The Spy Who Loved Ice Cream

by Sam Hay

“Great, but that security penguin looks pretty mad. He’s shaking his clipboard at you.”

  “How do I put this into reverse?” Jackson demanded as he maneuvered the truck sled in front of the gate.

  “Press that pedal, and I’ll change the gear.”

  Jackson reversed into position, then turned off the engine. “Okay, I spotted a mini fridge in the back. That must be where they store the mind-altering ice cream. Grab some tubs and let’s go do this!”

  Moments later they burst out of the back of the truck sled. Flippers full of ice cream, heads down, they ran, dodging FBI agents, security guards, and baddie muscle-penguins. Feet flapping, they thundered over to Senior Agent Frost-Flipper, who was staring at them, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. “What on earth—” she began as Jackson flung a tub of ice cream into her flippers and spilled out the whole story in one long jumbled spew of information.

  “—and just look at that ice cream if you still don’t believe me.” He panted. “It glows!” Jackson ripped off the lid of the tub in her flippers, and the neon ice cream gleamed in the sunlight.

  “I can explain!” Blow Frost stalked over, the gull on his flipper squawking wildly. “That’s experimental ice cream that those horrible little hatchlings must have stolen from my laboratory. I guess ‘thieving flippers’ must run in that penguin’s family.” He glared at Jackson.

  But Senior Agent Frost-Flipper didn’t answer. She was peering at the ice cream. “Weird!” She looked at Blow Frost. “I’ve never seen ice cream like this before.”

  “That’s because it’s new! Trust me, everyone’s going to be eating it soon.” Blow Frost tried to swipe the tub out of her flippers, but she stepped away from him.

  “And you say your uncle was eating this before he started robbing banks and jewelry stores?” she asked Jackson.

  He nodded.

  “Coincidence!” Blow Frost exploded. “Don’t tell me you believe that fibbing hatchling. Who ever heard of a mind-altering ice cream? Ridiculous! Now give it back!”

  But Senior Agent Frost-Flipper stepped farther back, holding the tub out of his reach.

  Jackson felt a tiny pimple of hope. The tide was turning; he could feel it in his feathers. “If there’s nothing wrong with the ice cream,” he said, waggling a tub under Blow Frost’s beak, “then YOU eat it!”

  “Me?” Blow Frost’s face turned puce. “Eat it now?” He glanced at Senior Agent Frost-Flipper, a slight sweaty sheen appearing on his feathers. “You don’t seriously believe these wild accusations?”

  She shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to prove them wrong.”

  “Fine!” Blow Frost hissed. He reached down and pretended to dip his flipper into the tub Jackson held out. “Mmm, so yummy,” he said, licking his flipper. “Now can you all clear out of my factory and let me get back to making ice cream?”

  “You didn’t taste it!” Jackson said. “You did exactly what every kid does when their mom asks them to try stuff they know they’ll hate.”

  “Yeah, like that slice of jellied eel brain pie Mom gave me last week.” Quigley shuddered. “She told me I only had to have one tiny taste, so I PRETENDED to try it, but I didn’t really.”

  “Yep, classic fake tasting!” Jackson said.

  Blow Frost’s face darkened. “Don’t you dare accuse me—”

  “But I can help you taste it properly,” Jackson interrupted. “Poop Protector Hat!” he muttered to Quigley. But his buddy was already onto it, rummaging in his backpack.

  “Huh?” Blow Frost stared at them, his beak open in surprise. It was just the opening Jackson needed. Quick as lightning, he grabbed one of the spoons on the hat from Quigley’s bag, dipped it in the ice cream, and shoved it into Blow Frost’s mouth.

  “How dare you!” spluttered Blow Frost, spitting out the ice cream, but Jackson shoved in another spoonful. And another. “Stop!” Blow Frost batted him away. But then he suddenly stopped batting and spluttering and shouting and—

  Froze.

  “Mr. Blow Frost?” Senior Agent Frost-Flipper said. “Sir? Are you okay? You look a bit—”

  “Zombified?” Jackson suggested.

  “Brain-frozen?” Quigley added.

  “Mind-altered?” Jackson said with a smile.

  Senior Agent Frost-Flipper gave them a stern look. “Mr. Blow Frost?” She prodded him, but the evil penguin just stood there, staring into the distance.

