chapter 45

In Which Miss Flaversham Laments the Lack of Good Servants These Days

Jackson hid his face. Miss Flaversham’s wing was held high, a fresh egg tight in her grasp. Her little pink purse was open, and Jackson could see that there were more eggs inside.

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!”

Miss Flaversham paused, the egg still held aloft. “You surrrrrender then?”

“Yes,” said Jackson in a very small voice.

“I did not give youuuuu permission to peek inside. I am in charge of these forts, and you will do exactly as I say!” she squawked.

Jackson nodded and stood up. He was covered in egg goo. Miss Flaversham handed him a bright orange handkerchief.

“What exactly do you do around here if you’re in charge?” Jackson wiped his hair. Ick.

“I mind the tree forts,” Miss Flaversham fussed with her pink purse.

“So you take care of them?” Jackson wiped his face.

“Whatever do you mean?” She slopped more orange lipstick on her beak. She missed and smeared a streak on her cheek instead.

“So you clean the windows and stuff?” Jackson scrubbed the inside of his ear.

“Certainly not! Filthy work. Men should clean windows, not well-bred chickens.”

“Do you sweep the floors?”

“Of course not!”

“Do you mend roofs?”

“No. I cannot get up on the roofs. Are you implyyyyyying that I am a monkey?” She folded her wings across her chest and glared.

“You could use a ladder.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t carry a ladder! Much toooo heavy.”

“You could fly up.” Jackson handed her back the eggy handkerchief.

“Chickens flying? Preposterous! Wouldn’t think of it. Only fools fly around like twittering birds. I am not a silly twittering bird; I am a chicken!”

“Well, then … Do you clean the gardens?” Jackson asked, exasperated.

“No. All that dirt would get stuck under my nails.” Jackson noticed that her long, scraggly claws were painted bright orange to match her lipstick.

“Well, what do you do?”

“You are not liiiiiiistening. I mind them. I make sure everything is in running order.”

“Oh!” Jackson exclaimed. Miss Flaversham began walking down the wooden beams that led to the ground. Jackson followed. “So you tell the staff what to do?”

“No, no, no. No staff to speak of. Everyone is much too busy.”

“Then you make plans for the forts. You figure out what would make them better. You would know if one needed a ladder fixed or had a hole in the roof.”

“Oh, yes!” She bobbed her head. “I am very good at making lists.”

“So then you give someone the list and …”

“No! Of course not! They are myyyyy lists! Someone else would just steeeeeal them and pass them off as their own! Plagiarism is very ugly.” (Plagiarism is when you take the cover off an Alice in Wonderland book and put your own cover on and pretend you wrote it.)

“So you spend all day making lists?” Jackson asked.

“Yes. All day,” she said rather regally. (Well, as regally as a chicken can say anything.)

Jackson shrugged. “You’re not much use then, are you?”

Miss Flaversham stopped walking and grabbed Jackson’s arm with her wing. “I beg your pardon?” she clucked.

“Look,” said Jackson. “My parents’ job is to take care of us. To make money and make sure we’re fed and clothed and loved. My job is to help out at home with the dishes and take care of my brother and sister. But you don’t do anything here. You just make lists! How are you any help?” Jackson turned and kept walking. He really had to go home now. This conversation was getting annoying, and it didn’t look like he was going to get to see the inside of any other forts. Why bother staying?

“Well!” Miss Flaversham looked wildly around, her eyelashes fluttering and sticking together. “I mind the tree forts!”

“You mean you just sit around and watch them all day. That’s not a job,” Jackson said. He was getting all sweaty and hot, and he still had remnants of egg goo on him. (Remnants are things that are left over, like the little bits of food dropped on the kitchen floor that your dog licks up.)

“I … I mind the stars!” Miss Flaversham blurted.

“What?”

“I mind the starrrrrs. They are mine!” she shrieked. “No, they aren’t. They don’t belong to you.” Jackson sighed. He just wanted a shower.

“Well then, who owns them?” Cluck, cluck, cluck. “No one.”

“Well, then I am the first to think of it! I mind the starrrs!” She gave a triumphant cluck.

“That’s ridiculous.” Jackson really, really wanted a shower.

“I do! They come out at night when I tell them to, and in the morning they hide when I tell them to.”

“All right, then. Prove it,” said Jackson. “Proooove what?”

“Prove it. Tell them to come out. Right now.”

“Rrrrright now?” asked Miss Flaversham, her eyelashes fluttering madly.

“Yah, right now.” Jackson really, really wanted a shower. He’d even bathe in a puddle if there was one nearby.

“I don’t feel like it!” said Miss Flaversham, and she turned away. “I’m not going to do something just because you told me to. Come back later when I’m not soooooo flustered. You bother me so.” She began powdering her nose with the white powder that goes on babies’ … ahem … behinds.

“Fine. Whatever,” said Jackson. He looked around at all the forts, then back at Miss Flaversham. “Um … which way is the elevator?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why do you want to leeeeeave?”

“Because you won’t let me look inside the forts, I’m covered in egg, and there’s no point in me staying.”

Miss Flaversham bobbed her head a moment, her eyes shifting back and forth quickly. Her brow furrowed in worry. “You don’t have to leave immeeeeeediately, do you?”

“I have to get home,” said Jackson.

Miss Flaversham rubbed her wings together nervously. Jackson thought that she probably didn’t get many visitors. “If you promiiiiise not to break anything,” she blurted, “I’ll let you go inside one fort.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Any fort?”

She shook her feathers uncomfortably. “Yeeees. Just one though.”

Jackson’s heart leapt. He could wait for a shower.