by Sam Hay
Jackson looked, too. He felt a wobble of disappointment that Uncle Bryn wasn’t there. “Watch it, they’re coming this way,” he whispered as the penguins set off with their load.
He stepped out of the way when they pushed past. But just then, one of the cart’s wheels hit a stone and the freezer’s lid bounced open for a moment.
Jackson gasped. “Jewels!” he muttered. “Look, it’s full of sparkling jewels—”
He shut up immediately, because the smaller penguin shot him a death stare. “Shouldn’t you be in the laboratory!” she said, glancing at Jackson’s lab coat.
“Um … Well, we’re on a break—” Jackson began.
“—from very important ice cream experiments!” Quigley added in a way that sounded as if he was sure it was helpful. But Jackson knew it absolutely wasn’t, because both penguins had stopped pushing their cart and were staring at them.
The smaller penguin’s eyes narrowed. She stepped closer and her beak piercing glistened in the sun. “Aren’t you a bit young to be working here?”
Before Jackson could reply, Quigley dived in. “Oh, yes, we are young, but we’re very advanced for our age. In fact, we’re here on work placement, sharing our detailed knowledge of ice cream genetics.” Quigley’s cheeks turned shrimp pink and he swallowed several times.
Jackson cringed. He was pretty sure he’d specifically asked Quigley to leave all secret- agent undercover fibbing to him, because Quigley was sub-zero on the Secret-Agent Scale of Advanced Fibbing.
“Show me your passes!” the smaller penguin snapped.
“Err, sure,” Jackson patted his lab coat pockets. “Oh, sorry, I appear to have left mine in the lab; I’ll just go get it.” He turned to go, signaling to Quigley to follow.
“That’s the wrong way for the lab,” the small penguin called. “You need to go back up the ramp. WAIT—STOP! I don’t like this,” she shouted. “Something stinks!”
“What, like bathroom cleaner?” Quigley turned back. “Oh, don’t worry about that, I can explain the strange smell coming from Jackson’s backpack, you see the ice cream has a pungent chemical aroma and—”
“It’s all right,” Jackson interrupted, grabbing Quigley’s flipper and dragging him across the loading dock. “We don’t have time to talk right now. Too many, uh, experiments to do. Catch you later.”
“WAIT!” the penguin shouted again. But Jackson and Quigley were running now.
“We’ve got to get back inside the factory and find those blue footprints again,” Jackson puffed.
“What?” Quigley couldn’t believe his feathers. “You’re joking! We’ve only just got out.”
“Look around,” Jackson whispered. “There’s barbed wire at the tops of the fences. The only way out of this loading dock is through that gate, and I’m certain that security penguin over there is not going to let us just walk out.”
Quigley glanced at a big-bellied older penguin staring over at them with suspicious eyes.
“We’ve got to get back on that tour,” Jackson said. “Then we can leave through the front door with the other penguins. Come on, let’s do this!” Jackson spotted a set of doors propped open, with several penguins pushing carts through it. “Hi,” he called to one. “Which way is the visitor center? We’re new here and, uh, we’re supposed to be giving a talk about the science of ice cream.”
“Just follow that corridor right to the end,” the penguin said. “Go through a set of doors and then you’ll see blue footprints on the floor. Follow the footprints to the visitor center.”
“Great. Thanks! Bye!” he called to the pen- guin. “Hey, can you hear that alarm going off?” he muttered to Quigley. “I’m pretty sure it has something to do with us.”
As they ran down the corridor, they took off their lab coats and goggles and stuffed them into their backpacks.
“Did you see the jewels in that chest?” Jackson panted.
Quigley nodded. “Yep. Now we know for sure—Frosters is involved in the robberies.”
“We just need to find out how they roped in Uncle Bryn. Geez!” Jackson covered his ears with his flippers. “That alarm is spreading through the factory faster than a bad rumor in a lunch line.”
Heads down, flippers waggling, Jackson and Quigley hurtled down the rest of the corridor. But before they could reach the doors at the end—
SLAM! The doors burst open in front of them and a bossy voice shouted: “Freeze, busters! You’re in BIG trouble!”
12
Thelma, the bossy tour guide, glared at them. “What do you think you’re doing?”
