Golden Egg, page 2
“Huh?” Jackson glanced over. “Oh no! Mrs. Heckle-Flipper!”
Doreen Heckle-Flipper was his mom’s best friend and officially the chattiest penguin on the planet. When Doreen Heckle-Flipper started talking, time stood still.
“Quick!” Jackson hissed. “If she spots us, there’s no way we’ll be able to help the FBI. Pretend you haven’t seen her. Make for the museum! RUN!”
4
“Jackson! Jackson!” Mrs. Heckle-Flipper raced after them. “JACKSON ROCK-FLOPPER! Stop right there, young man!”
Jackson skidded to a halt on the museum steps. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Heckle-Flipper. I didn’t see you there.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the Golden Egg Games?” she puffed.
Jackson shrugged. “Um—I was just looking for the registration desk.”
“Well, you’re going the wrong way!” Mrs. Heckle-Flipper smiled. “When I suggested to your mom that she go home to rest, what with her being so sick and all, not to mention the freezing blizzard that’s forecast, I promised to keep an eye out for you. Come on, I’ll show you the way; I’ve just registered my egg.” She pointed to a small, speckled egg in a carry pack on her front. “Isn’t it growing?”
“Sure,” Jackson mumbled.
“And, oh my!” Mrs. Heckle-Flipper said, peering at Jackson’s soon-to-be-sibling. “I think you’re going to be a big brother very soon. You guys will have so much fun looking after a hatchling, won’t you?”
“I guess.” Jackson looked longingly at the museum doors, then followed her toward the registration table.
“So this must be your first Games,” Mrs. Heckle-Flipper said. “Are you excited? Because I know I am. And so is Cutie-Flipper.”
“Cutie-Flipper?” Quigley asked.
Mrs. Heckle-Flipper smiled. “That’s what I call my egg.”
Jackson tried hard not to make a yuck face.
“You know, I think your mom had a pet name for you when you were just an egg, Jackson.” Mrs. Heckle-Flipper frowned. “I’m trying to remember what it was.”
Jackson coughed. “Um—I don’t think—”
“Sweet-Beak!” Mrs. Heckle-Flipper interrupted. “That’s what she called you.”
Quigley’s eyes widened. “Sweet-Beak?”
Jackson glared at him.
Mrs. Heckle-Flipper nodded. “Because before you hatched, you used to tap-tap-tap on the inside of your shell with your sweet little beak.” She beamed at him. “Cute, huh?”
Jackson wished the ground would swallow him whole, hungry-whale style. He cleared his throat. “Um—I think this is where we register … I’ll join the line now. Thanks for your help.”
“No problem,” Mrs. Heckle-Flipper said. “My and your mom’s other friends will be over here. We’ll ALL be watching, so just holler if you need us. Oh, and Jackson, if you get chilly when that blizzard blows in this afternoon, just give me a wave, because I’ve got lots of spare woolly hats and scarves you can borrow. I always come prepared!” She smiled, then shuffled off to join a group of parents standing in a huddle.
“This is a nightmare.” Jackson groaned. “How are we going to escape from the Games with the Mom Squad watching us?”
“We could try a distraction technique,” Quigley said.
Distraction techniques were the latest chapter of the Secret Agent Handbook they’d been studying: how to escape from your enemy by creating a diversion. The book’s helpful suggestions included releasing an angry octopus into a crowded room, hiring a penguin with circus skills (fire-eater or juggler was best), or creating a bad stink. So far they’d only tried the smell technique. During the last math test at school, they’d “released” some of Jackson’s dad’s favorite stinky blue cheese, and Miss Chalk-Feather, their teacher, had definitely been distracted. Unfortunately, when she’d discovered the source of the smell, she’d been less distracted and had dished out a punishment that really stunk: litter-picking.
“Wait—I’ve got an idea,” Quigley said, rummaging in his backpack.
“I hope so,” Jackson muttered. “We’re nearly at the front of the line and the Mom Squad is still ‘eyes-on’!”
“Check this out!” Quigley held up a small fluffy ball. “Meet Chick-bot,” he said, smoothing its feathers so Jackson could see its face. “It looks like a cute baby penguin, right?”
