Jack (8 page)

“Okay,” I said, wondering if I would ever get my own
axe back out of Martha's pocket. At least I still had my sling, though I didn't see how that would do me any good against the giants.

I was so confused. Martha was not at all like the giants in Grandpa Jack's tales, and apparently they had stolen from our world only because they were having a famine. That didn't make it all right, but it was less monstrous than I'd assumed. Still, it didn't make my quest any easier. Where was Papa? What giant was I supposed to conquer here? Clearly not Martha.

Yawning, I nestled into the soft down. It had been a long, long day. Two days in one, really, and I was all out of ideas. I'd figure it out in the morning.

I
dreamed of Papa. He was standing in the middle of the wheat field before harvest, brushing his hands over the feathery tops, just like he always did.

“Isn't she beautiful, Jack? Just like gold.”

As Papa brushed his hands over the wheat, a breeze rushed through and the wheat glimmered golden in the sun. Not just golden, but gold. The wheat had turned into
real
gold.

I bounded through the fields. We were rich! I'd never be hungry again!

The ground started to tremble. I stopped and looked up.

Boom,
Boom,
BOOM!

The sky tore open and a giant hand reached down. It ripped up the gold wheat in handfuls. It tore up the entire field, and then the giant snatched Papa.

“Papa!” I shouted.

“Jack! Take care of your mama and sister, Jack!”

“Papa!”

I woke up, but the earth was still shaking and I couldn't see a thing. I slammed into a wall and then something that felt like a foot hit me in the gut. I went rolling all over again, until I slammed into another wall.

“Mama!” I shouted. “The giants are coming!”

“Don't worry,” grumbled Tom sleepily. “It's just Mum Martha.”

I suddenly remembered. I was in a sugar bowl, in a giant kitchen, in a giant castle, in a giant world, where the giants really
had
taken Papa.

“Wake up! Wake up!” came a warbly voice. “It's a beautiful day for milking! A lovely day for making cheese!”

Martha popped the top of the sugar bowl off, and I was blinded by light. She tipped the bowl, and Tom and I rolled out into her hand.

“Good morning, children! Did you sleep well? Are you hungry? Eat up! Eat up! We must get some meat on those skinny little bones, and then it's off to the milking pen!” Martha set us down on the table and gave us hot porridge with cream. Tom ate his porridge
out of a thimble, and I slurped mine out of an empty acorn.

It was early morning, just the first rays of sun trickling through the windows, but bright enough that I could see the whole giant kitchen now. It was an enormous, noisy, bustling place. There were giant maids stirring pots of porridge, kneading dough, washing dishes, scrubbing the floor, and stoking fires. In the giant fireplace was a big black kettle, and in the blazing ovens on either side were loaves of bread, or hills of bread, more like.

Four giant tables stretched across the kitchen in two rows. Two of the tables were being used for preparation. Another table was covered with food. Not giant food. Food from my world, and more than I had ever seen all at once. There were great mounds of cabbages, hills of apples and pears, giant buckets of peas, carrots, beets, and radishes. Cascades of wheat and barley filled one whole end of the table, all neatly bundled and stacked. And on the fourth table—

MoooooOOOOOOoooo.

Baaaaaaaaa!

Bok, bok!

—there were all manner of farm animals. Cows and sheep and pigs and chickens.

Above this table hung three shelves. They seemed to hold giant birdhouses, except the birdhouses were real houses from Below—log cabins, brick houses, and whitewashed cottages with thatched roofs and smoking chimneys.

And people. There were people my size on the shelves!

A woman swept the dirt out of her door and off the shelf. Another hung laundry to dry on a huge dish rack, and below her a man was bathing in a giant tankard, all of them going about their business as if it were a normal day in a normal world.

I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed any of this yesterday. But one does not expect to find cows in a kitchen or an entire village sitting on a shelf.

“Good morning, my elves!” Martha sang cheerfully. “It's a lovely day, isn't it? And so much work to do. Dear me, I could never do it all without you sweet elves. We need to chop carrots and peel potatoes, gather eggs, pluck chickens, and milk cows! Of course, there will be plenty for all of you, so let us work hard, my elves. Many hands make light work!” Martha held out both her hands. Several people readily climbed onto her palm as though stepping into a carriage. “Hello, Sally, Mary, Thelma, Francis, George, Harold, and…oh I forgot your name!”

“Maude,” said a woman.

“A wise and sensible name. Thank you, Maude.”

Martha delivered two handfuls of people to the animal table and a few more loads to the food table, calling each of them by name. I strained to hear her say “Henry.” Papa could be on one of those shelves. He could be in Martha's hands right now.

“Amazing, isn't it?” said Tom, slurping the dregs of porridge out of his thimble. “We can climb potato mountains and cheese walls and jump on the bread…it'll be loads of fun!”

“Tom, why didn't you tell me all these people were here?”

“I did! I told you I saw lots of elves every day.”

“But…I told you that my papa was taken with all our wheat and our calf. Wouldn't they have been brought here? I can see a calf over there right now!” I said, pointing to the table full of animals. I needed to find a way over there, but suddenly Martha was in front of us.

“There you are!” she said. “It's time for the milking.” She scooped me in one hand and Tom in the other.

I wriggled and protested. “But I needed to—”

“Now, Tim, you mustn't allow your brother to do all the work. We reap what we sow—except in The Kingdom, where nothing seems to grow anymore…Dear me, I do wish I could at least grow a tomato. I sowed some seeds in the spring, and I gave them plenty of sun and water, but they didn't even sprout!”