A tidal wave of sweat passed through Jackson’s feathers. It felt a lot like being called into the principal’s office. “Um—sorry,” he squeaked. “We got lost.”
“You betcha you did!” Thelma put her muscly flippers on her hips. “I warned you!” she said, leaning in so close that Jackson could smell her breakfast: peanut butter and smoked sardines! “I told you to STAY ON THE BLUE FOOTPRINTS!”
“We’re sorry. We were just looking for the—um—bathroom.” Jackson hung his head. Is now the time to try out my fake crying skills? he wondered. He’d been practicing the technique for weeks—secret-agent survival skill number forty-seven: how to look really sorry to elicit sympathy from your enemy. Not that this worked all the time, Jackson had discovered. He’d tried the technique on his mom two days before, when he’d used her favorite china cup in a balancing experiment that hadn’t gone quite as well as he’d hoped. The fake tears had been an epic fail.
“We won’t do it again,” Quigley added, shuffling his feet.
“Well, all right, then,” Thelma said. “I forgive you!”
“You do?” Jackson gave Quigley a sideways glance. Surely this couldn’t be that easy? “No punishment?”
“Ha! Who do you think I am? Your mom?” Thelma laughed.
Jackson laughed nervously. Maybe she actually did know his mom!
“Follow me,” Thelma said. “We’re about to do the fun bit—make ice cream sundaes. But STAY ON THE BLUE FOOTPRINTS!”
They followed Thelma through the doors, down the hall, and into a large visitors’ area where groups of penguins making ice cream sundaes sat around circular tables. Lily from school waved to them. Her little cousin and her cousin’s friends seemed to have more ice cream on their faces, flippers, and the table than in their dishes. Come and sit with us, she mouthed, PLEASE!
“Take a dish, and help yourself to two scoops of any flavor.” Thelma pointed to some large tubs on a counter. “There are toppings on the tables: seaweed sprinkles, chocolate brine, krill mallows … When you’re finished, make up a name for your ice cream creation and stick it in the ideas box. Be sure to put your name and address on the back, because once a month we choose one winner to receive a Frosters cap, just like mine— Oh my!” She covered her ears with her flippers. “What is that awful sound? It’s definitely not the fire alarm, because I run the fire drill twice a week and it does not sound like that.”
Jackson looked at Quigley. He had a pretty good idea what sort of alarm it was. The intruder sort!
“I’m gonna find out what’s happening.” Thelma shook her head, and a crab claw popped out of the side of her cap. “This is Thelma MackFlipper contacting Control Center,” she said, talking into the claw. “I’d like to know why an alarm is going off in the visitor center!”
Jackson nudged Quigley. Look! he mouthed. Sunny’s cap design! Surely Quigley’s cousin wasn’t working for Frosters?
“Really?” Thelma frowned as she listened to whoever it was that she was communicating with via her cap. “There are two intruders in the factory, you say?”
Jackson gulped. But before he could suggest to Quigley that now would be the best time to make a run for it, the visitor center doors burst open and a group of angry-looking penguins thundered in. “There they are!” shouted the one at the front. “It’s definitely them!”
Jackson groaned. It was the suspicious- looking penguin with the beak
piercing who had been pushing the cart with the jewels inside. And behind her—Jackson tried not to meet his eye—was the pirate penguin from the laboratory; Fluffy, the gull, was perched on his flipper again.
“That’s them, Mr. Blow Frost,” the beak-stud penguin said again, pointing a flipper at them. “They had lab coats and goggles on before, but I’m sure that’s them.”
Every head in the room turned to stare at Jackson and Quigley. Lily looked worried. Thelma did, too. “Um, please, could someone tell me what’s going on here?” Thelma said, looking at Jackson and Quigley, then at the pirate penguin. “Mr. Blow Frost, sir?” she appealed to him. “These young penguins were on my tour, but they got lost looking for the bathroom and—”
Blow Frost, the pirate penguin, silenced her with a look, then strode across the room and poked Jackson sharply in the chest. “You’ve got something that belongs to me,” he hissed. “Give it back!”
13
Jackson felt his cheeks burn; Blow Frost had to be talking about the ice cream tub he’d taken from the lab.
