This griffin was considerably larger than most griffins. Its breathing made the air quake around Rosie. Standing so close to it was like standing next to a raging storm embodied in a creature that seemed created to tear the world to pieces.
The griffin stretched its feathery head toward the sky and opened its beak.
CEEEEERRRAAAAAARP!
Rosie trembled. Just a little. Mostly because the earth was shaking under the griffin’s sharp cry.
CEEEEERRRAAAAAARP!
The griffin shook its thick mane of white and gold feathers and lowered its face so it was eye to eye with Rosie, if it is possible to be eye to eye with something so much smaller than you.
Its eyes were the color of the ocean, cold and blue and seemingly endless.
The griffin narrowed its gaze. It swung its tail around, crushing the flagpole like it was a piece of chalk, sending Bearwoman, Mal, and Molly diving for cover.
Rosie called out without turning. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”
“YES!” Mal and Molly stood up, shaken but in one piece.
Bearwoman dragged herself up from the ground. “A fine mess,” she grumbled.
Rosie breathed a sigh of relief. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her eyes. She held out her hands palms up to show the griffin that she did not have anything in her hands. No weapons.
Again, the griffin raised its beak to the sky.
CEEEEERRRAAAAAARP!
The griffin lifted its claws and brought them crashing down to the earth not an inch away from Rosie’s feet.
“We—” Rosie finally spoke, struggling to keep her balance in the gust of the griffin’s mighty CERARP. “I assure you, we did not take the egg. And we are trying to find it.”
The creature sat back and raised its wings up to the sky, unfurling its magnificent feathers.
Bearwoman looked up. “Humph,” she said.
The sky was black. The sun was blocked by a flock of winged beasts, descending.
ACTING OUT!
NOBODY KNOWS I’M A THESPIAN!
The performing arts are an important part of scouting life. The ability to make an audience laugh. Or cry. The ability to tell a story. All these fall under the powers of communication and expression, which are vital to any Lumberjane.
With this badge, scouts will acquire an appreciation for the various forms of theatrical performance, including stage acting, mime, performance art, and improv comedy.
Scouts will also learn to cooperate, combining the talents of actors, technicians, designers, writers, and directors, to produce, stage, and perform their plays. TEAMWORK POWER!
Lumberjanes know that, onstage, a scout has the opportunity to affect hearts and minds, to tell truths, create fantasies, and give insight into the human . . .
CHAPTER 22
Ripley watched nervously from her perch on Jeremy’s back while he continued grazing quietly and April’s Plan #4520A was laid out in all its glory.
Sometimes, watching these plans unfold felt a little to Ripley like watching a detective show with her brothers and sisters when she was home. Ripley’s sister Amy LOVED detective shows and books and movies. She always knew who the bad guy was, no matter what. Sometimes even in the first ten minutes, Amy would sit forward on the couch and point at the screen and say, “Ha! It’s that guy, that guy in the hat did it!”
Ripley never saw it. “What?” she’d say, with a mouthful of popcorn.
Amy said the reason Ripley didn’t see stuff was because she was a little kid. “You just don’t GET IT,” she’d sigh.
Ripley would always take another look at the guy with the hat and wonder what it was Amy could see.
Of course, Barney said all you had to do was look closer, and carefuller, and think about what it was you were seeing.
“Okay,” April said as the scouts huddled in a circle next to Jeremy. “There’s six of us, which means we can split up by twos and take a three-pronged approach: distraction, retrieval, and EGG-scape.”
Placing her notebook on the ground, April pointed to the far-right corner. “Here is Eggie, who is being held captive by Eugene and Egberta, who, according to Jo’s fortuitous research, we have discovered, are very likely members of the Order of the Golden Egg.”
“Do we know there’s just the two of them?” Hes asked, pointing at the stick figures April had used to indicate the taller Egberta and the shorter Eugene.
“We’ve only SEEN two,” Ripley pointed out. “But there were lots of footprints by the nest.”
“Sure. Two or three, the plan should still work,” April said. “SO! Wren and I will pose as lost hikers. We will distract whoever is at the camp, allowing Jo and Barney to release Eggie from the net and pass Eggie off to Ripley.”