Martha carried us to a barn with peeling red paint. It sat on the end of the table full of animals. At least she was taking me where I needed to go. She unlatched the doors with her giant fingers, and a whole herd of cows streamed out, mooing.

“Now be good boys and milk the cows,” said Martha. “And, Tom, dear, do try not to squirt the milk at Harold or the chickens. You know how that upsets him, and it spooks the hens, and we need every tiny egg if we are to feed the king, not to mention every drop of milk. Goodness, it seems he never stops eating. If he could eat only gold, then I'd never have to cook again!” Martha left us to see to the king's breakfast.

“Come on,” said Tom. “Let's do the milking and then we can duel!”

“But my papa…” I reminded him, looking down the row of barns.

Tom sighed. “Go ahead and look, but you still have to help with the milking. Martha gets terribly upset if it isn't done, and I don't like her to cry. There's a real risk of drowning.”

“I'll be back!” I promised. Maybe with Papa, even!

I ran down the center of the table, which was like a road through a strange village. Sheep and pigs were penned up in fences made of giant clothespins and yarn. Chickens nested in coops made of giant lanterns, teacups, and an upside-down hat stuffed with straw. The table was lined with a fence made of forks stuck in the wood for posts and wire stretched between them. A man was spreading the hay using a giant fork as a pitchfork.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “I'm looking for my papa. His name is Henry and he was taken by giants with our newborn calf. Have you seen him?”

“No,” said the man, and he continued spreading the hay, not at all concerned with my troubles.

I moved on. I came to a barn made out of books. There were three books for walls, and a fourth split open across the top to make an A-shaped roof. There was even a man reading the open book on the ceiling as he milked a cow. The words were large and looped. It reminded me of Papa's book full of giant tales.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said to the man. He looked down from his book on the ceiling but continued to milk
the cow. “I'm looking for my papa. His name is Henry, and giants took him with our newborn calf. Have you seen him?”

“There's a newcomer in the bread-bin barn,” said the man. “Came here a week or two ago. Don't quite recall if it was a calf or a pig he had.” A pinprick of hope flared in my chest.

I raced down the table until I found the bread-bin. There was a man inside, but it wasn't Papa. He was much too big, and he was holding a pig in his arms, feeding it an apple by hand. The man looked up.

“Halloo! Come to throw a pail of slops on me, eh, Jack?”

I squinted. “Horace?” He had grown a beard, but I recognized him and his pig, Cindy. I smiled. It wasn't Papa, but seeing someone from home was like finding a clue or a sign on the trail, telling you you're on the right track.

“Is my papa here?” I asked.

“Haven't seen him, but I don't see much beyond this bread bin. Just pigs. I tend most of the pigs here on this table, feed them their slops and such, until they all become giant bacon.”

I grimaced.

“I know,” said Horace. “But at least they didn't turn
us
into bacon. And they let me keep my Cindy.”

“Do you remember anything about the night the giants took you? Do you remember anything about my papa?”

Horace scratched his head. “No. Not much. It was
dark and loud and stuffy. Couldn't hardly breathe. One of the giants kept picking up my pigs and saying he wanted to keep some for pets, but the other giant wouldn't let him. I just held tight to my Cindy until it all passed.”

The pig snorted in his arms, reminding Horace that he was supposed to feed her. He gave the pig the rest of the apple, and then he held a fresh one out to me.

“You want an apple?” I took it, though I wasn't hungry. “You need a place to sleep? You can stay in my bread bin. It's not much, but we got all we need.”

“Thank you, but I'm not staying. I'm going to go look for my papa.”

“You be careful, now. They say some of those giants can be real ogres.”

“I will. Thanks for the apple.”

I left Horace and walked slowly back to the barn where Tom was milking a cow.

“Come on,” said Tom. “I've already milked four.”

I took a bucket and picked a cow to milk.

Across from where we sat, Martha and the rest of the kitchen servants were busy preparing the royal breakfast trays. They set out bowls of porridge and tea and toast, but one tray stood out among the rest. Firstly, the tray and all the dishes were made of pure gold, right down to the sugar spoon, and secondly, it had about a hundred poached eggs, fifty slabs of bacon, and a mountain of fruit. Finally, Martha unlocked a cupboard and brought out a glass bowl filled with gold flakes. She sprinkled the
gold all over the food, like one might dust sugar over a cake.

“Is that the giant king's breakfast?” I asked.

Tom nodded. “Can you imagine being so rich you can
eat
gold?”

I couldn't.

“And guess what his name is?” said Tom. “King
Barf
!” He burst out laughing.

Martha cleared her throat, suddenly towering over us. “His
Royal Majesty's
name is King Bartholomew Archibald Reginald Fife, Tom dear, and you had better watch your tongue. The king is not merciful to those who cross him, no matter how small. Why, just last week a chambermaid told me she saw the king throw an elf straight into the fire!”

I gulped. I had a terrible vision of Papa being thrown into flames. “Does the king keep elves, then?” I asked.

“Why, I suppose so, yes, though for what purpose I'm sure I don't know. His Majesty gave me all my elf helpers—all except you and Tim—but all elves are given by His Majesty's command.”

Ding!
A bell rang.

“Oh my! And now the king demands his breakfast!” Martha sprinkled the king's breakfast with one more spoonful of gold before it was whisked away.

Could King Barf have Papa? Either way, Martha said he was the one in charge of where they all went. That meant he had to have seen Papa at some time and sent him somewhere. It clearly wasn't the kitchen.