“I haven’t g-g-got anything.” Jackson gazed up into the small, mean eyes and all his secret-agent fibbing skills evaporated like ice cream on a stove top. Maybe he’s the evil hypnotist, Jackson thought. He’s certainly turning my mind to mush.
“Jackson! Quigley! It’s time to go!” Lily darted across the room, moving between Jackson and Blow Frost. “If we don’t go now, we’ll be late for the paint-your-own-pottery party.”
Blow Frost pushed past her. “I think you’re industrial spies,” he growled at Jackson. “You’ve come here to steal my ice cream secrets.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Mr. Blow Frost,” Thelma said. “They’re just regular naughty little hatchlings. Didn’t you say something about the penguins you’re looking for wearing lab coats and goggles? Well, these youngsters are wearing regular clothes.”
Blow Frost snorted, then shook his head and a crab claw popped out of his cap.
Jackson looked at Quigley. Sunny’s cap design, AGAIN!
“This is Blow Frost to Control,” he said into the crab claw. “Check all cap cams and security camera pictures.”
Cap cams? Huh? Jackson glanced at Quigley. He shrugged.
“I want to know if any hatchlings have discarded lab coats and goggles somewhere in the factory.” Blow Frost tapped his cap and the crab claw retracted.
Jackson shuffled uncomfortably. If the factory had security cameras, they were bound to have recorded him taking the ice cream. Not to mention him and Quigley stuffing the lab coats and goggles into their backpacks. Any minute now, Blow Frost would probably order a bag search, and then he’d find the ice cream. Jackson gulped. He glanced at the front doors, calculating how far they might get if they made a sudden run for it.
“Excuse me, sir.” Lily stepped in front of Blow Frost again. “It couldn’t have been them. They were only gone a few minutes. They were with our group the rest of the time.” She glanced at her wrist-flipper. “Oh, is that the time? Boy, we’re late! Hey, guys,” she called to her group of little hatchlings. “Come over here and help Jackson and Quigley out to the snowmobile. It’s pottery time!”
The hatchlings squealed excitedly and shuffled over to surround Jackson and Quigley, their faces and flippers smeared with sticky ice cream. Blow Frost took a step backward, revulsion on his face. “Urgh, watch it!” he snapped. “Someone clean up these creatures!” He shuddered. “I’m allergic to hatchlings,” he muttered so quietly that only Jackson heard.
“Sure, sure,” Thelma soothed. “Come on, kids, this way.” She herded Lily and the hatchlings and Jackson and Quigley toward the doors. “I’ll show you the bathrooms on the way out. Don’t forget to stay on the blue footprints!”
“No! Stop! Not those two!” Blow Frost made a lunge for Jackson.
But Lily had pulled out her icePad. “Smile everyone!” she said, turning the camera on Blow Frost. “I’m filming this for my school project: A Visitor’s Guide to Rookeryville. We’ve got to show everyone what an AMAZING place Frosters is for all the kids in Rookeryville to visit.”
Blow Frost gritted his beak, but backed away.
Jackson felt Blow Frost’s eyes on him all the way to the door. “Great trick with the icePad. Thanks so much, Lily,” he whispered as they left the building. “We owe you.”
“Well, you owe me an explanation,” Lily said. “I’m guessing this is FBI business, right?”
Jackson took a deep breath. “My uncle Bryn has been hypnotized into becoming a bank robber and a jewel thief.”
“No way!” Lily frowned. “That’s terrible.”
“Yeah,” Quigley said. “And we think the Frosters ice cream he was eating may have had something to do with it.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “But I’ve been eating Frosters ice cream and I haven’t been hypnotized.”
“Yeah, but this stuff glows. Look.” Jackson held open his bag.
“So that’s what you took?” Lily sighed.
“Only as FBI evidence!” Jackson quickly closed the bag.
“I’m going to run some tests on it,” Quigley said. “It may have some synthetic enzymes that mess with the brain.”
“So I’m guessing you don’t want to come to the pottery party with me and my little cousins.” Lily looked over at a taxi sled the sticky hatchlings were piling into. “I’m looking after them for my aunt. There was a robbery at the jewel store where she works last night, and she had to go in and check what’s missing— Wait!” She blinked at Jackson. “Did your uncle rob my aunt’s store?”