April looked at Ripley. “You’re the smallest, so you can hide in the tall grass, and Barney can do a hidden handoff to you, then take off in the other direction. So it will look like Barney has Eggie, or at least give us a moment of confusion as to WHO has Eggie.”
“Like a trick play,” Ripley said. “Like football!”
“Exactly!” April said. “And you’re small, so it’s perfect. You can hide in the grass easy-peasy.”
April squeezed Ripley’s foot. “Then you’ll run with Ripley-like grace and speed to Hes, who will be waiting just beyond the pass with Jeremy.”
Ripley smiled. “Bet your Gabby Douglas I will!”
“Hopefully they won’t see the handoff and you’ll have a clear path.” April was closing up her notebook when Hes raised her hand.
“Yes, Hes?” April said.
“Where are you going?” Hes asked, looking at April’s plan. “You know? Like, what’s your destination?”
“Oh yeah.” Wren looked at April. “That’s a good question.”
“What?” April frowned and pointed at the plan. “We’re going here.”
“No. I mean, where are the tourists going?” Hes asked. “You know, because they’re asking for directions . . .”
“Annabella Panache would say you need INTENTION,” Wren said, holding her fingers stiffly with great panache.
“YES,” Jo concurred.
“Okay.” April looked at her notebook. “The tourists will ask for directions to a waterfall. Tourists like waterfalls.”
Jo considered. “If Eugene and Egberta don’t know where the waterfall is, and they can’t help, what else are you going to say?”
“Another thing we could do”—Hes scratched her chin—“is a one-on-one defense, but since we don’t know if there’s a third player or not on their team . . .”
“I think April’s idea is a good idea,” Wren said quietly. “It’s just like the Goldi-Scout thing. We just need a better story. A better MOTIVATION.”
“Yes,” Jo noted.
Everyone was quiet, thinking in their individual ways, tapping on lips and squeezing eyes tight.
Ripley started to sing, because that’s how Ripleys think.
I met an Eggie
Tucked in a nest
That Eggie was gold
That Eggie was the best
Someone who thinks they love Eggie
More than me
Put poor little Eggie
Up in a tree
Those egg lovers
Aren’t lovers
But stealers
If you love Eggie
Don’t put Eggie in a tree
I love Eggie
I let Eggie be
“I love your little songs,” Barney said, looking at Ripley.
“Thanks,” Ripley said, suddenly pink-cheeked. Because sometimes when you sing little songs you’re not sure someone is listening. Because small songs are such a quiet thing.
“I wish I had a plan instead of a song,” Ripley said softly.
Barney cocked their head to the side, thinking. “Maybe you have both,” they said. “I mean, you talked about loving eggs. Maybe that’s something we could talk to the Golden Egg people about, since they do seem to really like eggs.”
“Holy Janelle Monáe, you’re right! We should be, like, egg aficionados,” April said, her eyes sparkling. “Egg collectors! OH! Now that is an eggceptional idea!”
“You know who knows a lot about eggs?” Ripley said. “BARNEY.”
Barney smiled. “I do. Sort of. I mean, yes, I know a lot about eggs.”
“You should go with April,” Wren said, chucking Barney in the shoulder. “You’d be awesome.”
“You think?” Barney looked down at their hands.
“I think.” Ripley nodded.
“BRAVO!” April looked at Barney, sizing up their outfit. “I think we just need a quick costume change.”
CHAPTER 23
As part of the camp-wide cabin lockdown, most of the scouts in Miss Qiunzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s Camp for Hardcore Lady-Types spent the afternoon in a spontaneous in-cabin, camp-wide game of Oligopoly, a game where scouts compete to create an open market in which several small businesses can thrive and compete to benefit the community.
It is a very long game, because it takes a long time and hard work to make a community.
Unfortunately, Mal and Molly were the only members of Roanoke who were not part of the Egg Rescue party, so they were left feeling a little unhelpful and unable to really affect the multiple markets with their tiny game.
“So, Rosie said the griffins are here for an egg,” Mal said, peering out the window.
