“I suppose I failed to consider the vital role an artifact of such awesome power might have on your ability to pass a pop quiz,” Mister Fox said. “Shame on me. Ah, well, opportunities lost. But on to other things, though they pale in comparison. Ratatosk gave me the bare bones of yesterday’s story, but I still want to hear the details from the two of you.”
They sat on the porch of the Henhouse and took turns retelling everything that had taken place over the past couple of days. Everyone had something to say, especially Ratatosk, who did not often get to speak so many of his own words. And, naturally, everyone had questions. Facing Pru, Mister Fox went first.
“All right, I’ve gone over it again and again and I have to ask. How did you get inside the Henhouse?”
“Oh, that.” Pru cleared her throat. “Um, it’s possible I read your lips, that day outside the Henhouse. I saw you whisper something, and when I repeated it, the door to the Henhouse appeared.”
“Reading lips? That’s a difficult thing to do. It’s also incredibly sneaky. I’m impressed.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” Mister Fox leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows. “For sneaking into the Henhouse? Hardly. How do you think I first got into Baba Yaga’s house?”
“I have a question,” ABE said, also turning to Pru. “How did you know Thor would answer your call?”
“I wondered that, too,” Mister Fox said.
Pru pulled Thor’s amulet from her bag and showed it to Mister Fox and ABE.
“Thor gave this to me when I found him in the jail. He said people used it when they called on him for help, a long time ago. I kind of forgot about it for a while because Thor made it clear he wasn’t going to disobey his dad by leaving the jail or interfering on Midgard. But when I thought about the vision I saw in the Eye of Odin, I realized that the last thing I screamed was actually Thor’s name.”
“You read your own lips in your vision of the future?” Mister Fox asked. “Brilliant!”
Pru blushed. “I didn’t understand at first. Why would I scream for Thor when he was locked up and refused to help? Then I remembered. The sun came out yesterday when Mister Fox and I were in the cemetery, just before I left for Asgard. I figured all those clouds we’d had were because Thor was locked in our jail and the weather reflected his mood. The sun must have broken through because Thor wasn’t in jail anymore.”
“I’m sure Odin released him as soon as Loki left for Asgard,” Mister Fox said, nodding.
“And we weren’t on Midgard anymore, either,” Pru added. “Odin only said Thor couldn’t interfere with events on Midgard. Since I was in Asgard, I figured calling for help was fair game.”
“You were amazing,” ABE said. “All I did was get captured.”
“No way,” Pru objected. “You figured out who Fay was even before I did. And you ran through a battlefield to get the Eye of Odin. That was one of the bravest things I ever saw.”
ABE ran a hand through his hair, but he also smiled.
Pru shifted in her seat and focused on Mister Fox. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question: If you knew Loki was involved like you said, how come you didn’t use your looking glass to find Loki in the town? If I used it to track down ABE on Asgard, how come you couldn’t use it to track down Loki here?”
“I tried. There was too much interference. Thor’s tantrum charged the whole atmosphere around Middleton with magical energy. The closer I got to town, the worse it was. Every once in a while I’d catch a hint of a trail. That’s why I was in town that day when you two saw me. But the trail kept dissolving. It wasn’t until Loki stood directly in front of me in the cemetery that night that I was able to identify him with the looking glass.”
“How come you didn’t tell me it was him?” Pru asked, thinking of all the trouble it would have saved them.
“Because at that time, I didn’t even know if you knew who Loki was. Besides, would you have believed me?”
“No,” Pru admitted, remembering how frightened she’d been of Mister Fox at the time.
“Hold on a second,” ABE said. “You knew we saw you that day we followed you to the fort?”
“I’d be a pretty poor detective if I didn’t know when someone was watching me.”
“How come you didn’t say anything?” Pru asked.
“I was curious. I wanted to see what you’d do. Though I might have handled things differently if I’d known what waited at the fort. You weren’t prepared for that. Still, everything worked out.”
“There’s something else,” ABE said. “That day we followed you we noticed that the people around you acted weird.”
“That’s right! They acted like they couldn’t see you, like you were unnoticeable. Like a Mythic.” Pru peered at Mister Fox, a hint of suspicion clouding the otherwise perfect day.
