulled, until the handle finally sank to its off position.

  “What do you think, Shapiro?” asked O’Toole.

  “It’s too late to turn back. We must go forward according to Jacob Two-Two’s instructions.”

  So, at exactly a quarter to two, Shapiro picked up her megaphone. “Hooded Fang,” she called out, “we’re coming to get you. Surrender while you can. Tell your men to come out with their hands up.”

  The Hooded Fang answered with a withering burst of slime-ball fire, careful to aim over the children’s heads. “Come and get it, you twerps,” he hollered.

  “Wait! Don’t shoot,” pleaded a terrified Mr. Fox. “It’s me. It’s Fox here.”

  At precisely two o’clock, the leaky rowboat started out across the putrid, fog-bound water, Mr. Fox, his hands untied, bailing water frantically.

  Another hail of slime-fire hit the water.

  “One more volley,” boasted The Hooded Fang, “and the waters will turn red with blood.”

  But, even as he spoke, a miracle occurred. To everyone’s astonishment, the fog began to lift. For the first time within living memory, the sky over the children’s prison began to brighten. It grew brighter and brighter, until, lo and behold, there was the sun. The actual sun! The prisoners, overwhelmed, reached out – they stretched their pale arms to touch the sunshine. They cheered, they stamped their feet. “The sun,” they cried. “The sun! The sun!”

  The Slimers couldn’t tolerate it. The sun blinded them, and suddenly they began to stumble and fall. Their slime-guns popped off here and there but always in the wrong direction. The Hooded Fang fired his slime-ball cannon fitfully, also to no effect, before he retreated, shielding his eyes with his hands. “Put it out,” shouted The Hooded Fang. “Somebody please put out the sun!”

  The sun grew stronger and stronger. And in the water, sparkling in the sunlight now, the Child Power boat struck for the shore.

  “Watch out for the wolverines,” cried a prisoner.

  But the wolverines, also blinded, tripped and fell over the snakes, and the snakes scurried for the shelter of the darkest, deepest holes on the island. Within minutes, the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole, their golden capes flying, were scaling the prison walls. With some help from the prisoners, they easily disarmed and tied up the weeping, blinded Slimers. Then Shapiro and O’Toole sought out Jacob Two-Two.

  “You’re marvelous,” said the intrepid Shapiro.

  “Wonderful,” said the fearless O’Toole.

  “But how did you know the sun would come out at two o’clock?” they both asked at once.

  Jacob Two-Two explained that the fog was man-made at the workshop attached to the prison. “All we had to do was throw the switch and cut the power,” he said. “All we had to do was throw the switch and cut the power. Big people who hate little ones or pets or flowers or laughter also fear the sun. It blinds them.”

  Which was when The Hooded Fang himself stumbled into their midst, still clutching his eyes with his hands. “Put out the sun,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Jacob Two-Two fondly. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s just pretending.”

  “Stinker!”

  “He’s the only one here who doesn’t really fear the sun,” said Pete.

  “You know why?” asked Oscar.

  “Because The Hooded Fang is childish,” cried Jacob Two-Two twice. “He’s one of us.”

  “Oh, I never! I MOST CERTAINLY AM NOT!” shouted The Hooded Fang, peeking at them between his fingers.

  “The proof is,” cried Jacob Two-Two, “the proof is, whenever he struts across the prison yard, grunting and growling, he is careful not to step on cracks.”

  “I’m not childish,” protested The Hooded Fang, even as he forgot himself so far as to lower his hands and face the sun. “I’m vile! I’m notoriously evil! And if you don’t believe it, come to my lair and look at my scrapbook. So there!”

  “Empty his pockets,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Empty his pockets!”

  “No, please! Not that!”

  But, even as he protested, The Hooded Fang was seized by the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole.

  “You’re not being fair,” complained The Hooded Fang. “It’s two against one.”

  One of The Hooded Fang’s pockets yielded a handful of jelly beans and the other, a ball of string, eight rubber bands, three pieces of beach glass, five pebbles, a fountain pen top, and three packages of bubblegum.

  Found out, tearful, The Hooded Fang bared his sharp, terrifying fangs. He grunted. He growled.

  “You see,” said Jacob Two-Two, “you see. He’s also funny. He’s also funny.”

  The Hooded Fang burst into tears. “I want my mommy,” he wailed.

  Everybody laughed. Jacob Two-Two hugged The Hooded Fang. And the next thing Jacob Two-Two knew he found himself in Richmond Park …

  … where weary from his many adventures, he fell asleep.

  His father shook him awake. “Jacob Two-Two,” he said, beaming, “thank God, you’re safe.”

  “We’ve been searching for you for hours,” said Daniel.

  “We looked everywhere,” said Noah.

  Emma hugged him.

  Marfa kissed him and said, “Oh, Jacob.”

  On the way home, they stopped at the greengrocer’s shop. Mr. Cooper was waiting outside, clutching two bags in his hands.

  “Don’t tell me,” he said. “You are Jacob Two-Two. You are two plus two plus two years old. You have two ears and two eyes and two arms and two hands and two legs and two shoes.
You also have two brothers and two sisters. And here, if you please, are two pounds of firm, red tomatoes.”

  “Thank you,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Thank you.”

  His mother was waiting at the door. “Where have you been all this time?” she asked.

  Jacob Two-Two told her everything, which only made his mother laugh and say, “Jacob Two-Two, you are too much. You’re a dreamer.”

  A dreamer?

  Maybe.

  But that night, after Jacob Two-Two had climbed into bed, he was paid a visit by the fearless O’Toole, accompanied by the intrepid Shapiro. They brought him a Child Power uniform that was different from all the others. It contained a pair of Day-Glo blue jeans and a golden cape, but the Child Power emblem was emblazoned on the T-shirt two times.

  Other books in the

  Jacob Two-Two series:

  Jacob Two-Two and the Dinosaur

  By Mordecai Richler, illustrated by Dusan Petričić

  When his parents bring a little green lizard home from their vacation in Kenya, Jacob Two-Two is thrilled. But as the days pass, he realizes that Dippy isn’t an ordinary lizard. In fact, Dippy’s not so little either. As Dippy grows bigger and bigger, he begins to attract attention from some very important people. Before Jacob realizes, he is on the run from the entire government!

  Jacob Two-Two’s First Spy Case

  By Mordecai Richler, illustrated by Dusan Petričić

  Just as Jacob Two-Two settles into his new life in Canada, things are turned upside down! First, Jacob gets a new neighbor, who does double duty as a spy; then his new school gets a new principal, who turns out to be mean and nasty; and then, unknowingly, he makes an enemy - who could it be? Jacob Two-Two’s adventure takes him into the fascinating world of spies!

  From Jacob Two-Two on the High Seas

  By Cary Fagan, illustrated by Dusan Petričić

  “‘What’s that out there?’ Cindy pointed past the rail of the ship. ‘There’s something there in the mist.’

  Jacob could just make out the carved figurehead of a mermaid. ‘It’s a ship, it’s a ship!’ he cried. As it became more visible, Jacob could see that it was a very old ship, the kind with three tall masts and big sails. He could also see cannons - dozens of them - lined up along the ship’s side. …”