“Maybe it’s Ripley’s egg,” Molly said, also peering.
“It’s probably the griffin’s egg,” Mal noted, with a small smile. “Since Ripleys don’t lay eggs.”
“Right.” Molly sat back on her bunk. “Not Ripley’s egg. What did she call it, Eggie? Geez. Whenever I think about other people losing stuff it makes my stomach hurt.”
“Aw.” Mal put her hand on Molly’s hand. “Look. There’s no way that’s not where April and Jo and Ripley are now. And I bet they’re going to get that egg back.”
“I hope,” Molly said. “I wish we were there helping them.”
“Yeah,” Mal sighed. “Me too.”
“Also,” Molly said, in a small voice, “I’m nervous about singing.”
“Do you want to practice?” Mal offered. “I mean, since we seem to have some extra time on our hands?”
Outside there were a lot of sounds that sounded very birdlike. Briefly, there had been some pecking on the roof. But mostly there was the grating thwack of wings against the walls and roof of the cabin.
And then, a very human and firm knock on the door.
“Scouts?” Annabella called. “It’s Rosie and Annabella. Yes?”
“Yes. Come in,” Molly called out.
Annabella was wearing a shirt that looked like a red felt box and a pair of yellow leggings. Rosie was a little bit covered in puffy gold feathers.
“Scouts,” Rosie said, crossing the floor, “as you know, we have a bit of a situation in camp today.”
Mal and Molly sat down on Mal’s bunk.
Mal wondered if maybe April, Jo, and Ripley were in trouble.
“This is about Ripley and the egg,” Molly said. “Right?”
Rosie removed her glasses and began rubbing them on her shirt. “It is. Do you know where they went?”
Mal and Molly shook their heads in unison.
Rosie readjusted her glasses with a short nod.
“Girls,” Rosie said, “there are serious things afoot, and I’m going to have to ask you for some help.”
“Anything,” Mal and Molly said in unison.
Rosie adjusted her glasses, “I heard there was a musical in preparation.”
Mal nodded.
“I’m hoping you’d be willing to stage a performance for us. For a very specific audience, of griffins.”
“Uh.” Mal looked at Molly and shrugged. “Sure. I mean, if you think it will help.”
“I’m hoping it will be enough to keep them engaged,” Rosie explained. “Really the last thing we want is a rogue gorgeous (official term) of griffins wandering through camp, running amok.”
“Is that something they do?” Molly, who was keenly interested in mythology and the practices of creatures like griffins, asked.
“It’s something I hope they won’t do,” Rosie said. “What I’m hoping is, you can keep them distracted while I see about the egg in question.”
“Of course. YES!” Annabella Panache chimed in, her voice powerful and resonant. “MUSIC! SOOOTHES the ANGRY BEAST!”
“In this case,” Rosie said, “yes.”
“What about the opera?” Molly asked.
Rosie shook her head. “Can’t risk it. With griffins, we need something a little less esoteric.”
“I think more people enjoy opera than you think,” Panache sniffed. “But perhaps that is a debate for another time.”
Just then, Jen peeked into the cabin and, spotting Annabella, began to giggle nervously. “Hee hee hee. What’s ha-ha-haappening?”
“Team the Scout and the Beast is on deck,” Annabella announced, rising dramatically. “To the stage!”
CHAPTER 24
The scene was set. Stage left, April and Barney were poised in the bushes on the west side of the trees. Jo and Wren were crouched in the bushes stage right. Hes was on Jeremy a few yards away, backstage. Ripley hid in the tall grass and lavender, her eyes just peeking out so she could see.
Unaware that they were in for a show, Eugene and Egberta were just about to brew their second cup of horrible coffee and dig into a disgusting slice of turkey toffee coffee cake.
“Okay, ready?” April asked, under her breath.
“Ready.” Barney nodded crisply.
“Remember, no small parts . . .” April exhaled, as they walked toward the Order’s camp.
“Good luck,” Ripley whispered from her hiding spot as she watched the tiny dots that were Barney and April make their entrance. For extra good measure, she crossed her fingers.
