Free Jack by Liesl Shurtliff Page A

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 milkthe 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 wasdark 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 thegold 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