“Very good,” Mister Fox said, reclining further and stretching his legs. “You’re right. But I’m not a Mythic, Pru, so you can stop looking at me like that. I was born here just like you and ABE. But remember, I did spend half my life traveling Worlds of Myth in the Henhouse. So while I don’t belong there in those worlds, I don’t belong here in this one anymore, either. Not completely. I’m able to pass unnoticed here, just as you were able to pass unnoticed in Asgard.”
“That explains why people didn’t really see you,” ABE said. “But I’ve also been wondering how come people could see Fay. She was a Mythic, after all.”
“But she didn’t appear as one,” Mister Fox explained. “People wouldn’t have seen Loki, but Fay fit the idea of something people expected to see. That’s why people in town could see Old Man Grimnir, too. He didn’t appear as Odin. You see, even people who can’t see Mythics are aware of their presence on a basic level. They’re the movements out of the corner of the eye. The shifting shadows of the shouldn’t-be. So when a Mythic is around, the minds of people who can’t see Mythics create reasonable explanations for them.”
“So Fay and Old Man Grimnir were reasonable explanations,” ABE said, nodding.
“Does that mean that if the giants had attacked, people’s minds would have created reasonable explanations for the damage they did?” Pru asked.
“Exactly. Those giants would have destroyed Middleton. But survivors would have reported a tornado had swept through the town, or something like that. Oftentimes, when the news reports natural disasters as ‘acts of God,’ they’re right, more or less. They just don’t know which god. Now, before I forget, there’s something I want to give you two.”
The detective rose and went inside. When he returned, he carried two miniature Henhouses. Each was the size of a dollhouse, though crafted with such detail that Pru could see the porch, the round window, and the weather vane at the very top. In fact, the only difference that Pru could see (besides size) between the miniature Henhouses and the real one was that the Henhouses Mister Fox carried each had a handle extending up from the roof. As Mister Fox set the miniatures down beside her and ABE, Pru noticed that one of the boxes was just a bit larger than the other.
“Consider these tokens of appreciation, or maybe tools of the trade,” Mister Fox said. “The front panel opens. Look inside.”
Pru pulled on the doorknob and the front face of her Henhouse swung open. Inside was a looking glass just like Mister Fox’s except for the sculpted squirrel’s head that adorned the bottom of Pru’s glass’s handle in place of the fox head on the original.
“It seemed appropriate,” Mister Fox said, looking over her shoulder. “Only the rarest of creatures can travel between the worlds these days.”
Ratatosk had lost interest in the conversation when it moved away from his role and decided to stretch out and enjoy the sun. Now, he roused himself and settled on one of Pru’s shoulders to admire his likeness on Pru’s glass. “Dashing. Very, very handsome.”
“And for you, ABE, the raven seemed right for someone who sees so much,” Mister Fox said.
Pru looked over to see that ABE held a glas
s like hers but with a raven at the base of its handle.
“Cool!” Pru tested the weight of hers in her hand. “Are they magic?”
“They’re enchanted, yes, much like mine.”
“Thanks,” ABE said. “It’s . . . amazing.” He shifted in his seat, his eyes locked on the looking glass he held in his lap.
“Is something wrong, ABE? Not a fan of ravens?” Mister Fox asked.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . I feel bad. After Pru talked to Thor, she asked me what I thought of you. And, at the time, I wasn’t sure. I was really scared of everything that was happening, actually. And I was a little scared of you. Pru knew better. I think I just confused her more and made it easier for Loki to trick her.”
“No, ABE,” Pru said before Mister Fox could speak. “You were just being honest. It’s sort of your thing. And besides, you weren’t wrong.” She met the detective’s eyes. “Mister Fox isn’t dangerous, but being around him’s not exactly safe, either, if you think about the work he does.”
Mister Fox tipped his hat in acknowledgment of the fact.
“Pru’s quite right, ABE. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“But while we’re talking about you, I have one more question,” Pru said, studying the detective. “Why do you live in the cemetery? It’s kind of gloomy, isn’t it?”
“It’s not really my choice. Witches are magical creatures. They build their houses to exist on the borderlands between this world and Worlds of Myth. The Henhouse is no exception. For some reason, though, when I moved in, the Henhouse began only to set foot—forgive the pun—on lands that were also on the border between the living and the dead, graveyards and such. It might be because I’m mortal, and not a witch. Or maybe the Henhouse has a morbid sense of humor.”
