by Sam Hay
Before Jackson could stop him, he’d dipped his flipper into the gooey ice cream and licked it.
“Sunny, no— Wait!” Jackson tried to pull the tub out of reach.
“Mmm,” Sunny murmured, taking another dip-and-lick, then another, and another.
“Stop him!” Quigley shouted.
Jackson wrestled the tub away from Sunny. But Sunny lunged after it. There was only one way to stop him. Jackson hurled the tub over the side. Oh, no! We needed that. Then—Please don’t hit anyone on the head, he thought, crossing his flippers and peering over the edge to check.
“Sunny?” Quigley prodded his cousin. “Are you okay?”
But Sunny didn’t reply. He just stood there.
“Nooo!” Quigley groaned. “Now he looks a lot like your uncle.”
“Like a zombie with brain freeze.” Jackson waved his flipper in front of Sunny’s face, but Sunny’s gaze didn’t change.
“So it was the ice cream that hypnotized your uncle Bryn.” Quigley puffed out his cheeks. “But I still don’t get it. How could it make him rob a bank? I mean, Sunny’s not exactly doing much, is he.” He patted his cousin’s flipper and Sunny swayed slightly, but didn’t move.
“Wait…” Jackson stared at Sunny, an idea beginning to form. “Maybe he just needs to be told what to do. Let me try something.” Jackson stepped close to Sunny. “Sunny,” he said, “stand on one leg.”
Instantly, Sunny did as he was told.
Quigley’s eyes widened.
“Sunny, touch your beak with your left flipper.”
“He’s doing it,” Quigley shouted. “Look!”
“Sunny, pat the top of your cap twenty times. See, he just needs instruction,” Jackson said. “Someone must have told Uncle Bryn to rob the banks.”
“But we only saw your uncle and his friends in the jewelry store,” Quigley said. “Who was telling him what to do?”
Jackson stared at Sunny some more, his eyes resting on the cap Sunny was patting. “The caps!” he said. “The Frosters workers were wearing caps. So was Uncle Bryn.”
Quigley nodded slowly. “So you think he was getting instructions from the speaker inside the cap. That makes sense. Sunny’s cap is connected to his icePhone. If someone calls him, he hears their voice through a speaker inside it, so he doesn’t have to stop working if he gets a call.”
“Let me try something. Can I borrow your icePhone?”
Quigley handed it over.
“Is Sunny’s number in here?”
Quigley leaned over and tapped the screen. Moments later, Sunny’s hat began to bleep and the crab claw mouthpiece popped out.
Jackson took a deep breath. “Sunny,” he whispered, speaking into the icePhone. “Say ‘I’m a very silly penguin. Who makes extremely scary rides.’”
Quigley made a face at Jackson, but Sunny immediately repeated: “I’m a very silly penguin who makes extremely scary rides.”
“That’s it!” Quigley said. “The ice cream causes brain freeze, then someone takes over the penguin’s mind by telling them what to do through the cap they’re wearing.”
“And I bet I know who!” Jackson spoke into the icePhone again. “Answer my questions, Sunny. Do you work for Blow Frost?”
“Yes, I make caps for Mr. Blow Frost!” Sunny said in a flat zombie voice.
“Why does Mr. Blow Frost want your caps?” Jackson asked.
Quigley crossed his flippers. “Please don’t say you knew about the robberies.”
“Mr. Blow Frost wants the caps to communicate with his workers in the factory,” Sunny’s zombie voice said.
“Phew.” Quigley sighed with relief. “So he didn’t know about the robberies.”
“How do the caps work?” Jackson asked.
“There are cap cams on the front,” Sunny said.
Cap cams? Jackson’s eyes narrowed. Blow Frost had mentioned them.
“So Mr. Blow Frost can see what his workers see,” Sunny explained. “There is a speaker inside the cap so he can tell them what to do.”
Jackson nodded. “A genius idea,” he said to Quigley. “I’m almost impressed. Blow Frost never has to leave his factory. He can get innocent ice cream lovers to carry out all his crimes, like an evil puppet master.”
“Wonder how long the brain freeze lasts?” Quigley said, looking at his cousin.
