Jackson Jones, Book 2

by Jenn L. Kelly

  “Yourrrr time is up, young man!” a familiar voice squawked out.

  Jackson sighed. He stashed the bottle in his bag and walked to the edge of the boat. Miss Flaversham was glaring up at him with her wings on her hips. Jackson climbed down.

  chapter 49

  In Which Jackson Learns the Importance of Conservation

  Dooooo come again and visit sooooon,” Miss Flaversham clucked as she pushed him back toward the elevator with her surprisingly strong wings.

  “Wait, wait! Are you taking me home?” Jackson dug his heels in a little.

  “No, no, much too busy! BAAWK!”

  “Well … isn’t there somewhere I can clean up? I’m all sticky from the eggs!”

  Miss Flaversham clucked fussily. “Don’t you have anything in your bag?”

  Jackson rummaged in his bag, finally pulling out the bottle of water. “What if I dump this on my head?”

  “No! Nooooo!” she shrieked, waving her wings wildly in protest. “Don’t waste it! Just a drop!”

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. He carefully unscrewed the top, cracking the seal. Miss Flaversham danced around him, fussing. “Just a drop, mind you! Don’t waste a single drop!”

  Jackson stared at the water bottle, then at Miss Flaversham, and then back at the bottle.

  The chicken shook her head, her eyelashes sticking together again. “Just give me the bottle. I’ll do it. You’ll mess up everything!” Jackson handed her the bottle. Why argue with a hysterical chicken? No point, really.

  Miss Flaversham took the bottle carefully in her wings and slowly raised it above Jackson’s head. “Close your eyes now and whateverrrrr you do, don’t open them!” she warned.

  Jackson closed his eyes tightly and waited for the splash.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  “Um, Miss Flaversham?”

  “Shhhh!” she whispered screechily.

  So Jackson waited.

  And just then, a cool tingling began at the top of Jackson’s head. It slid down his face, his ears, down his shirt and chest.

  “Don’t open your eyes!” Miss Flaversham shrieked.

  The tingling trickled down his arms and legs and into his toes. He waited.

  “All donnnne!” Miss Flaversham sang out.

  Jackson opened his eyes. He was clean! All the egg goop was out of his shirt, his shorts, his hair! How was that even …?

  “All right, you’re all clean, have a nice day!” said Miss Flaversham, and she shoved him toward the elevator.

  “I guess I’ll see you soon when …”

  “But not tooooo soon!” she sang, and gave him a harder shove.

  Jackson stood in front of the elevator door. He turned to look back, but Miss Flaversham was already waddling away, muttering to herself.

  With a whir and a churn …

  DING!

  The elevator door opened.

  chapter 50

  In Which Stimple Is Extremely Grouchy

  Ya keep takin’ off! I don’t have all day to follow you around!” Stimple growled.

  Jackson’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? You dumped me! Again! With a big chicken! And she was grouchy—just like you! Oh …” Jackson covered his mouth. Stimple had turned a deep shade of vermilion. “I mean … oh, I didn’t mean that. I meant …”

  Stimple grabbed Jackson’s arm and dragged him into the elevator. Sir Shaw kept his gaze forward, not interfering. With a whir and a churn, the elevator door closed.

  “I’m sorry. I just meant … why won’t you just take me home?” Jackson asked. “Wait. Is that a … is that a cob of corn in your beard?”

  “Why won’t you just take me home!” Stimple imitated in a high, nasal voice. “Whiner.” Stimple tucked the cob corn further into his beard.

  “Hmph,” said Jackson. Stimple stared straight ahead. The elevator went down. Jackson looked at Sir Shaw. Sir Shaw gave Jackson a look, a quick look, and then looked away. Jackson wasn’t quite sure what the look meant. He racked his brain, trying to figure it out.

  And with a whir and a churn …

  DING!

  The elevator door opened.

  chapter 51

  Which Is the Fifty-First Chapter

  Stimple shoved Jackson out.

  “Hey! You don’t need to be so rough!” Jackson shouted.

  Stimple growled, but paused. “Humph.” And he walked off down the path. Jackson paused, then chased him down and walked beside him quietly. He had to get Stimple to help him get home! How on earth was he going to convince him?