  “Don’t worry. It will wear off soon,” Jackson explained. “So we’d better hurry.” He turned to face Blow Frost. “Mr. Blow Frost, tell us the truth.”

  “The truth,” Blow Frost repeated in a zombie voice.

  “Do you make mind-altering ice cream?”

  “Yes,” Blow Frost said.

  “Did you take over my uncle’s favorite snack shack for the day so you could feed him mind-altering ice cream that turned him into a bank-robbing zombie?”

  “Yes,” Blow Frost said.

  “Are all the money and jewels that he stole on your behalf stashed somewhere in the factory?”

  “Yes. They are in the big cupboard at the back of my office.”

  Senior Agent Frost-Flipper gasped.

  Jackson nodded. “It was a clever plan. There’s a speaker inside every Frosters cap,” he explained, “so Blow Frost was able to give commands to Uncle Bryn and his colleagues.”

  “Plus there’s a camera in the front, so he could see what they were doing,” Quigley pointed out. “It’s actually my cousin Sunny’s design.”

  “But he’s NOT involved!” Jackson added quickly. “He had no clue what the caps were to be used for.”

  Senior Agent Frost-Flipper nodded. “So you boys were”—she coughed and cleared her throat—“right all along.”

  Jackson nodded. “Now will you let my uncle Bryn go?”

  “Of course!” Senior Agent Frost-Flipper said. “And I should probably give you boys a medal.”

  “Or maybe you could just let us join the FBI,” Jackson suggested.

  But before Senior Agent Frost-Flipper could reply—

  “Absolutely not!” shouted a familiar voice. Her face shrimp-pink, her feathers flat with sweat, and her temper already maxing out on the Shark Scale of Crossness, Jackson’s mom stomped over to the group. “Would someone please tell me what is going on here?”

  Jackson felt his feathers shrivel under her gaze. “I-I-I can explain,” he spluttered, trying to meet her eye. But he wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to. Luckily, he didn’t have to, because at just that moment there was a shout from behind them.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  Jackson spun around. “Uncle Bryn!”

  He was lumbering toward them, rubbing his crest and yawning.

  “Hey, Jackson, good to see you! Guess what?” he said. “I just woke up in the back of that sled. Weird, eh?” He suddenly noticed the other FBI agents. “Oh, hi, guys—err, good to see you, too. I just had the strangest dream.” He shook his head and blinked. “There was this weird glowing ice cream and I was robbing banks and—” He spotted his boss. “Senior Agent Frost-Flipper!” he squeaked. “And Marina?” He blinked at Jackson’s mom. “Um—what are you all doing here?” He looked around, suddenly noticing the factory, all the worker penguins, and Blow Frost still in a trance. “Um—where ARE we exactly?”

  “It’s a long story,” Jackson said, glancing at his mom. “But me and Quigley will fill you in. It may take some time. Let’s walk.” As far away from here as possible!

  21

  “It could be worse,” Quigley said as he handed a tub of ice cream to a small hatchling. “We could have been put back on deck-cleaning duty.”

  Jackson grimaced. “I think I’d prefer that. This costume is so hot.” He scratched inside his fluffy ice cream cone hood and wished for the hundredth time that he’d never agreed to this plan.

  It was a few days after the whole ice cream adventure, and Jackson’s mom had arranged for them to help out at Brain Freezers for the day as punishment for sticking thei
r beaks into FBI business again. Jackson had hoped he’d be working behind the counter making amazing ice cream sundaes. But instead, he and Quigley were out in the park, selling tubs of ice cream from Victor’s mobile cart. Unfortunately, they were also dressed as giant ice cream cones. After all the bad publicity about Frosters’ mind-altering frozen treats, Victor had been worried people might not want to eat ice cream anymore. But Jackson and Quigley had been running off their flippers.

  Jackson scratched his itchy neck again. “You’d think Mom would be pleased we’d saved Uncle Bryn from a life of crime.”

  Quigley nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not sure she approved of the other stuff: driving without a license, endangering the lives of pedestri- penguins, and very nearly getting ourselves imprisoned in the deep freeze at Frosters Factory!”

  Jackson sighed. “I guess not.”