Jackson groaned. “Maybe. Look, I’m sorry, Lily. Uncle Bryn’s not himself right now.”
“Sure.” Lily nodded. “But maybe you could come help me at the pottery party with my cousins to make up for it. It’s not far. It’s just next to Waddles’ Department Store.”
Jackson glanced at Quigley. Waddles’ Department Store! If they went anywhere near there, Jackson’s mom might spot them. He did not want to have to explain why they weren’t at Quigley’s house, like they were supposed to be. Jackson looked back at Lily.
“Pleeeease!” she said.
Jackson sighed. “Okay, I guess we owe you. We’ll meet you there. But we need to go see someone on the way.”
Quigley nodded. “My cousin Sunny!”
14
“I don’t see him.” Jackson wheeled his ice cycle past the different Rookeryville funfair rides on Windy Tail Pier—the Flying Clams, the bumper car seals, the Whirlpool roller coaster. He could never understand how Sunny had gotten the job designing and fixing the rides at the funfair. He was the most dangerous inventor penguin on the planet.
“Hey, you should see Sunny’s latest plans for the new ride he’s building,” Quigley said. “It’s called the Terror-Flipper Spin-a-Tron! You sit on this enormous spinning top thing that whizzes around really fast, then it spins you off, but you’re on a bungee cord, so you just snap back onto it again. Neat, huh?”
Jackson tried to look enthusiastic. “Um—sounds awesome.”
“Sunny’s got a prototype in his yard. Look, I’ll show you some pictures on my icePhone.”
“Hey! Since when do you have a cell?” Jackson frowned. His mom would never let him have one.
“It’s Sunny’s old one. It was busted. He gave it to me last week. I only just fixed it. Look—there’s the Spin-a-Tron.”
Jackson glanced at the pictures on the screen. It looked even more terrifying than it sounded.
“You can come with me to Sunny’s place to test it out sometime, if you want.”
“Um—thanks.” Jackson forced a smile. He’d rather go bowling with Blow Frost! “Look,” he said, changing the subject. “Up there!” He pointed to a distant figure in a red cap at the top of the waterwheel ride. “Isn’t that Sunny?”
Quigley shielded his eyes from the sun. “Yeah, it is—SUNNY! SUNNY!” he bellowed. “Look, he’s waving! Hey, I think he’s telling us to climb up.”
“Up there?�
� Jackson did a quick estimation. The waterwheel had to be at least a hundred and fifty flippers high.
But Quigley had already abandoned his ice cycle and set off, scrambling under the safety barriers and dodging the spinning waterwheel cars as they passed by. “Come on!” he called, heading for the tiny metal cage ladder in the core of the ride. “Race you!”
Race you? Jackson looked up the cage ladder. You’ve got to be kidding. No way did he want to race up one of Sunny’s scary rides on a rickety ladder with thin metal bars enclosing it.
“I can see a flame,” Quigley called as they began to climb. “Sunny must be welding.”
Either that, or he’s set the wheel on fire and it’s about to explode! Jackson gritted his beak. The higher they climbed, the more wobbly and unstable the structure felt. Jackson clung tighter to it as the wind whistled through his crest.
“Hey, cuz!” Jackson heard Sunny shout. “And yo! Cuz’s friend!”
Despite the fact that Jackson and Quigley had been best buddies since they were eggs, Sunny could never remember Jackson’s name.
“Hi,” Jackson said, crawling onto the platform at the top. Is it my imagination or is this thing shaking?
Sunny turned off his blowtorch. “I’m just fixing the supports. We don’t want this old wheel to roll away, do we? Ha!”
Jackson tried to laugh, but it was hard on account of the wind doing its darnedest to blast him off the ride. He clung to the metal platform, trying not to think about what his mom would say if he got splattered across Windy Tail Pier.
“Hey—” Sunny peered at Jackson’s feet. “Have you peed yourself?”
“What?” Jackson glanced down. A thick neon-yellow liquid was dribbling down his legs. “The ice cream!” He pulled off his backpack and extracted the melting tub. Urgh. He grimaced. The inside of his bag was swimming in it.
“Did you say ice cream?” Sunny dumped his tools and shuffled over. “I love ice cream. Cool color; let me try it.”