“Well, he didn’t eat much of it,” Jackson said. “Not as much as Uncle Bryn. And speaking of Uncle Bryn, we need to go find him and get that cap off his head.” Jackson glanced out across Rookeryville. “Wonder if we can spot the truck sled from up here?”
“I don’t see it.” Quigley peered over the edge. “But, hey, isn’t that Hoff Rockface and his buddies down there? Looks like they’re messing around, as usual.”
“And no one will stop them because Hoff’s dad owns the funfair.” Jackson puffed out his cheeks. “I haven’t forgotten we owe him payback. Wait…” He looked at Sunny, and then at the icePhone in his flipper. “I’ve just thought of another genius idea.” He chuckled as he began dialing Sunny’s number again. “Hoff Rockface, prepare to squirm!”
15
Climbing down off the giant waterwheel didn’t take nearly as long as going up. Sunny went first, with an instruction from Jackson to wait for Quigley and him at the bottom.
“There’s Hoff and his buddies,” Jackson whispered to Quigley as they jumped down the last few rungs of the ladder. “Careful—don’t let them see you.”
Hoff Rockface and his friends were sitting on the Water Snails—a ride meant for tiny hatchlings. They were eating cotton candy and krill burgers and shouting at one another, scaring the two tiny hatchlings who were trying to enjoy their ride.
“They’re so mean,” Quigley muttered as the two tinies clambered off to get away from Hoff and his gang.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.” Jackson waited until the little ones were far enough away from the ride and then said into the icePhone, “Sunny: Go to the central control box. Don’t let Hoff and his buddies see you. Use your tools to turn the Water Snails ride up really fast! Faster than that ride has ever gone before; as fast as the Spin-a-Tron!”
Sunny pulled a wrench out of his tool belt and trotted off.
Quigley’s eyes widened. “Awesome idea!”
Jackson grinned. “Payback time.”
Hoff Rockface and his buddies didn’t notice Sunny heading to the control box. Or the gradual increase in speed. They just kept on goofing around, shouting and laughing and flicking cotton candy at one another. Then suddenly everything changed.
“Whoa!” Hoff lurched forward. “What the— OOF!” His cotton candy blasted back into his face. “Urgh!” he squealed, wiping his eyes and grabbing onto his snail’s neck.
Jackson grinned at Quigley as Hoff and his friends whizzed past them.
“I didn’t think a hatchling ride could go so fast,” Quigley said.
“Yeah, and Hoff doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it much.” Jackson smiled. “In fact, he looks pretty green. Whoa—watch it!” Jackson grabbed Quigley’s flipper and tugged him out of the way of a spray of vomit that shot out of Hoff’s beak as he zoomed past. “I guess snacks and fast rides don’t mix too well.”
“Uh-oh.” Quigley glanced at the control box. “I think Sunny’s brain freeze is wearing off.”
In the control box Sunny was scratching his crest and shaking his head like he had water in his ears.
“Let me check,” Jackson said, dialing Sunny’s number on the icePhone again. “Sunny: Waggle your flippers in the air like you don’t care,” he said into it.
“Huh?” came Sunny’s reply from the other end. “Who is this?”
Jackson handed the cell back to Quigley. “We’d better get out of here before he lets Hoff off that ride. He’s going to be in one bad mood.”
“Where to next?” Quigley said.
Jackson puffed out his cheeks. “I guess it’s the pottery place. We made a promise to Lily. But it’ll have to be qui
ck.”
“Yeah, because your uncle Bryn could be robbing another store right this minute!”
“Worse than that.” Jackson shuddered. “Mom might spot us!”
16
They pulled up behind a dumpster in a parking lot close to the paint-your-own-pottery place—and right next to Waddles’ Department Store.
Jackson peeked out. “Okay, we’ll need to make a run for it. As long as Mom’s not looking out one of the windows, we should be okay, and—”
“Um—Jackson,” Quigley interrupted. “Check out that truck sled over there.”
Jackson looked where Quigley was pointing. And then he saw it. He gripped the handlebars of his ice cycle, his beak twitching, his flippers tingling. “It’s here!” he gasped. “The ice cream truck sled.”
Jackson and Quigley watched the back doors of the ice cream truck sled clank open and three penguins wearing caps jump out.