Almost as if the Henhouse knew it was the subject of discussion, a creaking sound reached Pru’s ears and she looked up to see the weather vane atop the Henhouse begin to shift.
“Ah,” Mister Fox said, rising, “duty calls.”
“What do you mean?” Pru asked.
“The Henhouse has a whiff of trouble brewing somewhere.”
“Another Mythic crossing into our world?” ABE asked, rising and stepping down from the porch.
“Looks that way.” Mister Fox’s voice carried an edge of excitement.
“So you’re leaving? Already?” Pru asked, dislodging Ratatosk as she jumped off the steps and landed next to ABE. Ratatosk scampered up to perch on Mister Fox’s shoulder, apparently deciding to try a new method of travel.
The Henhouse began to shift and rose up on its one chicken foot. The detective still stood atop the steps. With one hand, he gripped the railing while, with the other, he held his hat firmly upon his head, high above them.
“It would appear so. Pru and ABE, it was a pleasure meeting you both,” Mister Fox called down.
Pru had one question left. She was almost too afraid to ask it, but she was more afraid of not knowing the answer.
“Will we ever see you again?” she called up to Mister Fox.
He appeared to think about it.
“It seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” he said. “The mystery is solved, the villain is defeated, and the day is saved. I don’t see why our paths would cross again.”
The Henhouse crouched, preparing to launch. As it did, it lowered Mister Fox down almost to the level of the ground. He leaned forward and added, with a wink, “And that’s the truth.”
With that, the Henhouse’s single leg straightened and shot the headquarters of The Unbelievable FIB high into the air at a dizzying speed. It vanished quickly, though the detective’s whoop of delight lingered in the air a little longer.
“That is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” ABE said. “And that’s saying something these days.” He looked over at Pru, perhaps expecting that she’d need comforting. Instead, he found her looking up into the sky and smiling.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m great. Why do you ask?”
“Um . . . I guess I thought you’d be sad that he left.”
“I am.”
“Oh.” ABE took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m almost afraid to ask, because the last time someone asked you this question things got pretty insane. But . . . why are you smiling, exactly?”
“Because Mister Fox said it was true that we’d never see him again.”
“Right.” ABE appeared thoughtful. “No, sorry. I still don’t get it.”
“He said it was true,” Pru repeated, turning her smile on her friend. “But he never said it was entirely true.”
Acknowledgments
I’m extremely grateful to the many people who helped this story complete its journey to publication. It’s a journey that began with Ammi-Joan Paquette, my agent, and ended with Elise Howard, my editor. Both Joan and Elise were everything a new author could hope for in an agent and editor—they were honest, supportive, knowledgeable, and (most of all) very patient.
There were also many people who helped along the way. I’m grateful to the many folks at Algonquin Young Readers who helped in the book’s development in so many ways, including Hannah Allaman, Sarah Alpert, Kelly Bowen, Emma Boyer, Robin Cruise, Brooke Csuka, Brunson Hoole, Eileen Lawrence, Debra Linn, Krestyna Lypen, Lauren Moseley, Craig Popelars, Chad Royal, and Ina Stern.
I’m also grateful to my readers, including Nancy Ruth Patterson, Stacey Donahoe, Frances Kelley Prescott, Joan Domin, Karen Lindeborg, Elaine Vickers, and Jane LeGrow—who went above and beyond in her support by agreeing to marry me over the course of this journey, which was very generous of her, I think, and for which I am particularly grateful.
Finally, tracing the story’s development back to its very beginning, I learned a lot about what kinds of stories I enjoy sharing with children through the work I’ve done with them. I am grateful to everyone who has given me the opportunities I’ve had to do that work, including Rebecca McNulty, David Taylor, Richard Virgin, Sally Myers, Adriana DeGrafft, and Laureen Pierandi. And, of course, I am grateful to all the young people who have taught me so much over the years.
(c) Angela Chicoski Photography
ADAM SHAUGHNESSY is an author and educator. He received his BA in English from Connecticut College and is currently pursuing his MA in children’s literature from Hollins University. Adam lives in Waterford, Connecticut. The Entirely True Story of the Unbelievable FIB is his first novel.
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Published by
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© 2015 by Adam Shaughnessy.
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Printed in the United States of America.
ISBN 978-1-61620-552-2
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