  Life in Rookeryville had snapped back to normal pretty quickly after Blow Frost’s arrest. Uncle Bryn and his two colleagues had taken a few days’ vacation at the FBI rest center for a complete ice cream detox. All the stolen jewels and money had been found in the factory and safely returned to the rightful owners. And Frosters Factory had been put up for sale.

  “I wish we could buy it,” Quigley said. “Imagine owning your own ice cream factory!”

  Jackson shuddered. “Yeah, imagine! I think I’m kind of over ice cream— Hey, look, there’s Lily and the hatchlings. Lily! Over here!”

  “Hi, Jackson. Hi, Quigley.” Lily smiled. “It was kind of you to call; the hatchlings are so excited to get ice cream.”

  “No problem,” Jackson said, flipping open the cart lid so the little penguins could see inside. “It’s the least we could do after all your help.” He pulled his backpack out from under the cart and rummaged inside for his wallet.

  “Did your mom stop your allowance, too?” Quigley whispered, digging some coins out of his own bag.

  Jackson nodded. “I’m using savings.” He smiled at the hatchlings. “Okay, help yourselves to any tub you want. Me and Quigley are paying.”

  As the little ones reached for their ice creams, Jackson heard a horrible laugh.

  “Check out the ice cream loser patrol!”

  Jackson groaned. Hoff Rockface!

  “Hey, Jackson. Love your costume,” Hoff said. “This will make an awesome picture for my Visitor’s Guide to Rookeryville. Smile for the camera!”

  Jackson shut his eyes and wished the sidewalk could swallow him up sucking-squid style. Maybe scooping poop wasn’t so bad after all.

  “Selfie!” Hoff said, turning the camera around so he was in the shot, too. “Come on, Jackson, smile!”

  Jackson gritted his beak. Now everyone at school would see him in his ice cream costume.

  “I want a free ice cream, too!” Hoff said, leaning into the cart.

  “Huh?” Jackson glared at him. “No way!”

  “You gave them free ice cream.” Hoff scowled at the hatchlings. “I saw.”

  “No, we didn’t. Me and Quigley are paying for them.”

  “It’s true,” Lily said. “They are using their own money.”

  “Don’t believe you.” Hoff’s eyes narrowed. “If you don’t give me an ice cream, I’ll tell Victor you gave your buddies freebies.”

  Jackson felt a bubble of anger growing in his belly. He was about to tell Hoff to take a long hike off a tall iceberg when Hoff reached in and grabbed a tub from the back.

  “Hey!” Jackson shouted. “Give that back!”

  But Hoff had already ripped off the lid. He smirked at Jackson, then dipped his flipper into the ice cream.

  Jackson gasped. He’d suddenly noticed the weird color of the ice cream Hoff was eating—the weird NEON color!

  “Uh-oh!” Quigley muttered, shooting a worried glance at Jackson.

  “Um, Hoff, I don’t think you should eat that,” Jackson said. “No, seriously, stop eating it NOW!”

  But Hoff kept on slurping it out of the tub.

  Jackson looked at Quigley. “Is that what I think it is?” he muttered.

  “I think so,” Quigley whispered. “It must have been left over from when Blow Frost’s goons took over Brain Freezers. Victor obviously didn’t notice it when he loaded the cart for us this morning.”

  “Is Hoff okay?” Lily said. “He looks kind of—freaky.”

  Hoff had finished eating now and was staring into space, a strange zombie look on his face.

  Jackson shrugged. “He may have accidentally just eaten some of Blow Frost’s mind- altering ice cream.”

  Lily’s eyes widened. “Should we call his parents?”

  “Nah,” Quigley said. “It’ll wear off soon. If we tell him to go straight home, he should be okay.”

  Jackson nodded. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Wait—first I want to fix something. Hey, Hoff? Hoff Rockface!” he said loudly.

  Hoff turned to look at him, his eyes still wide and staring.

  “Hoff Rockface,” Jackson said. “Wipe all photos of Jackson and Quigley off your camera.”

  Instantly, Hoff began doing as he was told.

  “Wow!” Lily breathed. “That ice cream really works.”