Jackson’s feathers stood on end. “It’s Uncle Bryn!” he spluttered—or would have, if his throat hadn’t felt like it had six starfish stuck in it.
“It looks like they’re eating something,” Quigley said, squinting to see better.
“Ice cream!” Jackson hissed. “Brain-freezing ice cream. That must mean they’re about to do another robbery. We’ve got to stop them.”
“Maybe we should call the FBI,” Quigley suggested.
“No way!” Jackson puffed out his cheeks. “They’ll just arrest them … If only we could get the caps off their heads— Oh no—they’re on the move.”
They watched the three penguins throw their empty ice cream tubs into a trash can and shuffle across the parking lot.
Jackson gasped. “I don’t believe it! They’re heading for”—he gulped for air—“Waddles’! Uncle Bryn’s about to rob Mom’s work!”
This was a gold-plated, force-ten, max- power ultimate disaster! Jackson’s mom was an award-winning store detective. If Uncle Bryn tried to steal anything from under her beak, Jackson knew she’d be on to him in a flash. His mom would hate having to arrest Uncle Bryn. But if she didn’t, she would probably lose her job. Jackson sighed.
It was already too late to try to stop them. Uncle Bryn and his two colleagues had disappeared through the back door of Waddles’.
“What are we going to do?” Jackson ran his flipper through his crest. Think, 00Zero! he told himself. There has to be some way to fix this.
“Hey—that’s interesting,” Quigley said. He was peering through his bin-ice-ulars at the truck sled. “An antenna’s just popped up on the sled’s roof.”
“So?” Jackson tried to look interested. But he knew it wasn’t working.
“It’s a transmitter aerial,” Quigley explained. “Which means the ice cream truck could be the control hub for the caps.”
“Say that again,” Jackson said, “in normal- penguin language.”
“Someone in the ice cream truck is probably controlling your uncle,” Quigley said. “It makes sense. It’s much easier to transmit messages if you’re close by. There’s less chance of interference. And that transmitter aerial suggests that the person controlling your uncle Bryn is probably inside the truck!”
“Blow Frost?”
“Or one of his workers.”
Jackson felt his heart begin to beat faster. Maybe we aren’t too late to stop Uncle Bryn. “Quigley! You’re a genius!” He slapped his buddy on the back. “All we need to do is get inside the truck and WE can control Uncle Bryn. We can stop him before he robs Mom’s store.” He glanced up at the brown building. “It’s got to have at least six floors. It might take him a while to find the target, whatever that is.”
“Fancy purses?” Quigley suggested. “Mom always likes looking at them. But she says they’re way too pricey to buy.”
“Maybe. But whatever they’re after, we have to stop them. Come on, quick! Let’s do this!”
“Just one thing … How are we going to get whoever is in there out of it?” Quigley asked as he followed Jackson across the parking lot.
“Like this!” Jackson banged his flipper on the side of the truck sled. “Hello, hello! Open up! We—um—want to buy an ice cream!”
Quigley glanced through the windshield, but no one was in the front seats. “They must be in the back of the truck,” he whispered, pulling out his bin-ice-ulars again. He flipped a switch on the side, then peered through the dark glass covering the side windows. “There’s definitely two penguins in there,” he whispered. “The infrared mode on my bin-ice-ulars is picking up their body heat.”
Jackson felt a slight wobble in his tummy; taking on two baddies controlling a robbery was a big deal. But I’ve got to do this for Uncle Bryn, he reminded himself. He stared at the truck sled again. “There has to be some way to get them out.”
“Well, I do have one idea.” Quigley rummaged through his backpack. “It’s my latest and greatest secret-agent field weapon. Ta-da!”
“Blowing bubbles?” Jackson groaned. “Neat, but I don’t think blowing bubbles at the windows is going to make them leave.”
“These are no ordinary bubbles.” Quigley popped off the lid and took out the wand. “Watch…” As he blew, a stream of green bubbles drifted over to Jackson.
“I love bubbles as much as the next penguin,” Jackson began, wafting them away with his flipper. “But we don’t have time for—URGH!” Jackson suddenly covered his beak and made a yuck face. “Smells worse than Hoff Rockface’s farts! What is that?”