  “So …” Jackson began tentatively. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

  Stimple rolled his eyes. Jackson tried again.

  “Do you have to collect all the garbage from the tree?”

  Stimple sneezed. “Yah.” He sniffed loudly and pulled a half-eaten roast beef on rye out of his beard. He threw it into his mouth.

  Jackson and Stimple stopped in front of two garbage bags. “Want some help?” Jackson asked. Stimple just raised his eyebrows and kept chewing.

  One of the garbage bags was a perfectly rounded, double-bagged, extra-strength, super-flex, pink-ribboned, freshly-scented bag. The other was a dirty brown bag with holes that were oozing blackish liquid and smelled like a festering burrito.

  Jackson reached out for the perfectly rounded, double-bagged, extra-strength, super-flex, pink-ribboned, freshly-scented bag. “I’ll carry this one, if you don’t mind.”

  Stimple shrugged. “Suit yerself.” He hoisted the dirty brown bag and threw it on his back. Little bits of blackish liquid flew out of the hole, spraying the walls and Jackson’s feet.

  “Oh, gross!” Jackson muttered. He looked around for some fallen leaves to wipe it off. Oh, the stink was awful! He wished he had some antibacterial wipes now! He bent down to pick up his own garbage bag. Not too heavy. Must be Burt’s garbage bag.

  Jackson followed Stimple down the path. He had to stay about twenty feet behind, though, as Stimple’s bag kept oozing out blackish liquid and festering burrito stink.

  On and on they walked, the path seeming to lead nowhere. Jackson switched the garbage bag to his other side. The bag wasn’t heavy, exactly, but his left hand was cramping up. Jackson hummed to himself.

  After a few minutes he transferred the bag back again. “Stimple? Do we have much further?” Jackson asked. He was getting a little bored. And thirsty. And maybe a little tired.

  “Oh ho! Gettin’ tired, are ya? Thought you were a strong lad!” Stimple cast a glance over his shoulder.

  “No, no. I’m just thirsty! Maybe we could stop for water? I think I have some on me.” Jackson stopped walking and put down the garbage bag, reaching for his satchel to grab the bottle of water, and then happened to glance up at Stimple. A long, stringy strand of mozzarella cheese ran from his nose to his ear.

  “Um …” Jackson mimed wiping his mouth with his forearm. Then he opened his eyes really wide, staring intently at Stimple, and mimed wiping again.

  Stimple had no idea what Jackson was doing.

  “Stimple, you’ve got … er … What is that? Cheese stuck to your face? Is that … where did you get french onion soup?”

  Stimple brought his arm to his mouth and wiped. “Humph. Some friend you are,” he growled.

  “Wait, what? Are we friends?” Jackson asked.

  “Not anymore!”

  “What? Stimple!” Jackson dropped his garbage bag and threw up his hands. But Stimple just turned his back, pushing the leaky, smelly garbage bag into Jackson. Jackson heaved a very exasperated sigh. “Stimple,” he said, “friends tell each other important things like if they have french onion soup cheese stuck to their face or toilet paper stuck to their shoes.”

  “Shoes? I got no shoes!” And Stimple began to trudge away.

  “Stimple! I’m trying to help!” Jackson called out.

  Stimple whirled around and stomped right up to Jackson, shoving his big nose into Jackson’s face, his putrid breath smelling of onions a
nd a very strong broth. Jackson held his breath.

  “I don’t want help from a lily-livered pipsqueak like you!” Stimple growled.

  Jackson cringed. “You don’t have to be nasty.”

  Stimple’s hairy face grew purple. “An’ you don’t have to be such a whiner! You don’t hear me complainin’ about pickin’ up garbage every day, do ya? I do my job, and I do it good! I was dumped by my own parents, and I’ve had to fend for myself every single day of my life! You don’t hear me complainin’, do ya? No! Because I’m tougher than you, and I’m stronger than you!” Bits of saliva sprayed through the air as Stimple yelled. “I didn’t ask ya to help me, did I? No! I don’t need a needle-nosed tweedlehead followin’ me around asking questions all the time! So quit followin’ me!”