“EGBERTA, EUGENE! DARLINGS!” April boomed. Her hair was in a high bun, and she wore Hes’s sunglasses and Wren’s sweater, which was wrapped around her neck three times. “WE ARE HERE! WE ARE HERE! WE ARE HERE! YES!”
Eugene, who was about to pour the coffee, and Egberta, who was just about to complain that Eugene was taking his sweet goose down time, both stiffened, then jumped up in a frazzled twist of gold bodysuited bodies.
“WHO THE FEATHERS ARE YOU!?” Egberta screeched, waggling her finger at April.
“Goose down, Egberta, stop SCREAMING!” Eugene grouched.
Then, turning to Barney and April, he griped, “Yeah. Who are you?”
Barney was wearing April’s white hair tie around their neck twisted like an ascot, also Wren’s sunglasses, and Jo’s coat, which, on their small frame, looked like a sort of stylish overcoat.
They sniffed and puckered their lips in a dissatisfied pout. “Obviously, we are representatives from the Omaha Order of the Golden Egg. We called ahead. What’s the problem?”
“We’re here to see your fabulous OVA,” April cooed, pushing past Eugene. “We were told it was an A-grade specimen. We were told a shell to die for. We were told MUST SEE. We were told GET THERE, BE THERE, ALL THAT.”
“That’s what we were told.” Barney rolled their eyes. “I hardly believe it. Seeing as who is HOLDING the specimen in question.”
Barney glanced around like they wanted to avoid getting any of the camp on them.
“I mean,” they sniffed again, “look at you.”
Then Barney threw a look of such powerful disdain, if you bottled it you could destroy a galaxy.
April had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling. Barney was AMAZING!
“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!” Egberta screeched, stamping her foot. “LOOK AT US?”
“It means”—Barney twitched their lips like they smelled a small fart—“this branch of the Order has a less than reputable reputation and I can see why.”
“WHAT?! WE DO NOT!” Egberta fumed, stamping her foot. “Also, there IS NO Omaha
chapter.”
“Mmmm, right. Right. Sure. OF COURSE you don’t know that there’s an Omaha Order.” Barney yawned. “Makes me wonder if you’re even legitimate members, if I’m honest.”
“Goose down it. Do you think”—April slapped her hands on her cheeks, in extreme horror—“that these folks are not legit Orders?”
Barney threw their hands up in the air, dramatically. “What can I say? The proof is in the custard!”
“OH, we are members of the Order right and proper, goose down it,” Eugene fumed, hoisting up his gold body-suit. “And we can prove it.”
“Oh, can you?” Barney yawned. “Really? Wow. Then I suppose you can easily name for me the six largest egg-laying species in order from largest to smallest?”
“SURE, he can!” Egberta walked over to Eugene and punched him sharply on the shoulder. “DO IT, EUGENE!”
“Well, then,” Barney said, “let’s HEAR it!”
That was the signal to Jo and Wren that both Egberta’s and Eugene’s backs were turned. Eugene racked his brain.
In a bump of barberry bushes, Wren looked at Jo, who gave the thumbs-up, then pointed toward the tree.
“Let’s go,” Jo whispered.
CHAPTER 25
Back at camp, another stage was set for a plot about to unfold.
The stage, in this case, was the small platform in front of the now-in-splinters Lumberjane flagpole. Rosie had hung up a red curtain behind the stage. Annabella hastily whipped up a small sign that read: THE SCOUT AND THE BEAST: A MUSICAL. BY MAL, MOLLY, MALKA, MAGGIE MAY, AND MARY.
The camp was eerily empty of scouts, who were still tucked in their cabins working on their board games. This was not a show for Lumberjanes but for the crowd, a gorgeous of not-yet-fully-on-board-with-this griffins scattered throughout the camp, perched on rooftops, on watch and watching with actual hawk eyes.
“Okay,” Molly said, fingers trembling as the troupe hunched behind the curtain. “There’s no business like show business. Right?”
“This is really weird,” Malka said, twirling her drumsticks, her hair plaited into tight braids. “But okay.”
The Good Egg Page 8