Jackson peered at the creature’s stuck-on eyes, lopsided beak, and straggly fake feathers. “Um—I guess,” he said, “if your cute baby penguin had somehow gotten stuck inside the washer-fluffer on the extra-hot rinse cycle.”
Quigley grinned. “I made it for Sunny’s new webbed-site. He’s selling all sorts of cool remote-control gadgets now.”
Jackson prodded the Chick-bot. “And you think this will distract the Mom Squad?”
“Sure! Haven’t you ever been in a grocery store when a lost hatchling is calling for its mom? Everyone stops to help! Now watch this…” Quigley dropped the chick on the floor and hit a button on the tiny controller in his flipper.
“Ma-ma! Ma-ma!” The Chick-bot slowly rolled off through the crowd, heading straight for the Mom Squad.
Jackson watched it go. “I can’t quite believe it, but, yeah, I think it is actually working. Look, they’re not watching us now. They’re cooing at the chick. Weird! Good work, Agent Q. Come on, let’s escape while they’re ‘eyes-off’!”
“Wait—” Quigley sniffed the air. “Do you smell burning?”
Just then there was a loud pop! and a tiny cloud of smoke drifted upward.
“Fire!” someone shouted. And instantly several organizer penguins came running, one armed with an extinguisher.
“Uh-oh!” Jackson said, peering through the crowds to see what was happening. “I think the Chick-bot just became an Ex-bot! Look, I can only see a beak and a few feathers left.”
Quigley scratched his crest. “That’s odd. I’ve never made one that caught fire before. I’d better tell Sunny before he sells any more.”
“Name?” They’d reached the front of the line now, and an older penguin in thick glasses was peering up at Jackson from the desk. But before he could answer—
“Loser McLoser-Beak! That’s his name!” shouted a familiar voice from behind them.
Jackson spun round and came flipper-to-flipper with— “Hoff Rockface!” he gasped. “Nightmare,” he added under his breath.
5
“Ha!” Hoff snorted. “You aren’t seriously entering the Golden Egg Games with THAT!” He prodded Jackson’s soon-to-be-sibling, which wriggled crossly in reply.
Hoff was their worst enemy from school. He never missed a chance to ruin Jackson’s day.
“THIS is what a champion egg looks like!” Hoff said, turning round to reveal a camo-colored carry-pack on his back, and strapped inside was an enormous egg that looked ready to hatch at any moment. “Meet my cousin. And, cousin,” he added, “meet Loser-McLoser-Beak and his Loser-Egg.”
Jackson gritted his beak. “Get lost, Hoff!”
“For the last time,” the penguin on the registration desk shouted. “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”
“Um—I’m Jackson Rockflopper—and this is Egg Rockflopper.”
She scribbled their names in the book in front of her. “Address?” she barked, not looking up.
“Number Five Surf-Spray Avenue.” Jackson lowered his voice. “Only, I’m not sure if we’re staying. See, I’ve got something else I’ve got to go and do and—”
“Too late!” The desk penguin glared up at him. “Once you’re in the book, you’re in the contest! Here’s your number. Wear it around your neck.” She handed Jackson a card attached to a string. “Next!” she shouted.
“Could this day get any worse?” Jackson sighed as they stepped out of the line. “I can’t believe I’m stuck doing this dumb contest when we should be off catching Icejob.”
“Wait—I’ve got it,” Quigley said. “Just make sure you lose in the first round. Then you can tell your mom you entered.”
“Genius idea!” Jackson looked longingly over at the museum. “Icejob could be in there right now, about to strike, about to steal the—”
“Hey, Loser-Beak!” Hoff shuffled over. “I bet my egg beats yours.” Jackson ignored him. But Hoff pushed his big face right up close to Jackson’s. “Hello? Did you hear me? There’s no way a Rockflopper could ever beat a Rockface, because Rockfloppers have KRILL for brains!”
The Egg gave a cross little jiggle, and Jackson felt his feathers stand on end. He clenched his flippers, and a small earthquake of anger trembled through his belly. “Shut up, Hoff! Me and my egg could beat you and your egg any day—even if we were covered with itchy ice ants and soaked in slippy seaberry juice!”
“Really?” Hoff said. “Okay, challenge accepted!”