  “I’m helping you because I’m trying to get home! If you would just tell me how to get out of this tree, we’d both be a lot happier!” Jackson shouted.

  “Oh ho!” cried Stimple. “The truth comes out now! Yer just tryin’ to get on my good side so I’ll do what you want!”

  “I’m selfish?” asked Jackson, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? You’re the one who hasn’t bothered to help me at all! You told me you had work to do and I had to wait. So I waited! Patiently!

  And now you won’t help me? I’m helping you out of the goodness of my heart!”

  “Oh, you are, are ya?” Stimple dropped the dirty brown garbage bag with holes that oozed blackish liquid and smelled like festering burritos. It made a satisfyingly squishy sound as it hit the ground. “Out of the goodness of yer heart?”

  “Yes!” Jackson grabbed the smelly garbage bag.

  “And not because you want me to just take ya home?”

  “Well … I’d help you even if you didn’t take me home!” Jackson stuttered and spluttered.

  “Oh, ya would, would ya?” Stimple shoved his nose into Jackson’s face again.

  “Yeah. I would!” Jackson growled back.

  “Then ya won’t mind if I don’t take ya home!”

  “What?” Jackson swallowed. And paused. “N-no.”

  “Ha! Ya right!” Stimple turned away.

  Jackson took a deep breath. Something tickled his brain about the way Sir Shaw looked at him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Think, think, think.

  And the more Jackson thought about it, the more he understood that life was unfair. And the more he understood that Stimple had had it rough growing up. So a little piece of Jackson’s heart hurt for Stimple. He felt bad for him. And that is called compassion.

  “I’m sorry, Stimple,” Jackson said, putting a hand on the troll’s shoulder.

  Stimple shrugged him off. “Got work to do. Leave me alone.” Stimple grabbed the two garbage bags and walked away.

  “Stimple!”

  chapter 52

  In Which Jackson Learns about His Roots

  The elevator door opened, and Jackson went in. With a whir and a churn, the door closed. “Good day, sir,” said Sir Shaw in his dignified but polite voice.

  “Hi.”

  “And how is your adventure going, sir? As expected?” Sir Shaw asked.

  Jackson snorted. “Some adventure. I just want to go home, and Stimple … Stimple …” Jackson fell quiet.

  Sir Shaw nodded knowingly. “Stimple is a rather complex character.”

  “Do you know him well?” Jackson asked.

  Sir Shaw paused. “I know enough.”

  “Is that why … is that why you gave me that look?”

  Sir Shaw chuckled, but didn’t answer the question. Jackson looked to the floor, deep in thought. “Do you work here all by yourself?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Sir Shaw replied. “Someone needs to man the elevator.”

  “But don’t you get lonely?” Jackson asked.

  “Sometimes.” Sir Shaw’s dark blue eyes looked into Jackson’s.

  “Doesn’t anyone ever visit?”

  “Not really.” Sir Shaw pulled the gold lever, and the elevator lurched downward.

  “Why?” Jackson was beginning to feel bad for Sir Shaw. He knew he’d feel awful if no one ever came to visit him.

  “Oh, people used to visit. People used to visit all the time.”

  “What happened? Why doesn’t anyone visit anymore?”

  “The wind blows them away,” Sir Shaw mused. “They get too busy and blow away. No roots, you see.”

  Jackson got a very puzzled look on his face. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “If you forget where you are from,” said Sir Shaw, “if there is too much busyness in your life, you forget about what matters. You have no roots.”

  “Roots?” Jackson asked.

  Sir Shaw smiled. “What is the most important thing in this world?”

  Jackson thought for a moment. He really, really wanted to give the right answer. “Love,” he said.

  Sir Shaw nodded. “And who loves you more than anything else in the world?”

  “My parents. The Author. My sister and … my brother,” Jackson admitted.

  “And do you think anything would stop them from loving you?”

  “Nothing!” Jackson’s cheeks blushed red as he recalled a certain argument with his little brother over the scribbled journal.

  “But what happens when you get really busy? Your family has a great deal going on. You do not end up spending much time together, right? You are busy getting things done.”

