Free Jack by Liesl Shurtliff

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.