“What?” Jackson blinked. “Wait—no, I didn’t mean—”
Hoff held up his flipper. “I ACCEPT your challenge. And just to make it more interesting”—he paused—“now, let me think.” A sneaky glint appeared in his eyes. “If you and your egg beat me, I’ll be your servant after school for a whole week. But if you lose”—his eyes narrowed—“which you will, then you’ll be MY servant! Deal?”
Jackson swallowed hard. He looked at the Egg. Can we beat Hoff? Jackson doubted it. Hoff is always the fastest penguin on Flipper Track and Field Day. And anyway, we’re planning to lose so we can go find Icejob.
“Ha!” Hoff smirked at him. “I guess you’re too scared to accept the challenge. Wait until I tell everyone at school.”
“Fine!” Jackson said. “I accept.”
“Awesome!” Hoff beamed. “You’re going to be the best servant, Jackson. I’ll make sure I find you a nice frilly apron and a pretty little cap to match. See ya!”
“Um—Jackson,” Quigley said, when Hoff had gone. “What happened to the plan to quit in the first round?”
Jackson puffed out his cheeks. “I know, but I couldn’t let him say all that stuff about our Egg.” He sighed. “I guess this is what’s called being caught between a rock and a hard Rockface.”
6
“Would all remaining contestants please make their way to the start of the course!” boomed a loud speaker. “The Golden Games have now begun!”
As they shuffled over to the starting line, Jackson had a good look at the arena in front of them. “It must be some sort of obstacle course,” he said, scanning the ramps, beams, and scramble nets. “But it seems WAY too easy. I mean, a hatchling could get over that frame.”
“Hey, listen to this,” Quigley interrupted, peering at his icePhone. “I just did a webbed-search on Icejob. Guess what his real name is?… Custard Dorkfin!”
“What? No way!” Jackson chuckled. “Custard Dorkfin? Sheesh, I can see why he changed it to Icejob. What else did you find out about him? What does he look like?”
“That’s the problem,” Quigley said. “Apparently he looks just like a regular penguin. That’s why he’s so good at disguising himself.”
Jackson stopped walking and glanced around. Maybe Icejob was here in the crowd somewhere, pretending to watch the Games while secretly preparing to go in and steal the Ice Dragon’s Eye.
“But there’s one thing that makes him stand out,” Quigley added, looking at his cell screen again. “He’s got a silver tattoo of an ice crystal on his beak.”
“Really?” Jackson peered up at the teenage penguin next to him. Was that a tattoo on his beak? Nah, just a zit.
“Jackson?” He felt a tap on his back, and turned around.
“Oh, hi, Lily.” Jackson smiled. Lily was their friend from school. She was super-smart and had helped them on previous missions. Jackson and Quigley thought she’d make a good FBI agent (with a bit of training from them, of course). But Lily wanted to be a rare-fish keeper at the aquarium, just like her dad.
“Are you guys taking part?” Lily asked.
Quigley shook his head. “Not me. Just Jackson and the Egg.”
“What about you, Lily?” Jackson asked.
“I’m not competing. I’m a helper, see?” She pointed to her T-shirt. “But you should get over to the starting line, Jackson. The time trials are beginning.”
“The what?” Jackson blinked at her.
“The first event is a knockout contest against the clock,” Lily explained. “The fastest twelve penguins across the egg-stacle course go through to the second round. Everyone else is out of the Games!”
“What exactly is an egg-stacle course anyway?” Jackson asked, following her toward the entrance gate.
“It’s just like an obstacle race,” Lily said. “But you have to go around with your egg balanced on your feet.”
Jackson’s eyes widened. So that was why the course looked easy. You had to do it with an egg on your toes. He glanced at his soon-to-be-sibling. “I’ve never carried it anywhere on my feet before.”
“Don’t worry,” Quigley said. “Just imagine you’re doing tricks with a flipper ball.”
“But a flipper ball doesn’t crack if I drop it.” Jackson sighed. “These Games are stupid.”
“No they’re not!” Lily glared at him. “They’re part of our heritage. Rookeryville penguins have been competing in the Games for more than a hundred years. Look, I’ll show you.” She picked up a leaflet from a nearby stand and opened it up.
“Cool story,” Quigly said, peering over Jackson’s shoulder. “So if you win the Games, either as an egg or the penguin looking after the egg, like Jackson, you can become mayor someday?”
