45.

One Final Break in the Action

T he penguin caretaker halted telling his story. Despite the cold, his breath made no vapor cloud, unlike mine, which emitted as much as a steam engine. I rubbed my hands before digging them back inside my coat pockets.

“It is cold,” said the man. “That, and this terrible story, has left a chill in your bones. Perhaps you care to leave, warm your ears, and free them from my disquieting tale.”

“Poppycock,” I replied and then smiled because I had never before said Poppycock and it’s a funny word to say. “Ragamuffin,” I muttered, which is another fun word that I had never before said, and had always wanted to.

“Funny words, those two,” said the man. “But there is nothing funny about this story. Who could possibly be amused by a boy who turns into a penguin? Or a pirate with a swordfish? Or a young bandit-wannabe stealing items like a wind-up chicken from a jacket pocket?”

“As a boy, I owned a wind-up chicken,” I thought out loud. “I wonder what happened to it.”

“No doubt it was destroyed, mangled, and discarded—just like your mind may be if we continue to dwell on the terrible past.”

“I’m willing to take that chance.” As I spoke those words, the angry ostrich ran up and squawked at me. I swatted at the flightless nuisance, and it ran away without another sound.

I wondered if a man who turned into an ostrich would be as annoying. “Were-ostrich,” I said to myself, wondering if such a creature could exist. Why not?

“Where ostrich? Why, he went that way,” said the caretaker, pointing.

I nodded and shivered again. “Go on,” I commanded him. “We must be near the end of your tale. Near-ish. Complete your story and I will give your animals a new home.”

The man bit his lip, bit his tongue, and then, impressively, bit his nose. He sighed. “Let’s visit the dungeons of Sphen to see what our two trapped forest bandits are up to.”

“And Bolt and his friends?”

“They will be back in our story soon, fortunately for you. Unfortunately for them.”