  “Hoff Rockface!” Jackson said again. “When you’ve finished wiping the photos, go and wait in the park for Lily and the hatchlings. When they get there, give the little ones a push on the swings.” Jackson gave a flippers-up to Lily. “Then—umm—go home. Oh, and try to be nicer to Jackson and Quigley, okay?”

  “I’m not sure that bit will work once the ice cream wears off,” Quigley said.

  Jackson peered into the cart. “I wonder if there’s any more in here? I could use some on Finola!”

  “And your mom!” Quigley laughed. “Maybe if we gave her some we could get her to agree to let us join the FBI.”

  “Ha!” Jackson sighed. “No amount of mind- altering ice cream would work on Mom. She’s made of steel.” He bent down to put his backpack under the cart. That’s when he heard it—a loud crackle from the FBI radio inside, then a voice:

  Jackson gasped. “Did you hear that?”

  “Sure did!” Quigley said.

  Lily frowned. “You guys aren’t thinking of responding to that message, are you? Jackson! Your mom will go nuts! And what about the ice cream cart?” She looked at Quigley, then back at Jackson. They were both looking at her now, with hopeful faces. “What? No way!” she said. “Uh-uh! I am not working the ice cream cart for you.”

  “Please, Lily. Just for five minutes.” Jackson made a pleading face. “City Museum is just across the park.”

  “Yeah,” Quigley added. “By the time you’ve finished eating your ice cream, we’ll be back.”

  “And don’t forget Hoff’s here to help you with the hatchlings,” Jackson said. “Just keep telling him what to do.” Jackson had slipped out of his ice cream cone costume and laid it on the cart. “I’ll buy you another ice cream when we get back. Please?”

  Lily rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay … I guess it would be fun to sell ice cream. I’m not wearing the costume, though; agreed?”

  But Jackson and Quigley were already racing across the park, heading for the museum.

  “Wonder what’s happening over there?” Quigley puffed. “There’s loads of valuable artifacts inside. Do you think someone’s stealing them?”

  “I dunno, Agent Q,” Jackson said. “But something exciting is happening; I can feel it in my feathers. This could be our big chance to make the FBI see why they need us.” He gave his buddy a flippers-up. “And this time Mom’s not here, so she can’t stop us. Come on! LET’S DO THIS!”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Family and friendship is at the heart of all of Jackson and Quigley’s adventures. And so, too, for me, when I’m writing about them.

  I’d like to thank the wonderful family that is Feiwel and Friends. I couldn’t ask for a better home for Jackson and Quigley. Thanks to my fantastic editor, Holly West, for her guidance and skill. And also to the wider F&F team. Guys, you
r creativity and professionalism is awesome!

  I’d also like to thank Marek Jagucki, the hugely talented artist who brings Rookeryville to life with his amazing pictures.

  It would be impossible to write without the support of my much-loved family; thanks for the laughter, the inspiration, and the endless encouragement.

  And finally I’d like to thank my awesome agent, Gemma Cooper, who has championed Jackson and Quigley from the start. Thanks, Gemma, for your wisdom, sense, and unshakable support. You’re a diamond.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR

  Sam Hay is the author of over thirty books for children including the UNDEAD PETS series (Grosset & Dunlap/Penguin US, Stripes UK) and STELLA AND THE NIGHT SPIRITS (Scholastic US). UNDEAD PETS has been translated into six languages so far. Sam also writes picture books for Egmont, including DO NOT WASH THIS BEAR, DINOSAURS UNITED (July 2017) and STAR IN THE JAR (2018). She was long-listed for the UKLA award for her 2009 novel BILLY ANGEL. Sam was brought up in Scotland and trained as a journalist in Edinburgh. After starting out in newspapers, Sam moved to London where she worked for BBC television for ten years. She still reckons working on daily live television is the perfect brain trainer for life! Sam became a full-time writer when her first baby was born and now lives in Wales with her husband and two children who provide the inspiration for many of her stories. Sam is a passionate advocate for improving literacy in schools and is a regular visitor to classrooms across the country. She has a fantastic repertoire of games and stories to get kids excited about reading. You can sign up for email updates here.

  Marek Jagucki, the illustrator of the My Big Fat Zombie Goldfish series, is a graduate of Falmouth School of Art and Design. He is a full-time illustrator and graphic designer based in Yorkshire, UK. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  Feiwel and Friends ebook.