  “Yup. Sometimes it gets so busy we don’t even have time to eat dinner together!” Jackson exclaimed.

  “Now imagine you were busy all the time,” said Sir Shaw. “And the family dinners stopped. And the busyness got even more busy. Then what would happen?”

  Jackson thought for a moment. “Then we would forget how much fun it is to have dinner together because we’d get used to the busyness.”

  Sir Shaw nodded. “Exactly. And then you forget what is important. Your roots.”

  Jackson stared. “You mean, my family is my roots?”

  Sir Shaw smiled. Jackson said nothing, his gaze at the floor while he pondered things. And then, with a whir and a churn …

  DING!

  The elevator door opened.

  chapter 53

  In Which We Get to the Bottom of It All

  Your floor, sir.” A long, dark tunnel, lit only by the dim light of flickering candles, stretched out before him. It was kinda creepy, kinda dark, and kinda scary.

  “Um … where are we?” Jackson asked. He cleared his throat, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. “In the elevator, sir.”

  “No, I mean—ahem! — which floor?”

  “The bottom, sir.”

  “Why are we at the bottom? Is this the way home?” Jackson couldn’t see anything down the hallway. Did he really have to go this way to go home? Couldn’t there be a more cheerful, happier tunnel with lots of light and maybe a cotton candy machine to satisfy a sweet tooth?

  “You need to finish your adventure, do you not? You cannot go home until you have finished what you have come to do.” Sir Shaw raised a fluffy white eyebrow.

  “But I never came to do anything! I got blown up into the tree by accident by some freak storm!” Jackson protested.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Am I sure about what?”

  “That you are not meant to do something here? That maybe that ‘freak storm,’ as you put it, was maybe not an accident?” Sir Shaw peered into Jackson’s face.

  “I …” But Jackson had nothing to say.

  “Things are seldom what they seem,” Sir Shaw said.

  Jackson looked back at the dark hallway. He took a deep breath.

  “You can do it,” Sir Shaw whispered. “Have some faith in yourself.”

  Jackson looked back at Sir Shaw and then nodded sharply. He stepped out of the elevator.

  With a whir and a churn, the elevator door closed behind him.

  chapter 54

  In Which Jackson Hears an Ominous Sound (Ominous
Means You’d Better Watch Out!)

  It was hard to breathe in there. Jackson took deeper breaths, gasping a little as he coughed. The air was heavy, dank, and dark. The walls seemed to be made of dirt. Jackson reached out and scraped one with a finger. Spongy and moist. Dirt. Was he underground? Jackson reached into his satchel and pulled out the flashlight. He flicked on the switch and shone the light around. It didn’t reveal a lot. It was still dark, the walls were still made of dirt, and it was still hard to breathe.

  “Tee hee hee!”

  Jackson spun. There was nothing there.

  “Tee hee hee!”

  His head whipped around, his flashlight pointing in all directions, trying to find the source of the noise. The tittering, laughing, giggling didn’t sound friendly.

  Jackson decided to be brave. He started walking. One foot in front of the other, his chest pounding as he gulped the stale air.

  The tunnel seemed to get bigger up ahead. Jackson walked a bit faster. Then he blinked.

  chapter 55

  Which Is Not Particularly Long

  The tunnel opened up into a massive chamber. There was a smell of something rotting in the air. Large black pipes ran every which way, climbing between each other, up and around and all over the room. And every few feet a brightly-colored rag was tied tight around a pipe.

  Grunt! Grunt!

  “Hello?” Jackson called out, just a little timidly. At least the giggling seemed to have stopped.

  CLANG!

  “Busy! Busy! Can’t talk now!” GRUNT!

  Jackson took a deep breath and decided again to be brave. He walked toward the voice.

  chapter 56

  In Which Jackson Knows a Thing or Two about Knots

  A short, squat, elfish-looking creature was tying a purple rag onto a pipe. He was absolutely filthy. A few scraggly strands of hair poked out from underneath a dirty hat. Jackson could just make out his grimy pointed ears and the black, gooey smears all over his uniform and thick fingers. The creature glanced at Jackson, his bright green eyes like two bright lights in the darkness, then went back to his work.