“Barf bubbles!” Quigley said. “Guaranteed to clear a room in ten seconds. All we need to do is get them to open a window so I can blow some in, then they’ll be out of that ice cream truck sled before we can say one scoop or two!”
“Nice one, Agent Q, but if they won’t be able to stand the smell in there, how will we?”
“Because we’ll be wearing these.” Quigley passed Jackson a clothespin. “Just stick one over your beak. You won’t smell a thing.”
“But we still need to get them to open up. Maybe we could pick the door lock or something. Have you got a crest pin?”
Quigley shook his head. “I don’t—but Lily might. Look!”
Across the parking lot, Lily and the young penguins were leaving the pottery place. She waved when she saw them heading over.
“Hey, Jackson. Hey, Quigley,” Lily said. “Did you come to do some pottery? We just finished. But you can come to the aquarium with us if you like.” PLEASE, she mouthed, glancing at the giggling hatchlings, who were now covered in paint as well as sticky ice cream. “My dad’s giving us a tour. It’ll be really neat and—”
“I’m sorry, Lily, we can’t.” Jackson glanced at his wrist-flipper. They were running out of time. “Have you got a crest pin?”
She frowned. “Nope. Why?”
“We have to break into that truck sled.” Jackson pointed across the lot. “There are two penguins inside who are controlling my uncle. He’s in Waddles’ Department Store, about to rob it—and they’re giving him instructions!”
Lily’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Quigley nodded. “But if we can open a door or a window of the truck sled, I’ve got these awesome bubbles to blow inside that really stink.”
“They stink so bad, the penguins will jump out,” Jackson said. “Then we can get in and tell my uncle to quit robbing. But we haven’t got much time!”
Lily eyed the truck sled for a moment. Then she glanced back at the boys. “I haven’t got a crest pin. But I’ve got another idea.” She beckoned the hatchlings closer. “Listen up, guys. My friends need your help.”
“We do?” Jackson looked at Quigley.
“Pay attention, everyone!” Lily told the hatchlings. “This is really important. And we need to work quickly.”
17
“So does everyone know what we’re doing?” Lily asked the hatchlings. They were gathered beside the truck sled now. “We’re going to sing really loudly!” She turned to Jackson and Quigley and whispered, “Like the worst, most annoying s
treet performers you’ve ever heard. Then the baddie penguins inside will get so fed up with us, they’ll open their window and tell us to go away.”
Jackson crossed his flippers. Please let this work.
Lily turned back to the little penguins. “Okay, here we go. One, two, three: She’ll be coming ’round the iceberg, when she comes! She’ll be coming ’round the iceberg when she comes! Singing aye aye flippy…”
As Lily launched into the song, the hatchlings, still giggling and nudging one another, began joining in. Quigley moved closer to the truck sled windows, his bubble wand at the ready.
“She’ll be wearing shrimp pajamas when she comes. She’ll be wearing shrimp pajamas when she comes,” sang Lily and the hatchlings.
Come on, come on, Jackson stared at the windows of the truck sled, willing them to open.
“She’ll be swimming with a seahorse when she comes…,” sang Lily and the hatchlings. Then suddenly the truck sled window shot open and a flipper-full of coins were thrown out. “Now go away!” a voice shouted from inside. “And don’t come back!”
It was just the chance Quigley needed. He jumped forward and blew in the bubbles just as the window closed.
Then—
“Argh!”
“Urgh!”
The truck sled doors crashed open and two chunky penguins in Frosters caps fell out, coughing and moaning.
Jackson, his clothespin on his beak, barged past them and dived inside, closely followed by Quigley. “Lock the doors!” he shouted.
The Frosters penguins began hammering on the doors. “Get out of our truck!” one yelled.
But Jackson didn’t notice. He was gazing at a wall of screens inside the truck sled. On all the monitors was the same picture—a close-up of a giant metal safe, its door open and piles of cash being emptied into a sack.
“It’s Uncle Bryn!” Jackson gasped, the horrible wobbly feeling returning to his tummy. “I’d recognize those flippers anywhere. We’re too late. He’s robbing Waddles’ safe.”