“Yep, but you MUST have your name carved onto the cup as soon as you win,” Lily explained.
“I guess that’s why the cup is kept in a locked box,” Jackson said, looking over at it sitting on the judges’ table. “Just in case someone decides not to bother competing in the Games.”
Lily nodded. “My mom said that nearly happened once—uh-oh.” She glanced across at the starting line. “Quick, Jackson! If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss the time slots and be disqualified.”
“No way!” Jackson shuffled after her. As they reached the entrance to the course, he handed the FBI radio transmitter to Quigley. “You’d better look after this,” he whispered. “Just in case there are any updates on Icejob.”
“Sure,” Quigley replied, shoving it into his backpack.
In front of them, Hoff was just starting. He smirked at Jackson, then thundered away, somehow managing to keep his large egg perfectly balanced on his toes.
“He’s probably glued it on,” Quigley muttered.
Lily gave Jackson a gentle push forward. “Here’s number thirty-seven,” she called to a curly-crested penguin with a clipboard and whistle standing by the starting line.
The penguin nodded. “Put your egg on your toes, and remember, no holding it on with your flippers. The judges will be watching! Okay, are you ready?”
Jackson nodded. This is it, he thought. Time to prove Rockfloppers are not losers! “Come on, Egg,” he whispered to his soon-to-be-sibling. “Let’s do this!”
7
“Three, two, one.” Peep! The curly-crested penguin blew her whistle, and Jackson shuffled off toward the first hurdle: a giant A-frame studded with spiky shells.
“Please don’t roll off,” Jackson whispered to the Egg as he began to climb. “Mom will go Bull Shark if I drop you in the first race.”
The Egg seemed to have gotten the message. It leaned with him, left, then right as Jackson took each small, shuffling step. “Yow,” Jackson muttered as his foot crushed a shell. He winced as he trod on another, then another. Mustn’t wobble the Egg! he told himself. Must keep going! And moments later— “Made it,” he whispered as they scrambled down the other side.
“Okay, this one looks just like a seesaw,” Jackson told the Egg as they approached the next egg-stacle: a long oar propped up on a barrel of fish. “You love seesaws, remember? It’s just like the one in the park.” Jackson began to climb, holding his flippers out to keep his balance. But as they reached the middle, the Egg seemed to get a bit overexcited and began to jiggle. “Steady, steady…” Jackson gritted his beak as he teetered on the oar. “You’ve got to keep still!”
The Egg seemed to hear, and it froze rocksolid as Jackson flipped the oar to the other side of the barrel and they shuffled down.
“Go, Jackson!” he heard Quigley shout from the spectator area. “Awesome work!”
Jackson gave his buddy a wave, then bent down and patted the Egg. “See! We’ve got this,” he whispered. “It’s a piece of krill cake for us Rockfloppers.”
They shuffled off down the path again, but as Jackson approached the next egg-stacle he skidded to a halt. “What the—” In front of him were a dozen spinning snow mushrooms. “Flying frost rats! What am I supposed to do here?”
“Hop across them!” Lily shouted from the crowd.
“Yeah, like you’re rock-jumping over the icy river on Frostbite Ridge!” Quigley added.
“Gotcha!” Jackson crouched down and sprang onto the first mushroom. Then very nearly fell straight off. “Whoa!” Can’t let Hoff win! Jackson shut his eyes as he spun around and around, trying to find his balance. The Egg wriggled against his toes. What if it’s getting scrambled inside its shell, Jackson thought. I’ve got to get off this, quick! He opened his eyes, took a deep breath, then jumped onto the next mushroom. This time he didn’t wait around. He hopped straight onto the next one, and then the next, springing from one to the other, until he landed on the ground at the end with a thump, blinking and swaying slightly.
“Run, Jackson!” Lily shouted. “Only the fastest penguins make it through to the next round!”
Head down, flippers tucked into his sides, Jackson zoomed on, speeding through a long icy tunnel, then ducking under a large net. He weaved in and out of a set of skinny ski poles and jumped over a snow ditch. “Wow! This is just like the secret agent exercises me and Quigley practice up on Frostbite Ridge,” he puffed to the Egg. “When you hatch, I’ll take you up there.” That’s weird! Jackson peered down at the Egg and frowned. I never thought of you as an actual penguin before!
